#is it better to know when something is the last time? so that you can savor it?

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[angelsforthenight]

screen babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt 2)

camgirl!vi x reader (read pt 1 here)

summary: after an abysmal night, you know who PinkSage really is. you want to loathe her, yet you can’t seem to escape vi’s agonising game, especially underneath the guttural heat of your city’s sun.

pre a/n: yaaawl if ur expecting smut in this chapter then i’m sorry but not yet 🙁🙁 i want to drag s.m.g out longer than i did with my last ellie series so you’re gonna have to wait until the next chapter. sometimes a slow burn can be so much better and worth it in the end, i promise! hope you guys still enjoy <3

content: AAAANGST, vi is really mean, very slight slut-shaming, cursing, crying, playful!vi, teasing! this entire chapter is a huge tease, vi is extroverted, difficult goddamn lesbians, some painful yearning, some cute moments, vi’s got one point up in this chap but we’ll see how that’ll go…

“i know who you are.”

your eyes persist in hers: as if trying to burrow yourself inside them and make yourself known.

vi, irritated as is, raises her brows and shakes her head; urging for you to elaborate. you have no idea where your boldness came from, but you find yourself continuing.

“PinkSage. y-you’re PinkSage, i watch you all the time i—“ vi’s face does a whole u-turn, the colour draining from her face.

“hold on, shut the fucking door first!” she hisses frantically. you flinch into obeying her. when you turn back around, your heart sinks at the disgusted look on vi’s face. maybe you hadn’t thought this one through.

“the fuck were you thinking? saying that shit whilst your parents are sleeping right there?” she whisper-scolds, storming towards you. you back away until you’re up against your door. yeah… what exactly were you thinking was going to happen? for your favourite cam-girl to immediately get on her knees and start eating you out? of course this moment hadn’t gone as you expected.

“huh? you just gonna stand there like a dumbass after revealing that shit? you of all people?” vi continues, her voice raising. she’s so enraged! as if it’s your fault that the woman you’re supposed to idolise happened to stay in your house. it’s only a fucked-up coincidence. your lips quiver as you find your voice.

“you— you’re being too loud.” are the only words that you can think of to say. vi stares at you in disbelief.

“… my parents are sleeping after all, right?” you mutter, looking away. vi is scowling so much she may as well pop a vein.

“hah. you’re a sick fucking freak.” she laughs dryly, shaking her head incredulously. though your gaze flicks up to her; bewildered and hurt, you’re not just going to let her talk down on you like this. not when what vi does is worse.

“you spread your legs for, like, a million pervs online. i don’t think you have the right to talk.” you snap whilst your voice trembles. here’s to thinking the world of PinkSage…

“pervs including your dull ass.” vi scoffs.

“watch your mouth, unless you’d like to sleep in the streets.”

“oh yeah? and what would you explain to your parents?” vi’s lips twitch into a grin, “mommy, daddy! kick vi out because i jerk off to her online but she’s being mean to me in real life!” she mocks, her voice lilting into a higher-pitched tone. your instinct is to push her in order to shut her mouth. vi only stumbles a little, but she glares at you as if you’ve thrown tomato juice all over her white top.

“fuck you.” you’re about to leave until something comes over you, feeling compelled to say one last thing. let her sit with this shit.

“and for your information, last time you streamed? you orgasmed to my name. your_user? yeah, that was me.”

you relish in the way vi’s expression mellows into one of astonishment. she’s dumbfounded and silent.

“sleep with that, bitch.” you spit, hastily slipping back to your room. you would’ve slammed the door if it wasn’t going to wake your parents up. your mother sleeps with one eye open and any noise would have her rising from her bed as if she’s a vampire.

once you make it back to your room, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. you’re trembling: entire body buzzing from head to toe with adrenaline and fury.

two steps closer to your bed and you feel a glob of tears swell in your throat, shooting up to your eyes. they are quick to rivulet down your cheeks like a torrent, and you intake a shuddering breath, coated with phlegm. afraid of vi hearing you next door, you immediately cover your mouth.

you jump into your bed, too arrogant to admit that the reason why you’re sobbing in your pillow is because you’re upset. you’re fucking pissed is what you are, embarrassed that you even said anything — and that vi had the gall to respond like that. whereas a week ago you would’ve praised PinkSage as if she were a saint, you’re sitting here wondering who the fuck this woman thinks she is.

of course famous people are dickheads in real life. you should’ve expected this. you fiercely wipe your tears, yanking your covers over your head. at least you were able to have the last word. you think about the look on her face, hoping she feels just as stupid as you do.

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it’s the morning that’s downright awful. you woke up too early, and now you’re forced out of your will to sit with your family and vi to eat breakfast.

your parents are trying so hard to impress her and you hate it. they’ve even gone the extra length of setting a table in your backyard, spread neatly over the stone ground. you don’t remember there being this much food in your house, let alone the gingham cloth fanned over the table. as if this breakfast is a special occasion. they must think vi is a goddamn prodigy! they find it to be groundbreaking how can she be oh so sweet volunteering for animals and taking care of them, and how she works out a lot and that tattoo on her face…

you chew your food slowly, glaring daggers at her as she compliments your mother’s cooking with her mouth full. meanwhile you would’ve gotten scolded for doing that! you’re being petty and stifling: insanely moody in this delicate summer morning. how could you not? you were in tears because of her audacity last night!

you bet if your parents found out what vi really does, your dad wouldn’t suggest playing basketball with her, and your mother wouldn’t be asking her all these stupid, prodding questions. ones like, “vi, do you have a boyfriend? o-or a girlfriend! if that’s what you prefer?”

you two make eye contact then. a split second, but it was palpable like an electric current zipping up your spine. you’re the first to look away; suddenly interested in swirling your fried egg around, smearing the yolk.

“nah. not interested in that stuff.” she replies dismissively, cool as a cucumber, because everything about her is cool! peachy! you prick your bacon with your fork hard, bringing it up to your lips as you flicker a glance at vi once more. since she’s not paying attention anymore, your eyes decide to fixate on the slope of her nose, shimmering from the light mixed with shadows that are dancing from the leaves above.

vi mutters something indignantly to your father, something you don’t hear because she suddenly steps on your foot under the table. hard. you accidentally let out a gasp that’s a little too loud, obliging everyone else to stop what they’re doing to glance up at you. they definitely forgot that you were even here. you glare at vi, who’s looking away as if she hadn’t just done that on purpose. are we suddenly little kids now? did she wake up completely overturned? ready to be an upbeat ray of sunshine after rudely shutting you down last night?

“everything okay?” dad raises a brow. vi only pretends to be curious, furrowing her brows and pouting, a faint jeering expression for your eyes only. what is she trying to play at? this isn’t just mere playfulness. this is something else.

“yeah, fine.” you murmur. you’re ready to push your chair back and leave until you hear your mother.

“oh, y/n can take you. she knows her way around the area better than any of us.” you freeze.

“what?” you brow quirks into a look of foul disdain. especially because vi looks like a grinning dog at your mother’s suggestion.

“you guys can even take the bikes!” dad chimes in enthusiastically. you want the skies above to open up and take you away. right here, right now.

“but—“

“i would love to go with you.” vi beams. that wretched look on her face, full of mischief and lies. the sun on her face isn’t exactly helping either. it’s all a cruel taunt: the way it kisses her face, the way it highlights her plush lips curved into that sweet, deceitful smile. she could be the sun herself… if she wasn’t so obnoxious. yet you find yourself relenting, giving a speck of yourself away to the woman who gets under your skin. you force yourself to stare at the wooden ridges of the table instead of the sunlight dancing on vi’s features.

“…fine. where to?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

the lazy july sun is beating down on you mercilessly. vi’s wearing a baseball cap, but you? you were too pissed off and stubborn to listen to your mother’s advice on wearing a hat. so now you’re suffering.

you’re steering down the tree-lined dirt track with your bike. though it’s so damn hot, you really do appreciate the beauty that summer brings along: how everything appears so bright and awake. you won’t pretend that it can’t be suffocating however, especially when you have a certain pink-haired someone riding a bike behind you, distinctly aware of her eyes boring down your back.

vi slightly quickens so she’s right beside you, you side-eye her.

“who says that theres space for the both of us?” your words may as well have a double meaning. vi grins. there is actually enough space, you just don’t want her next to you.

“i did. you’re so sweaty you’re glowing by the way.”

“aw, thank you.” you sneer at her before picking up the pace.

“hey, wait! i was fucking around!” she chuckles, following you down the road.

you guys ride until you’re in the city: bustling with people and markets. mothers are dragging their screaming kids, men are oozing with sweat; grumbling as they push past people. you’re jealous of those passing by that are able to fan their faces. vi parks her bike, but you don’t.

“well, it has been lovely escorting you.” you mutter sarcastically, gripping the handlebars.

“what? you’re not staying? what makes you think i know my way around?” vi counters. she looks so puzzled, like a puppy. you swallow, seeming to crumble just a little more when you look at her face for too long.

“um, i didn’t know you wanted a tour… but fine.”

you two walk along the markets. vi has quite some time before she’s called in for work so she wanted to familiarise herself with the city beforehand. at first, you guys hardly talk, simply following vi as she wanders about instead: watching as her eyes glint at the vintage trinkets and antiques they sell in stalls.

you feel like a clamshell stalling quietly behind her, as she eagerly chats with quite literally anyone. she’s so extroverted! it’s begrudgingly interesting watching her communicate, her delivery of words smooth and clear, making anyone hang onto her words like rope.

there’s too many people in this narrow path, and too much pushing. you don’t want to lose yourself in the crowd, so you helplessly tug on vi’s sleeve. vi glances back.

“you good?” she keeps walking with you continuing to use her sleeve as leverage. it’d be a mess if you guys were to randomly stop now, with this sea of people that have clearly got places to be.

“yeah, i just don’t wanna lose you.” you reply, realising too late how weird that just sounded. vi, jovial as she already has been, only smiles wider. you quickly back-pedal.

“m-my parents would kill me if i were to lose our guest, you know?”

“here.” you all but expected for vi to lace her fingers into yours, holding your hand as you continue to slink through the masses of people. why is she being like this? was last night completely erased from her head, or does she just not care that much? you stare at the back of her head, as if that’ll give you answers. you secretly enjoy the warmth of her hand, subtly pressing your palm further into hers. vi doesn’t notice. good.

you guys find yourself in a music shop. this, after all the other markets and shops you’ve visited, finally has captured your keen interest. you come here all the time, the main source of all your cds in your room.

your eyes sparkle when your fingers stumble across one you’ve always wanted. limited edition, and it has a holographic cover too! how sick is that?

however, the excitement quickly fades when you remember that because you were stuck in your cloud of fitful anger, you ended up forgetting your wallet at home. you palm your pockets, making sure it miraculously doesn’t just so happen to be there… but nope. nothing.

“boo.” you feel the hotness of her mouth hard by your ear before you even register anything else. you squirm away, glowering at her only to be met with a cheeky smile back. vi’s already got a whole bag of stuff! how nice that must be.

“you gonna buy that?” vi points her gaze at the cd in your hands. you slot it back in the genre section. “i don’t have money, left it at home.” you mumble.

vi snorts, “you’re a real smart one, ain’t ya?”

“shut up. go pay for that and i’ll wait outside.” you grumble, practically storming out the door. you’ve never met anyone quite like vi. she’s so playful, and stupid and sweet, hot and mean all at the same time: getting under your skin in the worst way imaginable. the memory of PinkSage feels like it’s slipping from your fingers like sand.

vi comes back a moment later, smacking a cd down in your hands and walking ahead like nothing happened. you stare at her confusedly, but your eyebrows quickly rest in realisation as you gaze down at the cd. it’s the same one you wanted. your stomach betrays you by fluttering and then churning intensely.

“hey.” you call out, making vi stop.

“what’s your deal? why’d you buy this for me?” you grip the cd, heart beating like a live wire. vi turns around and walks closer to you. branches are singing from the breeze, seagulls are cawing, but you can’t hear anything. not when your full focus is on her. not when she’s walking so close it’s as if she’s going to step right through you.

“‘cause i saw how much you wanted it. you were gleaming.” she shrugs. how casual she must be, whilst your heart is pounding to the rhythm of her syllables. vi-o-let. why must you treat me this way?

“it’s no big deal.” she stares at you blankly up and down. you point your view downwards, focusing on the ladybug that’s started to crawl on your shoe. a kind respite from vi’s torturous gaze.

“why… why are you being so nice? after wh-what happened last night?” curse your sudden nervousness.

vi might as well close the gap between the pair of you, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to direct your gaze on her. oh, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

“because you’re my biggest fan.” vi stretches out her words, soft and punishing. this godforsaken woman… you could quite literally die on her feet. your brain short-circuits and then switches off. especially when you witness vi’s gaze flickering to your lips. your breathing quickens, and it feels like your body isn’t yours anymore. you may as well be a floating bubble.

until vi takes her hat off and puts it on your head instead, patting it. “come on, let’s skedaddle. you don’t think our bikes got stolen, do you?” she jogs ahead, whilst you stand here like a dumbass, the cd lying limply in your hands.

this is a brutal penance worser than last night. vi did that on purpose, to see your reaction, and now that she’s got her fill, she’s going back to pretending as if nothing happened. how unsparing. how cruel.

you force yourself to drag your feet, one feet after the other towards vi. your head is lagging behind, still stuck on her touch.

a/n: some of u might hate me for this 😅😅👅👅👅 but oh my god u guys are in a DOOZY for chapter three i’m literally trembling thinking about writing it ughhhfhdhhd once again lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist but also some of u guys need to check that ur mentions are on or else i can’t tag! :< anywhooo sorry that this chapter was a little shorter but did anyone else clock the cmbyn tea…

taglist: @marvelwomenarehot0 @ghgygd @jupitism @reneesub @cotrill09 @itzsky82 @elliesbabygirl @adora-moonshine @maxinephobia @ch3sire-blu3 @krilara @perrzs @thankynext @zaunite-516 @eren-luvr @cpt-prices-leftnipple @goticapomposa @lolitalovess @moonchildcovenxx @spicedcherrylolli @mystar-girl57 @mar1posita @avonnimimi @kirajess @caitvisgirl @heyy-lovey @antobooh @jajsnjz @beachaddict48 @aceywaycy @sleepingwasp @elliezlils11utt @vincinnamontoast @runawaybaby3 @h0n3yf0rlif3 @iluvwomensm

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for. 

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving. 

He manages to steal himself. 

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you. 

Suppose you were still settling in. 

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you. 

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes. 

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused. 

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way. 

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it. 

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you. 

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place. 

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.” 

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…” 

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.” 

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his. 

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut. 

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here. 

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[josiebelladonna]

^that last one made me think of stranger things. Remember back in 2022 how fucking ubiquitous, pervasive, and inescapable that season was (and to the point it was starting to piss me off because none of the kids look like kids anymore, it was sneaking into tags it had no business sneaking into, and it felt like it was becoming more about the music than… actually being watchable and having a memorable storyline, god forbid—granted, it was one of the best soundtracks in a long time, but it came as a bonus in the first two seasons, so that’s not the point)? Now, I’ll see some offhand fics here and there in the fanfic tags, but that’s about it—add to this, everything I see about this final season is, um… don’t get your hopes up. In other words, I fully expect there to be an avalanche of fix-it fics and more fics surrounding Eddie Muenster whatever his name is once the season hits, and then it’ll disappear again.

I guess last year there was a rebirth of the House, M.D. fandom, a fandom which I didn’t even know existed when I was watching that show when it was going and even when it ended back in 2012. Key phrase there is “last year”: I haven’t seen anything about it since like November.

Dan and Phil is another one. I don’t have any idea who they are (I could never get into YouTubers) but every other post on my dash now is about them, and all I can think is “I won’t see them two months from now.”

You also have the strange case of me: start a previously not-catalogued fandom from the ground up and it goes well for a few months, and then something happens to me where I need to speak out, and then all of a sudden POOF! Everyone loses respect and I feel like I have to leave after a time, even if I’m still very much in the zone—especially if I’m still very much in the zone. “Ew, no, she’s obsessed and delusional and unstable, let’s start our own hub in another place and do better than her.” Yeah, and then your bullshit ____ x reader fics from last summer fall by the wayside whereas one of my longfics which I started back in 2022 is still rolling because I’m not callous enough to do it for spite.

They cannibalize the fandom and also the people who make it. They treat it like it’s a thing to be consumed and given to their peers, hence the popularity of the “reader insert” fanfic (which I hate with a passion for this reason), and someone like me, someone who’s actually a fan, is seen as a psychopath, not realizing that this is killing fandom and making the “creator” feel (ab)used. I soldier on because I’m a fan and I love the men involved, dammit.

More used feelings by calling me a “creator”, too, as that is a word that is thrown around way too lightly and shortchanges someone like me by glossing over our craft. I’m an artist and a writer and a baker, I am NOT a creator.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 22 - every word

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst, sorry this is more fic i had to get it out

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you had just settled down for the evening, having spent the day with kie you were feeling happy and ready to unwind for bed, until you heard a knock on your door.

a wave of panic rushed over you, as the knocking only increased in desperation.

you got up and looked out the window, just to see:

rafe.

what the fuck was he doing here.

you stood there, frozen in your position with your heart hammering in your chest.

another knock. louder this time.

“y/n, please open the door.”

your fingers twitched at your sides, reaching for the door knob.

how fucking dare he show up here after everything?

you yanked the door open so fast he took a step back, eyes widening slightly at your appearance.

you looked good, and from the way his gaze flickered over you, you knew he saw it too.

“what the fuck do you want, rafe?”

his jaw tensed, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “y/n." he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. “can we just—can we talk? please?”

“talk?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. "now you want to talk? after you've seen me doing good?"

rafe’s eyes darkened, his whole body tensing. “y/n, it’s not what you think.”

you shook your head, letting out a laugh. “it never is, is it?”

his jaw twitched, struggling to keep his composure. he wasn't expecting you to be angry. “that picture—”

“don’t.” you held up a hand. “i don’t want to hear it.”

he stepped closer, his voice dropping. “it’s not what it looked like.”

you let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to meet his sad gaze. “you think that changes anything?” your voice wavered, but you steadied it. “you didn’t call, rafe. you didn’t text. not once.”

his lips parted like he wanted to argue, "you broke up with me. what was i supposed to do?"

“you let me sit in that heartbreak alone,” you whispered, voice laced with so much anger it nearly scared you. “you didn't even try. and then i wake up to you kissing another girl?"

rafe shook his head quickly. “i was drunk, y/n-"

“no.” you clenched your jaw, gripping the door like it was the only thing keeping you steady. “let me finish. you don’t get to show up here and act like you give a shit. you don't get to release this fucking song like it'll win me back."

his eyes searched yours, something breaking in his expression. “i do give a shit,” he said, voice softer now, almost desperate. “i still- that song, i meant every word.”

“no.” you stepped back, “i don’t want to hear it.” tears threatening to spill. "you didn't even fight for me." you whispered.

rafe's heart dropped at that, he took another step forward, his voice, desperate. “y/n, please. i messed up. i know i did. but you have to believe me, that song, that was real. we were real. everything you think happened, didn't happen. i only ever wanted you, only ever loved you. fuck, still love you.”

your chest ached, like he was physically pulling at the wound he left in you. part of you wanted to believe it. but another part, the part that still felt the sting of betrayal, the part that had spent weeks crying over him, knew better.

“i don’t care.” the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

his face fell those words punching him in the stomach. “yes, you do.”

you swallowed, you couldn't look at him. “you let me go.”

his lips parted, but no words came out. he tried to step closer, take your hand in his. you almost let him.

tears started to well up in rafe's eyes, and the sight made you want to break.

"why did you kiss her rafe? did i mean that little?" you questioned, voice shaking.

"no y/n, that isn't it." he started.

"then what is it?"

"i was so drunk."

"i know you were, i've already told you that isn't an excuse." anger burning inside you again.

"no y/n, i kissed her because-" his breath catching in his throat.

"spit it out rafe." your frustration rising.

"i thought it was you."

and just like that, the anger disappeared.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: i'm not done breaking your hearts just yet

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy  @pogueprincesa @stylestarkey @sodapopwaldor @hannaa20002000 @stelleduarte @davinashifts333

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[amourquinn]

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 [18+]

quinn hughes x fem!reader wc. 1k

Quinn barely said a word when he walked through the door.

You had been waiting for him, curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, watching the post-game highlights. You could tell before he even spoke that it had been a rough night. The Canucks had lost in overtime, and Quinn looked absolutely wrecked—his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with frustration.

“Hey, handsome,” you said softly, pushing the blanket off your lap as you stood up.

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, angel.”

You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest. His body was still warm from the game, his muscles tight with tension.

“I’m sorry about the loss,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his sternum.

Quinn exhaled, his arms coming around you. “Yeah. Me too.”

He didn’t say much more. He didn’t have to. You could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. His team had fought hard, but it wasn’t enough. And for Quinn, the weight of the loss was always heavier. He never let himself off the hook, no matter how well he played.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His expression was hard, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was still in his suit, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, his tie hanging loose around his neck.

You reached up, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

Quinn shook his head. “Not really.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Wanna sit down, at least?”

He let out a tired chuckle, his hand resting on your hip. “Yeah, that I can do.”

You guided him to the couch, pushing him down gently. Quinn sighed as he leaned back against the cushions, his legs spreading slightly as he rolled his neck, trying to shake off the tension.

You stood between his legs, your fingers toying with the hem of his tie. “You know,” you said slowly, your voice soft but playful, “I could help you relax.”

Quinn’s eyes flicked up to yours, and for the first time that night, you saw something besides frustration. His lips quirked slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your hands moving to his tie, loosening it completely before slipping it from around his neck. “You always take care of me,” you murmured, leaning down, your lips brushing his jaw. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Quinn exhaled sharply, his hands settling on your waist. “Fuck, Y/N.”

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before sinking to your knees in front of him.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him, your hands moving to his belt. “Let me make you feel better, baby.”

Quinn’s eyes darkened, his fingers twitching against your waist. He nodded twice, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yeah, angel. Go ahead.”

You smirked, undoing his belt with practiced ease, then popping open the button of his dress pants. He lifted his hips slightly, letting you pull them down just enough to free him.

He was already hard.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slowly, watching as his jaw tightened, his breath coming out in shallow puffs.

“Shit,” Quinn muttered, his head tilting back against the couch. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You giggled, then leaned forward, running your tongue along his length, teasing him.

Quinn groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. “No teasing, Y/N. Please.”

You smiled, then took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.

Quinn cursed, his grip tightening. “Fuck, angel, just like that.”

You set a steady rhythm, your hand stroking the base of him while your mouth worked the rest. You looked up through your lashes, watching as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes heavy with lust.

“God, you’re so fucking good at this,” Quinn groaned, his hips jerking slightly.

You hummed around him, making him moan. His hand tightening in your hair as you took him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat.

“Shit,” he rasped, his free hand gripping the couch. “I’m close.”

But before he could finish, he pulled you off.

You blinked up at him, your lips swollen, a strand of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. “Quinn?”

He smirked, breathless, his eyes dark. “You didn’t really think I’d let you finish me off without fucking you first, did you?”

Your stomach flipped.

Before you could respond, he tugged you up onto his lap, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned you over him.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered, his voice low, commanding.

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, reaching under the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie—and slipping your panties down your legs.

Quinn groaned at the sight. “Fuck, Y/N.”

You straddled him fully, lining yourself up before slowly sinking down onto him, taking him inch by inch.

You both moaned at the feeling.

“Gosh,” Quinn muttered, his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered, bracing your hands against his chest. “You’re so big, Q.”

Quinn groaned, his hands guiding you as you started to move.

You rolled your hips, slow and deliberate, watching as Quinn’s head tilted back, his lips parting in a silent moan.

“That’s it, sweetness,” he murmured, his grip tightening. “Ride me.”

You picked up the pace, bouncing on his cock, taking him deep.

Quinn was wrecked beneath you, his hands roaming under your hoodie, squeezing your waist, your ass, your thighs. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned. “So perfect.”

You whimpered, the pleasure building, your body burning with heat. “Quinn—”

“I know, angel,” he panted, thrusting up to meet your movements. “Come for me.”

With one more roll of your hips, you shattered, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

Quinn followed moments later, his grip bruising as he spilled into you, a deep, broken moan leaving his lips.

You stayed like that for a moment, your bodies pressed together, your breathing heavy.

Finally, you collapsed against his chest, completely spent.

Quinn chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “You really do take care of me, angel.”

You grinned against his skin, snuggling closer. “Always.”

© amourquinn

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[harrysfolklore]

So since the Oscars are happening next week I wanted to ask if you could please write something about charles leclerc and actress!reader where she's been nominated many many times before but never won (kind of like saoirse ronan) but this time she finally breaks the curse and win her first Oscar and Charles being just proud husband

u know you can always count on me for a charles x famous!reader fic and honestly i loved this one 🥺 i hope you like ittt

The Dolby Theatre buzzes with anticipation as you sit between Charles and your co-star. This scene is familiar - the sixth time you've been nominated, the same butterfly-inducing wait during the Best Actress category. Your first nomination came when you were just twenty-three, and now at thirty, you've earned the title of 'most nominated actress without a win.'

Charles has been there for four of those nominations, watching you smile gracefully through each loss. You remember how devastated he was last year - more than you, even - when you lost for what critics had called 'the performance of the decade.' He'd held you all night, whispering about how the Academy didn't deserve you anyway.

Tonight, though, feels different. Maybe it's the way Charles keeps pressing soft kisses to your temple, or how he hasn't stopped playing with your wedding ring - a nervous habit he picked up during particularly tense races.

"Mon coeur," he whispers as the Best Actor category wraps up, "no matter what happens, you're already the winner in my eyes. But tonight... tonight feels like magic, no?"

You're gripping Charles's hand so tightly you might be cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't seem to mind. Your heart is pounding as Emma Stone opens the envelope on stage, the same way it has during the previous ceremonies where you'd left empty-handed despite the nominations.

Charles leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens," he whispers, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hand.

"And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to..."

Charles's grip tightens imperceptibly. You feel him holding his breath alongside you.

"YN!"

For a moment, you're frozen. The applause sounds distant, like you're underwater. Then you feel Charles's hands on your face, see his beaming smile through your blur of tears.

"You did it, mon coeur!" he exclaims, his own eyes glistening as he pulls you into a kiss. "You finally did it!"

You're trembling as you stand, Charles helping you up. He's looking at you the way he does after winning a race - no, even more intensely than that. Like you've just won every championship in existence.

The walk to the stage feels surreal. You can hear the announcement echoing: "This is YN's sixth nomination and first win..." Through your tears, you see the standing ovation, catch glimpses of familiar faces who've been on this journey with you.

Your hands shake as you accept the Oscar, its weight both foreign and familiar after years of dreaming about this moment. You take a deep breath, looking out at the sea of faces until you find those green eyes that have been your anchor through every high and low.

"Wow," you begin, your voice trembling. "They say sixth time's the charm, right?" The audience laughs warmly. "I've had this speech written in my head since I was a little girl playing pretend with my mom's hairbrush, but now that I'm here, those words don't seem enough."

You pause, gathering yourself. "To the Academy - thank you for not giving up on me. To my incredible director who trusted me with this role that scared me as much as it thrilled me. To my amazing co-stars who pushed me to dig deeper, be braver."

Your eyes find Charles again, who's watching you with such pure adoration it makes your heart swell. "To my husband, who has sat through more award shows than F1 races this year so far, who runs lines with me even though he says my accent is better than his, who believes in me more than I believe in myself - ti amu. You've watched me practice acceptance speeches in our kitchen, held me through the disappointments, and somehow made me feel like a winner every single time. You told me once that in racing, it's not about how many times you don't make the podium, it's about never stopping until you do. Well, my love, we finally made it to the top step."

You can see Charles openly crying now, nodding proudly through his tears. "To my parents who let their little girl dream big, to my team who've been with me through every 'maybe next year,' to every young actor who's been told 'not yet' - keep going. Your time will come."

Looking down at the golden statue in your hands, you smile through your tears. "And finally, to every person who's ever felt like they're always the runner-up, who's heard 'better luck next time' so many times they've lost count - this is for you. Because sometimes the longest waitings lead to the sweetest victories. Thank you, thank you so much."

Later, at the Vanity Fair after-party, Charles hasn't let go of your Oscar once. He's been carrying it around, showing it off more proudly than any of his race trophies.

"My wife," he keeps saying to everyone who'll listen, his accent thick with emotion, "she's brilliant, no? I told everyone she would win. I knew it."

"Charles," you laugh, watching him polish the statue with his pocket square for the third time. "You're going to wear it out."

"Non, I'm protecting it. It's very precious." He looks at you with those soft green eyes. "Like you."

You lean into his side, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm around your waist. "You know what this means, right? Now we both have something gold to polish obsessively."

He chuckles, finally setting the Oscar down to pull you closer. "Oui, but unlike my trophies, this one was a long time coming." His expression softens. "You deserved this years ago, mon coeur."

"Well," you say, straightening his bowtie, "someone once told me that the sweetest victories are the ones you have to fight for."

"Sounds like a wise man," he grins.

"He's alright," you tease. "Bit of a show-off though. Keeps trying to steal my Oscar's spotlight."

Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Never. Tonight is all yours, my love. Though..." he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might need to win another race soon. Can't have you being the only champion in the household."

You reach up to wipe a smudge of your lipstick from his cheek. "Race you to the next gold trophy?"

"Deal," he says softly, pulling you into a proper kiss. "But you've already won the most important race."

"Oh? Which one is that?"

His smile is tender as he touches his forehead to yours. "The race to my heart."

"That was terrible," you laugh, but you're already pulling him closer.

"Terrible but true," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, shall we go home? I need to practice my 'proud husband watching his wife's Oscar-winning performance' face for when we rewatch your movie for the hundredth time."

"You love that movie."

"I love you," he corrects.

And as you watch him carefully wrap your award in his suit jacket for the journey home, you think that maybe this victory is sweeter than you imagined - not because of the golden statue, but because of the golden heart beside you who never stopped believing it would happen.

[archangeldyke-all]

omg hi angel!! I just saw the gym teacher Sev x English teacher reader thing and idk if this was just my middle/high school experience, but I remember at my school during pep rallies sometimes, teachers would divide up into teams and play a sport against each other (usually football or basketball, sometimes softball) as a fun thing to get everyone excited. Sometimes it'd be teachers against students too if you wanna go that route. I dunno maybe you could write something where reader and Sevika are preparing for that?

Maybe a reader who's clumsy/not well versed in sports who already has a somewhat flirty relationship with Sevika asking Sev to help train her alone/teach her about whatever sport theyre going to play so she doesnt embarass herself in front of the entire staff and student body? They could have a whole competitive-flirting thing going on during the one on one training where they end up doing some cheesy shit like stumbling over one another and kissing while they're on the ground lol

KENNIE THIS IS SOOOOOOOOO CUTEEE

men and minors dni

"babe, you're supposed to kick it to me." sevika giggles.

you huff and stomp your foot, stooping over to grab a stick from the field and toss it at your girlfriend. "that's what i tried to do!" you whine. sevika giggles, easily dodging the stick and kicking the ball back to you.

"i can't believe i'm dating somebody who can't even pass a soccer ball."

"yeah, well, i'm dating somebody who refuses to read anything published before 1950--"

"they write so old-timey, i can hardly understand them!" sevika whines, starting up the rant she's perfected in her time with you. you giggle and approach your girlfriend, kicking the ball from its spot between her feet and taking its place. sevika wraps her arms around your waist, smiling down at you. "you're done practicing already?" she guesses.

you giggle and stand on your tiptoes to kiss your girlfriend. she sighs against your lips.

sevika dragged you out to the park today as an attempt to 'train' you for the big students vs. teachers soccer game coming up in a month. in previous years, you've stayed on the sidelines with the other un-athletic teachers, laughing and gossiping and handing out ice packs to your injured co-workers and students. sevika's convinced to get you off the bleachers and onto the field this year, swearing that now that she's your girlfriend, some of her athleticism has to have rubbed off on you.

"i packed a picnic basket in the car... we can set up under that little group of trees?" you ask, blinking sweetly up at sevika. she rolls her eyes and picks up her soccer ball.

"you're lucky you're cute." she huffs, shaking her head as she starts walking you toward the car. you giggle.

"i made your favorite."

"meatball sandwiches?" sevika asks, her eyes lighting up a bit. you grin and nod.

"packed extra napkins too." you say. sevika laughs and kisses your temple.

"so when i asked you to come to the park for training today, you had your own plan this whole time?" she asks. you grin.

"well, duh. did you really think i'd be kicking around a soccer ball for more than thirty minutes?"

"fuck, the teachers are never gonna beat the kids." sevika whines as you open up the car. you giggle, pulling the basket out as she stores all her soccer gear.

"i don't know why you ever think you will, babe. you're a buncha forty year olds playing against kids whose primary food source is energy drinks."

"between me, ran and vander we've got a solid defensive side! we just need somebody fast. with good aim."

"and you thought that would be me?" you tease again.

sevika giggles as she helps you spread out the picnic blanket. "maybe not. maybe i just wanted to see you sweaty and panting." she says with a wink.

you laugh as you sit down on the blanket, dragging sevika to sit next to you. "i can think of much better ways to get sweaty with you than playing soccer, baby." you say. sevika raises a suspicious eyebrow at you.

"last time you said that we spent our saturday in your classroom building bookshelves."

you giggle. "well, we were sweaty weren't we?"

sevika shakes her head and pushes the basket out of the way, before she tackles you and pins you to the blanket. you grin up at her as she gazes down at you. "so lucky you're cute." she mumbles from above you.

you giggle. "are you gonna kiss me or are you just gonna stare?"

sevika rolls her eyes and tries to hide her smile as she ducks down to press her lips to yours. you can feel the curve of her lips against yours, though.

and just as you start to thread your fingers through her hair, the bird noise and wind surrounding you is interrupted by a shriek.

you both jump, and when you sit up on the blanket you make direct eye contact with jinx and ekko, both wearing a pair of rollerskates on their feet and horrified looks of disgust on their faces.

"it's sevika?!" jinx squeals from the sidewalk, not even bothering to greet you.

"i told you you'd never guess." you say with a shrug.

"you're supposed to call me 'coach--'"

"oh janna-- ekko, hold my hair, i'm about to be sick."

ekko snorts, pulls his girlfriends braids into his grasp, and then waves at the pair of you with his free hand. "hey teach. coach. beautiful sunday, isn't it?" he asks awkwardly.

beside you, sevika bursts into giggles.

kofi

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! First of all, I love your work so much, you have me crying and kicking my feet at the same time.

I'd like to put in a request for a plus-sized reader? If that's something you can do. Something about yearning from afar? She's so sweet and Sev's so not. She's worried she'd taint the pure soul she watches from across the bar only to find out the lamb wants the wolf just as bad.

(I low-key just want some plus-sized rep :/)

SUCH A CUTE REQ AAA also, “the lamb wants the wolf just as bad” WHAT A LINE HELLO??? i hope i did it justice 🙏

i wish i found love

content warning(s): none! just fluff, mutual pining, useless lesbians, mild suggestive content, happy ending

"sometimes i wonder if you'll ever let me in i wonder if i'm ever gonna find somebody i cry and i cry and i cry and i cry out to the heavens why won't you just send me somebody?"

Sevika is sure she is going insane. 

She’d be lying if she said you didn’t catch her eye the moment you walked into the Last Drop that one night. There was something about the way you moved, the ringing song of your laughter that found its way across the room to her ears—a sound she desperately tried to ignore as she scowled down at her card game, puffing away at her third cigarette. She had lost two rounds in a row because she was straining for scraps of the conversation you were in. Trying every possible subtle tactic to find out who you were, where you came from. Cursing the noises of a late night bar that drowned out what you were saying. 

Tonight is like most—there you are, sitting with a new companion on the other side of the bar, perfectly manicured nails tapping idly on the side of your glass as you give the other person a winning smile. When you stand up to order a second drink, Sevika watches your movements and swallows hard. You’re wearing a blouse and pants that hug your figure, showing off every curve in the shifting neon lights of the Last Drop. Making the very air around you look expensive. 

And your eyes. Fathomless yet bright. The innocent curl of your lips when you give the lucky bastard across the table one of those smiles. The secrets sitting in the corners of your mouth. 

Who is she?

“Hey chief,” says Grems, one of her gambling mates. “You’re showin’ all your cards.” 

She glances at him. “Round’s over.” 

“Huh?” 

“You heard me. Clear out.” 

The men exchange glances with one another, but they obey, grabbing up their winnings. Sevika sits back in her chair and lights another cigarette. 

✨—✨

At the bar, you lean closer and beckon to Chuck. He comes over, glancing nervously in Sevika’s direction. Everyone can already see that Sevika has claimed you as hers—they can see the way she watches you, the way she raises her head to attention when she sees you come into the bar. But when he looks over at Sevika, she turns her head away. 

“Chuck,” you say. “Don’t look so scared. She’s staring at me again, isn’t she?” 

“Uh…” 

You give him the irresistible smile you throw at strangers from whom you need information. He falls for it. 

“C’mon, tell me. Who is she?” 

“She…she’s Silco’s right hand,” he stammers. “You know. The Brute.” 

You sigh impatiently. “Gotta give me better than that. What’s her name.” 

“Sevika.” 

“Sevika,” you muse. “Thanks, Chuck.” You pat him on the shoulder and take your drink. You make sure to walk the long way round back to your table, and you can feel Sevika’s grey eyes burn in front of you. Just as you pass her, you tilt your head and let your eyes make contact with hers. Time seems to slow down. She looks at you cooly through the cigarette smoke, but her surprise shows in the way her brows lift slightly. 

Then the moment passes, you sit back down at your table. 

Your companion continues the conversation, but you barely hear a third of what they’re saying. Your thoughts keep wandering over to Sevika, who has left her tab on her table and now disappeared up the stairs. You know for sure she’s interested—she’s been watching you since you first began to frequent the Last Drop—why hasn’t she made a move? 

✨—✨

The truth is that Sevika is scared to approach you. 

That’s right, she thinks to herself, a wry smile on her face as she leans back into the couch in her empty apartment, slightly sweaty after touching herself to you, heart racing in her chest. Sevika of the fucking fissures, scared to talk to a woman as if she's some adolescent. 

She has borne the title Brute of the Underground like an afterthought, something she took for granted, a kind of placard to frame over the blood on her hands. But now it feels like a curse or a jinx, because she can’t think of your soft skin without thinking of the roughness of her own. She wants to feel your body against hers, she wants to kneel and drown in your sweet scent. But then she thinks of your laugh. The way you smile, nose wrinkling. 

How could she ever deserve to receive a smile like that? 

She imagines you recoiling from her, disgust clouding your pretty features. She imagines herself, massive and clumsy—nothing but muscle and scars and callused skin. She compares herself to you in a fantasized mirror and she can’t see a possibility of you ever wanting her the way she wants you. 

One night she is at her usual table, alone for once, making adjustments to her mechanical arm. A glass of whiskey sits among the tools and ashtray. She looks up listlessly as she takes a sip, returns to her work. When she looks up again you’re standing in front of her. 

Sevika nearly chokes. You’ve caught her off-guard, and you can see it. You can’t help but smile at her obvious embarrassment. 

“Mind me sitting here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, you sit down across from her.  

“I work nearby,” you say matter-of-factly. “I was thinking since you come here often as well, maybe we could have a drink together every now and then.” 

“Uh,” says Sevika. 

“Name’s Sevika, right? I’ve gotta run now, but can I claim you tomorrow night?” 

“Um.” 

You take that as a yes. As you walk by her, she can smell the sweet scent of your hair. She doesn’t see the triumphant smile on your face as you leave the bar. She also realizes too late that she never got your name. 

✨—✨

-> thank you @practicalgauntlet for the request! -> dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[sterredem]

Unexpected

Ferrari!driver!Reader x Jason Todd/wayne

Summary The world hates Y/n, but she loves Jason.

Warning slut shaming, hate, not proofread, spelling mistakes

A/N Sorry for the hiatus! Also I guess this kinda turned into a DC crossover? Been kinda into it and then I got this request sooo…… there is no mention of the superhero’s but you can imagine what you want! (Jason’s last name os Wayne)

This was a request!

Instagram

Liked by ScuderiaFerrari, Charles_Leclerc and 583.726 others

Yourusername Almost the start of the season! I’m so exited to finally get in the car and do what I love.

View all comments

User1 why are all het posts so dry??

User2 Ugh why is she even in f1?

User3 huh why? This is so random??

User2 well she’s not even good and the only way she got here is cause she slept with one of the higher ups

User3 huh???!!!

User4 this feels so pr scripted…

User5 she’s so cute tho…

User6 Points!!!

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Instagram

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Y/nPriv wknd dump: 1. Should I post this on main?? 2. Baking for the engineers cause they lovely 3. Readingg 4. My new hat😄 5. Watching Harry Potter 6. A bts from my car!

View all comments

Bsfuser 1. YES 2. You are too nice 3. Always 4. It’s cute! 5. Why wasn’t I invited :( 6. If you invite me than I can see it fr….

Y/nPriv 1. Okayyy 2. No.. 3. Yes 4. Thx love 5. Sorryyyy… 6. …….

Sisteruser y’all are so weird

Sisteruser can you come over and bake for me……?????

Y/nPriv do you only want me to come over so you can have free food?

Sisteruser ………..no…….

Friend1 cutie

Friend2 wait when are you gonna tell me how the gala went??

Y/nPriv soon my love. We should get lunch when I’m back and I’ll tell you about it!

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Podcast

Vironica: Hello everyone, and welcome to a nee episode of Formula One talk!

Sara: Hi guys!

Vironica: So today, we will talk about something that you guys have waited for for quite a while.

Sara: Yes! We will talk about Y/n Y/l/n! She is, currently, the only female driver on the grid, and we don’t know a lot about her, but today we will begin this episode with discussing her and her performance on the track!

Vironica: I couldn’t have explained it better! So if you slept under a rock, or if you are new to f1, this year is the first year in a very long time that a female driver on the grid. That female being Y/n Y/l/n. She made it where she is now quite fast, she is currently 21 and this is her first year on the grid.

Sara: Yes, and that is also basically everything that we know about her. She is a very private person, so the only thing we know is her age, how she got up to f1, a few of her close family, and the things she shows us on instagram. Which is not a lot, and a lot less than that we know about the other drivers.

Vironica: Yes, and I think that that is what started the negative opinion on her. With not a lot known about her, people are, obviously, going to think things. And that is what happened. Because Twitter immediately began spectating a lot of thing, and Sara, you have a few examples.

Sara: Yes, alright, I won’t say who tweeted it for privacy reasons. So here we go! ‘The reason that Y/n is so private is 100 percent because she did some shady things or whatever’ and ‘the only reason we know nothing about Y/n’ real stop shops is cause she never had a real one and only has one night stand like a sl*t’ the next one is ‘Y/n is so weird to me, like she loves all these nerdy things and loves all these geeky things, so how could she possibly be good at driving?’ And the last one ‘there finnaly being a woman on the grid and it being Y/n is such a disappointment, like we finally get some one that can maybe make a difference and it is the girl that is too scarred to say anything, yet alone stand against an entire group of people and speak up’

Victoria: Okay so there are some very mean things said, but there is also a layer of truth to some of it. And also, the only other thing that is known about her is that she loves movies, reading and baking. Which is totally different than formula 1 racing, so that raises the question of if she is really fit for her spot and this life. And a lot of people see her as wierd, we included, because how in the world can a girl that for not care at all about her public appearance, is now a very public figure, more than the other drivers because she is the first women in many years to be on the grid.

Sara: exactly! And then to top it all off, we haven’t really seen her interacting with the other drivers, so it could go both ways, either they all hate her, or there is something going on behind the scenes that we don’t know. And fans have been speculating about how the WAG’s thing about her, with them not saying anything, so would they be jealous, and is there a reason to be? We will be going further into it in this episode along with other things F1!

Comments

F1Fanatic valid tbh

User I think it is kinda mean but some points are valid, because why enter F1 if you don’t want anything from your life public?

User7 I hate girls being mean to girls

Y/nfan why are people so mean tho??

L4fan cause she deserves it…

Hshsh I think this may go a bit far…..

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Liked by WayneJ, Bruce_Wayne and 627.725 others

Yourusername Thank you so much to the Wayne family for inviting me to the gala! It was such an honour to be there

View all comments

WayneEnterprises We are happy that you were there!

User7 WAIT WHAT???

User8 Insane that she was there!!

WayneJ Great to have you here!

User9 crossover from the century

User10 Does this mean they are now a sponsor ooorrr…..

User11 Probably now because otherwise Charles and other Ferrari people would be there…

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Instagram

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Yourusername first race of the season! I am so grateful for this amazing opportunity, and we already have points! This was such an amazing week and I am looking forward to more weeks like this!

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User12

User13

User1

User2

User3

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Article

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Instagram

Liked by Alexandrasaintmleux, Lillymhe and 988.625 others

Yourusername I heard a little rumour….

View all comments

Alexandrasaintmleux I want what you have tho

Yourusername honey you have everything I want

Lilymhe I think I may want to hear it too…..

Yourusername I think I may want to tell you suddenly

OllieBearman wait what. Am I late??

LilyZneimer cant wait to see you!!

Francisca.cgomes DM me please right now

Kimi.antonelli uuuummmmm what is going on??

Kellypiquet I also heard something…. Not sure what it is…

User0 I love how this is not only her confirming the rumours between her and Jason but also silencing the haters and those podcast people and also the other WAG’s backing her up!

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Instagram

Liked by WayneJ, Ferrari and 1.012.523 others

Yourusername @WayneJ sooooo secrets out I guess….. happy anniversary Jason

View all comments

User4 OMG IM DYING WTF

User5 She a gold digger 100%

User6 bro she’s literally a f1 driver that basically means she’s a millionaire

User7 already a power couple

User8 IM FERAL THEY ARE SO HOT HEBHDGWHSBB

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Instagram

Liked by Yourusername, Bruce_Wayne and 2.624.143 others

WayneJ @yourusername already our first anniversary….

View all comments

User9 THEY ARE SO CUTE

WayneDamian bro’s a simp

Bruce_Wayne Be nice to your brother

Timdrake This is how I find out???

Dickgrayson congrats? How could you keep this a secret for one year tho???

User10 ALL THE WAYNE FAMILY IS HERE!!!

User11 OMG FINALLY SOME MORE CONTENT FROM MY FAVOURITE DRIVER!!

User12 I ALREADY LOVE THEM!!

User13 this is actually soooooo cute I CABT ANYMORE

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It might be a bit mixed up but I started writing when the last season was still going on, and I changed it to the current season…

[soleilapproves]

I’m thinking about single dad!toji and a second grade teacher at Megumi’s school:

You’re not Megumi Fushiguro’s teacher per se, just someone who is concerned about him.

Everyone in the school knows about him—the boy was too smart for his own good, showing keen interest in algebra and genetics at the not-so-ripe age of seven. Though he was also infamous for his sarcastic attitude.

Alas, despite his smarts, the government required him to sit through till at least fourth grade so he could skip straight up to the sixth—though even that indicated an underestimation of his mathematical and scientific prowess.

Nobody knows where he gets it from. As far as the school administration knows, the boy lives with his uncle (whose attitude was nothing like his nephew’s.)

The last they’d heard about his father was when Megumi first joined the school. Even then, the only proof they had of his existence was a piece of paper saying that his uncle was also to be considered a guardian. Other than that, the man was a phantom.

That was until Megumi was halfway through second grade. Something had changed in his attitude.

He was ruder than usual: telling his classmates that Santa Claus didn’t exist, ate all the orange flavored candies in the class candy bowl, and superglued his friend’s building blocks so they couldn’t come apart.

His teacher, Nanami, had little to no tolerance for such behavior so he had given up, only sending him to the library for a day’s worth of suspension.

But you knew something was going on. So you held him back after school and had a conversation with him. The boy told you that he had moved in with his father after years of not seeing him and was having a hard time understanding why everything changed.

You knew that you needed to talk to his father to make him realize about his son’s true nature and maybe even help him send his son to a better school where he can find peers similar to him.

So you set up a meeting with him.

Only you never expected Megumi’s father to arrive to the school on a motorbike.

And not just that—the man was tatted from top to bottom like a gangster. Now you understand why Megumi was having trouble adjusting.

—

New serie—who said that? 👁���👁️

[bluemotifofsleep]

Appetite

suna rintarou x reader

- and when he’d kissed you that first time, with all of the hunger of a man at the end of the world indulging in his last meal, you should have seen it as the sign it was.

content: alcohol consumption, swearing, slight dub-con but very slight, smut, unsafe sex, corruption kink, size kink, choking (oops) , plot what plot, inappropriate amount of use of the word “baby” , not beta read

this came from a very decrepit part of my mind, enjoy.

~

“ya look real stiff, ya know. loosen up.”

for atsumu to tell you those words was like asking a fish to breath air. it was wholly against your character to “loosen up”, especially at a party like this one.

you’d been dragged here by the twins, both arguing that “it’s collage! yer gonna miss out on all the fun if ya stay in yer room readin’ books the whole time.” and for the first time, you’d had nothing to negotiate with. you had no upcoming assignments, no papers due to otherwise busy yourself with. and so you’d been dragged.

it was not your scene.

the bustle of the party jostled you every now and then in the unfamiliar kitchen you were standing in. the bass of the music loud enough to drown out your own heartbeat in your ears, the rush of blood that started when you’d entered the place and hadn’t stopped since.

you felt like a dolphin dropped into the sahara desert. a lone imposter amongst the other students your age. the people shouting and frat-flicking and on a completely different planet than you were. you feel entirely alone in your predicament.

you really, really shouldn’t be here.

and it’s not your first party, but most others were small hangouts, things that probably wouldn’t even qualify as parties at all. this one was huge, the sheer number of people making you feel claustrophobic in the small student apartment you were all crammed into. your only saving grace was the twins, who you’d made promise you they wouldn’t ditch your side the whole night.

the twins who are currently bickering on over who can make a better cocktail, even though you’d assured them you didn’t want it regardless. but now atsumu is shoving a red plastic cup smelling strongly of vodka that’s somehow already sticky on the sides into your hands and telling you to “drink up!”.

you… really shouldn’t. last time you drank with the twins all three of you ended up taking turns puking into your toilet, and the hangover the next day was something for the ages. you really shouldn’t.

but alcohol gives you the promise of drowning out this buzz under your skin, the need to hide from all these prying eyes. it’ll ease your tensions a bit, make your mouth looser and enable you to have a decent conversation with someone without the fear of saying something wrong looming over you.

alright, you’ll just have one drink. just one.

well, four cups later and you’d already forgotten your quota. it’d been a while since the last time you drank, so the alcohol made quick work of fucking up your system, leaking into your muscles and making your eyes droop. your thoughts were little clouds floating across your skull, not sticking around long enough for you to worry about them at all.

maybe the music was getting louder, or maybe you just started paying attention to it better. it felt like the bass traveled up through your feet and into your skull, rattling your nerves and adding to the buzz your whole body put out.

you vaguely register that the twins are fighting again, something about grey goose or absolut tasting better. all of it tasted like trash, you wanted to say, but the words got stuck like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth as a chill went up your spine.

someone’s staring.

even in your inebriated consciensness, you can feel eyes on you like a dagger in your back. it manages to slither in before the alcohol can subdue it, tickling up your spine like a snake.

before you can turn around to find the culprit, atsumu is lighting up and yelling “sunarin!” over your shoulder, way too fucking close to your ear in your opinion.

and more like a wild animal than a man, suna rintarou creeps around the side of you and into your vision, and you realized that the feeling of being watched never left.

“where ya been? haven’t even seen ya all night.” it’s osamu speaking now, and you notice that his words are slurring slightly. it makes you feel better that your not the only one fucked up.

“me and gin just got here, i like to show up later to these things.” his voice is like honey in your ears, and for some reason it reaches through your drunkenness and scratches at something gooey inside of your chest. you can’t tell if you like the feeling or not.

“this is sunarin, he’s on the volleyball team with me n’ ‘samu.” atsumu slurs to you, and you want to say “i know, dumbass. i watch you guys all the time” but the words get caught in your throat when suna turns to you, looming over you like a predator.

“i’ve seen you before, in the stands.” the thought of him picking you out of a crowd of strangers scratches at that weird thing inside you, and it makes you feel a bit trapped for some reason.

all that comes out of your mouth is your name, a poor introduction but one nonetheless. the alcohol is making it hard to form thoughts, or maybe it’s just the way suna is looking at you.

when he repeats your name, your ears light up bright hot, blood rushing to your head and making you feel dizzy with his voice.

“oh yeah? sunarins noticed ya.” atsumu waggles his eyebrows stupidly at you, and you didn’t notice he’d put his arm around you but he jostles you side to side like a prize to be won. you want to punch him in the gut.

“ah, there’s gin. let’s go say hi ta him.” osamu says, and then both of your safety blankets are leaving you with this man that you barely know who does weird things to your stomach. you have half a mind to shoot your hand out and grab at osamu before he gets away but you’d feel like a baby if you did, so it says shock still beside you.

when you look up at suna, he’s already looking at you. something you can’t name in his eyes. if you saw it on a wild animal in the woods you’d think you’re about to be eaten alive. but on him? you don’t know what it makes you think. maybe that you should have grabbed osamus arm when you had a chance.

“hey, you doing okay? you look a little out of it.” his words ring out in the space between you, and there isn’t a trace of genuine concern in his voice. it sounds smug to your ears, something too sharp for your drunk brain to register. somehow it feels like a warning. a bright neon sign saying “turn back now” or “wrong way”.

it’s just you. you want to reply to him. it’s just him making you sway slightly from side to side, it’s just him causing the buzzing under your skin, it’s just him clouding your thoughts and making it hard to open your mouth and reply.

“i think i, um, might need some water.” comes out instead, and he smirks like he’s been waiting for you to say that, like your a bug that just crawled under his shoe.

“i’ll get you some.” and then he’s gone, taking with him his suffocating presence that had been slowly squeezing you tighter. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders sinking with it.

who is this guy?

he returns with a glass of water before you can answer your own question. when you reach for it he just shakes his head.

“i’ll do it, so you don’t spill all over yourself.” you want to reply im not that drunk, but then you realize that your hands are shaking, and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, or if it’s-

the cup in his hand descends towards your mouth before you can finish your thought. against your better judgment, you part your lips so he can fit the cold rim of the glass in between them. he puts his hand on your shoulder to steady you, but his thumb creeps upwards towards your neck, dangerously close to your throat, thumbing at the soft skin there. the touch makes tingles shoot out from the point of connection, and you almost forget how to swallow when the water touches your lips.

when the first rush of cold water enters your mouth, you gulp it down greedily. this is normal, right? he’s just helping you, making sure you don’t ‘spill all over yourself’, there’s no other intention behind his actions. but when you look up and meet sunas eyes looking down at you, you almost choke on the water in your throat.

the look is something you can only describe as hungry. you feel like you’re looking into a black hole, something with no end. something you could fall into and never reach the bottom of, free falling with your stomach in your throat, and you can’t tell if your leaning towards it or away from it.

you feel dizzy, partially from a lack of oxygen and partially from his gaze washing over you in a flash of heat. goosebumps prickle up from your skin, an accute awareness in where his hand is sitting on your shoulder.

you grab at his wrist and tug to get him to pull the cup back, because it didn’t seem like he wanted to stop anytime soon, like he was trying to fucking drown you. you gulp the air into your lungs greedily. the feeling in your head gets doubled, a whirling feeling like you can’t tell up from down. luckily his hand is still on you stabilizing you, or you embarrassingly might’ve have fallen.

“all better?” and fuck, you’d missed his voice in the few minutes since he last spoke. the shivers running down your spine are getting addictive, the rush of adrenaline awakening something inside you that’s been dormant for years.

you want to tug him down into you and show him just how much better you’re feeling but you hum out a conformation instead, the vibrations flowing through you and adding to the buzz your feeling.

he gulps down the rest of the water you’d left behind, and you watch his throat swallow greedily. you want to reach out and drag your fingers along it, feel his pulse and confirm he is human and not something sent down from heaven to test your resolve.

he doesn’t break eye contact while he drinks, looking at you parched as if he isn’t drinking water at all. the cosmos’s that are his irises threatening to drink you instead, merge you into one.

it’s getting harder to say that you don’t want that, too.

the only break you get is when he places the empty glass on the counter, and then his gaze is eating you up again, clawing at your nerves. when he breaks eye contact, you realize it’s just to get a better look at you, the whole of you. it feels like you’ve suddenly stripped naked in from of him, shedding your skin and muscle too. giving him unlimited access to your nerves, your heart.

“you sure? you still look out of it.” his words are goading, trying to convince you as much as himself. trying to wriggle into your mind and turn off the switch that lets you have your own thoughts, trying to take control. “you want to go somewhere quiet?”

and as normally innocent the words would be on their own, the look he’s giving you indicates it’s a very important question. life, or death. up, or down. will you sink, or swim?

will he drown you?

just like you took that first sip of alcohol that night, you slip your hand into his waiting one. you choose the path you shouldn’t, but it’s tugging you down regardless.

the face he makes when you do, though, almost makes you regret it. it’s something just past the point of hunger, something a predator makes before they pounce. before you have time to reconsider, he’s dragging you down the dark hallway into a room along the side of it, shutting the door behind you. you can’t tell if he locks it, a thought that tingles along the back of your spine in trepidation.

“you should sit down.” it’s worded like a suggestion but his voice falls flat. instead of waiting for you to make the decision on your own, he backs you with his tall frame and wide shoulders until the back of your legs hit the matress. unfortunately, you don’t have the balance to stay upright so your ass lands on the bed with a bounce, causing him to loom over you even more than he already did.

this entire situation feels like a game of chess, analyzing his moves, but you don’t know if you want to win or lose. should you concede? flick your king over so he can advance?

you dont have to, he’s already moving in. you dont need to give him permission, spread your legs to make room for him, he’s bending down and making room for himself.

kneeling in between your legs, he doesn’t look any smaller, and it’s an insane thought. he’d tower over you laying down.

“i’ve noticed you, at every game you’ve been to.” his hand is reaching around your throat, somehow dwarfing you again in a new way, tilting your head up towards him. “fuck, how could i not.” then he’s squeeeezing his hand ever so slightly with his words, and your eyes are almost fucking crossing at the pressure, the feeling between your legs changing from an ache to a throb.

“with your cute little skirts, barely even covering your ass.” he’s flipping the skirt your wearing now up, flashing your panties and making your cheeks warm even hotter.

“and the way you congratulate the twins after every win, almost makes me jealous.” there’s that feeling again, something hot in your chest that makes you want to run out of here before you lose yourself completely to him. before you get swallowed whole.

but he’s leaning his mouth down to where he has your chin tilted up with his thumb, so even if you wanted to run, your legs turn to jelly underneath you, useless.

and, ah, this is where those hungry gazes come to fruition. because if you thought his eyes were eating you alive, his mouth was devouring you.

your head tilts back against his onslaught despite yourself, your neck losing the ability to keep your head up properly, but he’s squeezing your throat to keep you in place. his other hand makes its way from your thigh to the back of your head, giving him the power to deepen the kiss into something even more decrepit and dangerous.

he licks into your mouth, and it feels like he’s exploring your mind with it, and you fucking mewl.

the kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, not that you had much experience to begin with. should it feel like this? he licks along your gums, unable to get enough of your mouth. should it feel like drowning?

when his hand moves from your neck, it slides down your body. you almost think he’s reaching for your skirt again until he goes back up, under your shirt.

the first squeeze of his big hand on you causes your lips to open against his and you breath a moan into his open mouth. he sucks it in greedily.

“fuck, baby. so fucking sensitive, huh?” just to prove his point, he reaches a thumb under your bra to flick at your nipple, and all you can do is squeeze your legs around him and whimper into the air between you.

he groans, something deep and guttural, and it washes over you in another wave of heat. you want more. you want to hear what other sounds he can make.

all you can express outwardly is another whine when his mouth descends onto your neck. he’s sucking on the skin there, and you feel devoured again. especially when he ads his teeth to the mixture of pleasure, dragging them against your fragile skin while his hand that used to hold the back of your head drops to your panties.

the first swipe of the thumb against the outside of your underwear has any remaining thoughts slipping form your mind. your spine threatens to give out completely underneath you, and you teeter against suna before you fall backwards into the matress.

you make it as far as one breath full of air before he’s following you down, climbing over you and lifting beneath your armpits to slide you further up the mattress, pressing one of his legs in between yours.

when he leans back down to kiss you again, your moan has no where to go while he rubs his thigh against you, his hand still shoved up your shirt.

fuck, you feel overwhelmed. his presence shrouds over you and overrides your nerves, making your limbs feel useless and liquid beside you. when he pulls back to look over you again, he smirks at what you only can imagine is the image of a disheveled mess.

“suna,” jesus, since when does your voice sound so whiny? you can’t worry about it much when you need his mouth back on you, you need his hands everywhere. “please.”

he grins like he’s caught you, something wide and full of teeth.

“please what, baby?” you can feel his hand dragging back up your front, tugging your shirt up with it and letting cold air onto your steaming skin. “need me to go get you some more water?” but he looks like you’d have to drag him off you, no intention of leaving, his question coming out teasing instead of genuine.

fuck, how can you explain what you need from him? need you everywhere, you want to say to him, but he’d probably take that as an opening to tease you again. instead of words, you’ll show him what you need.

despite you arms feeling numb, you drag them up your torso and start unbuttoning your shirt with suna’s hand still tucked underneath. unfortunately, you’re too drunk (yeah, you’ll blame it on the alcohol and not on him) to get the buttons out. fortunately, suna takes pity on you.

not before smirking wolfishly at the blatant display of what he was doing to you, of course.

he makes quick work of your shirt and then his own, tossing them somewhere you scarily cant see and then giving the same treatment to your bra. when you’re bare except for your skirt and panties, he doesn’t give you time to be embarrassed before he’s leaning down and kissing you again.

suna kisses like a man fucking starved, his tongue finding places in your mouth you didn’t even know you had. it makes you so delirious you don’t even realized he’s pushed aside your panties with two fingers. so when he sinks those same fingers into you, you bite down on his lip, hard.

all he does is groan again, in that same deep way that makes you feel a bit lost inside him.

“fuck, baby, you’re sucking me right in.” why did he have to have such a filthy mouth? you want to cover your face with your hands, hide from his hungry gaze. but he’s right, you can hear yourself over the sound of your whimpers, the thick squelch that tells you his fingers are finding no resistance at all against you.

“suna, i need- ah!” before you have the chance to tell him to fucking move he’s curling his fingers expertly against you, finding a spot inside you that makes pleasure shoot out into your arms and legs, causing you to moan unabashedly into the air while your spine arches against him.

fuck, you hope he locked that door earlier.

“you look so good like this under me.” his words don’t even register to you when he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the drag of them against your walls something delicious and addicting.

your eyes are slipping shut in pleasure, your head dipping back against the pillow behind you, but a hand grabs at your jaw and tilts it up again.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he does something particularly wicked with his wrist that has your eyes shooting open and a filthy moan falling from your mouth. “good girl, keep your eyes on me. i’m going to make it all better, okay?.”

make what better? make this fire inside your gut go out? yes, please, you want to say, but all your throat seems capable of doing is whining brokenly.

when his fingers pull out of you, you almost feel like you’re going to cry from the loss. then you hear the sound of his pants unzipping and you don’t have the brain power to miss his fingers when his cock is pressing against your entrance.

when he slides home, it feels like an epiphany. an “aha!” moment that you can’t help but feel tracks back to that first moment you’d felt eyes on you, like this was bound to happen. the second he’d seen you, he’d set your future in stone.

he groans like he’s just tasted water after hours in a desert, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him was something he needed to survive.

it feels like he’s hitting ground zero inside you, striking up the nerves deep inside and causing fireworks to explode in your stomach. you can’t help but let out a gasp when he pulls out half way, and slams back into you twice as hard. you grip onto his shoulders just to feel grounded, just to have something to tether you back down to earth, and he gasps when your nails dig into his skin.

then he’s pulling back, and fucking into you for real. hard thrusts that make you see stars every time they connect, hitting that point inside you that threatens to shatter you in two.

“fuck, baby, this what you needed?” you’re moaning, whimpering in agreement to his words. “that first time you looked up at me, ah fuck, this is what you were begging for, right?” but his words are lost on you, because he’s reached his hand down onto your throat again and starts squeezing.

there’s something devastating building up inside you, something so powerful you feel tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. the pressure on your throat is limiting blood flow to your head, causing a floating sensation that just ads to the fire building in your core.

he reaches down and kisses you again, and you’re fucking gone.

it’s absolute oblivion. something that feels like it tears through you and leaves nothing behind. all you can do is dig your nails harder into his back and chant suna, suna, suna against his lips.

he groans like your cunt clamped down on him hurts, but he just thrusts harder into you, chasing his own end.

when he does, he moans into your mouth, and in your post-orgasm dazed brain you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard. he thrusts one more time, hard and deep into you and then he collapses against you.

you’re spent. your limbs are limp against the mattress, your breathing stuttered, your heartbeat fast and fluttering against your ribcage.

you can vaguely register his lips kissing your collar bone, but your consciousness is starting to leak out of you. a result of your epic comedown, an adrenaline crash that sucked the life right out of you.

just as your eyes flutter closed and the darkness fades in, you hear suna one last time.

“knew from the fucking second i saw you, baby,” and your brain is leaking into oblivion, your thoughts a slew of darkness seeping across the inside of your skull. “that i could make you mine.”

~

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 23 - desperation

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, mentions of alcohol

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"i thought it was you."

those words hung heavy in the air, like a slap to the face.

you blinked, trying to process what he had just said. “what?”

rafe exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching at his sides. “i- i was wasted, y/n. i could barely stand, top said i was mumbling your name all night and then when this girl came up to me, i thought-” his voice cracked, and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “i didn't see her face, she just came up to me and pulled me in. i thought no one else would do that but you. i thought it was you."

you stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. “that's bullshit.”

rafe shook his head quickly. “it’s not. i swear to you, y/n, i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t there.” his voice was desperate now, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “i closed my eyes, and in my head, it was you. it was always you.”

you sucked in a sharp breath, something inside you fracturing. “do you have any idea what it felt like?” your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to keep going. “to wake up, check my phone, and see you with someone else? to have everyone sending me that picture? you made me feel like i was so easy to let go of. like everything between us meant nothing."

he flinched, his whole body tensing.

“because that’s what it felt like, rafe.” your voice finally broke, and the tears spilled over before you could stop them. “you made me feel like i was worth nothing."

his face crumbled. “you're not nothing y/n. i hate myself for making you feel that way. i hate that you think that's how i see you."

you wiped your cheeks, shaking your head. "then how do you see me rafe?"

"i see you as my everything," he took a step closer, "i see you as the most beautiful girl that walks in any room. i see you as the girl who can cheer anyone up in seconds. i see you as the person who makes me a better version of myself. i see me only with you."

you avoided his gaze, not allowing him to see that he was getting to you, “i needed you. i needed you to fight for me, to show me that i wasn’t crazy for loving you.”

rafe took another step closer, eyes pleading. “you were never crazy for loving me.”

“i needed you." you choked out.

his face twisted in anguish. “i’m so fucking sorry.” his voice cracked, a tear slipped down his cheek. “tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this. i'll do anything.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the ache in your chest. but then you heard it—his voice, barely above a whisper.

“y/n… please don’t shut me out.”

you swallowed hard, nails digging into your palms.

he hurt you. he broke you. he let you walk away and didn’t come after you.

but he was here now.

and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t alone in this pain.

your resolve cracked, just a little.

“i don’t know how to do this without you.” his hands twitched at his sides like he was dying to reach for you.

you let him.

his fingers grazed yours, hesitant, like he was scared you’d pull away.

you should have.

but the moment his skin met yours, a shiver ran through you, and every wall you had spent weeks building started to crumble.

rafe’s breath hitched, his grip tightening just slightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. every touch more intimate than anything you'd experienced before.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice thick with emotion. “i’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

your throat burned, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “i don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, swallowing hard. “then let me earn it.”

you searched his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the rafe that was yours. the one who used to make you feel safe. the one who used to play the guitar and sing to you to help you sleep. the one who looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. the one you fell in love with.

you should walk away. you should tell him it’s too late.

but instead, you did the one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t do.

you let him pull you into his arms.

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a/n: sorry this one isn't much smau, but i worked really hard on the writing for this so i hope you guys don't mind

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