infictionalwonderland

[infictionalwonderland]

PROM W/ THE YELLOWJACKETS! —(no crash-modern-au)

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Shauna Shipman. .

- My Shauna would wear a suit, full stop.

- Maybe more like a vest/waist coat situation than blazer but 100% this gay ass bitch is in a suit. Matching with the colour of your attire (dress or suit whatever you’re wearing, the both of you are matching!!!)

- Stuck to you like GLUE

- Like you look so damn good she is not fucking letting you out of her sight for a second.. and also separation anxiety

- You have to force her to take pictures and dance 😭. You’re like Shauna cmon this is prom and she’s all grumbling and disgruntled but let’s be real, she’d do anything you say. In every single photo you took that night, she was hanging off of you like a barnacle. Arm around your waist, sometimes literally even head first in your hair, not caring to look into the camera. She’s in the photo, isn’t she? Be happy

- You make her danceee and she’s all whiny but eventually just gives in. You always get your way with her. She’s not a great dancer bless her but she mostly just follows your lead, still plastered to you. Letting you twirl her around and she’s letting out the most adorable laughter as you do, genuinely smiling. If you give her ass a playful smack during one turn, she’ll turn into a bright pink sputtering mess but her grin only widens—ending up in giggles again as she returns the favour with a covert little tit grab that only causes both of you to erupt into even more laughter together, her face once again tucked in your shoulder.

- If you’re wearing a dress, she is very protective of making sure no one around, on the dancefloor etc steps on it—literally guarding the skirt of it like the hopeless guard dog she is at heart. The glare that she sends anyone who even comes close to doing so is so lethal that it literally made one girl piss herself (some girl called Melissa or something? That what I heard). But for real, protective to alarming amounts honestly.

- If you’re drinking, she’ll stay sober to look after you and look out for you. Again, guard dog. Has you sit on her lap (even if she is blushing a little because you’re just so ABOFODOSKSKEKEOR and she’s only a weak little lesbian), monitoring how much you’re drinking & making sure you don’t over do it. (Bless xxxxx). She also sort of just wanted you in her lap, okay? But again, she’s only a simple, pathetic lesbian!! Not her fault

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Natalie Scatorccio. .

- (Personally, don’t really feel like she’s the prom type but you made her come!!) Ugh. She’ll be in the most cunty outfit it is unreal. Darker, gothic vintage dress. Obviously for cheap because well we’re all broke out here man but it’s still so unbelievably gorgeous and just so her. Will at most, for her hair, put in a silver gothic clip of some sort and of course her makeup is as dark as ever. But she’ll do her nails to match the colour of whatever you’re wearing!

- 100000000% she sneaks booze in like. Come on. & You two just spend the night getting hammered together, making out shamelessly and making an absolute twat of yourselves. Once she’s drunk, Nat literally doesn’t care—she will go along with whatever, she’s just having a good time. You’ll be twirling each other around like fairy princesses the one moment, with people giving you staresss and the next she’s pulled you outside and you’ve found residence with the squirrels in a random bush, her nails digging into the back of your neck as she pulls you into a kiss.

- You honestly spend a lot of prom just making out 😭 (whores). But she literally can’t help it, you look so good she just needs to have her hands and lips on you at all times and you feel the same. Constantly having to go to the bathroom so she, and you if you’re wearing makeup, can fix said makeup in the mirror. Lipstick smudged to all hell.

- Her not liking all the pop-y bubblegum music that’s been playing the whole night so she manages to convince the DJ to put on some rock or something for her, just one song please Mr DJ. Watching this girl rock out—especially drunk—is certainly.. a sight. Giggling as Van joins her in solidarity and you’re left with Taissa watching your girlfriends be fucking idiots, the other girl trying to hide her smile.

- Doing body shots (read: pouring liquor on each other and licking/kissing it off, because you don’t have shot glasses) in the bathrooms or literally just outside the venue, you’re both that gone. She half ruins her dress and she’s given up completely on her makeup—but it literally doesn’t matter to her, the only thing that does matter is you. Safe to say you both certainly don’t go to any after parties because she needs you, stat.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Jackie Taylor. .

- Hello????? Miss prom queen. I don’t want to hear anything, she literally will go full out. Perfect, laid makeup, gorgeous dress, silky voluminous hair. Everything. & she definitely plans your outfit or at least ‘helps’ you pick—she wants you both to look like the perfect couple. And don’t worry, she’ll pay!

- So, so many photos. She just wants to document the moment and sue her, you both look so hot she feels it needs to be immortalised. No doubt in my mind she’s one of those girls who rents out the fancy cars to make a dramatic entrance in her prom and she owns that. She is absolutely not wasting this night. Posing for pics laid over the limo in her gown with you by her side. Photos of you standing between her legs as she sits on the hood, both of you looking yummy. (She’ll get them printed out and laminated later).

- Hand in hand dramatic entrance out the limo. It girl couple<3333. She kinda sort very much likes that people are talking about you both—admiringly—and so yes maybe she plays it up a bit for fun. Kissing you on the dancefloor where everyone can see, giggling into each others mouths and giving her a look knowing she’s doing this all on purpose while she just blinks back at you all innocently.

- Oh she is absolutely requesting the most cheesiest slow dance song you can think of just so she can dance with you on the dance floor. Laughing into each others shoulders quietly at the romantic picture you’re painting and yes—she did it for entertainment because messing with people is just so funny.. but she’s also just so in love with you. She wanted to slow dance with you. Staring at you with a secret smile and admiring you as you sway and twirl together.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Lottie Matthews. .

- This GODDESS. You’re literally in awe. She’s in the most gorgeous silk dress, heels on her feet which just make her even more towering and beautiful and it is everything. And you know there is no budget so she could do whatever she wants—hair perfect, dress perfect, nails perfect, face ethereal. But it’s not big and a statement—just pretty silk and that effortless beauty of hers. Of course, also, she’s wearing a pretty little necklace with your initials proudly around her neck. Not because you own her.. because you really know her (please someone understand the Taylor reference)

- Not afraid to show her affection for you. As soon as she sees you in your prom outfit she’s all up on you, twirling you around for the full view—running hers hands over the fabric. A wide beam on her face as she compliments you over and over sweetly, telling you how lucky she is to call you hers.

- Pictures!!!!! Using the Polaroid she brought for the occasion and snapping as many photos of you two together as she can!! And also as many candid shots of you as she can—you smiling, you laughing, you just being. She wants alllllllllll the pictures bitch. She obviously wants pictures with absolutely everyone but with you and of you the most. (By the end of the night—she has about thirty photos with you and twenty nine candid shots of you just doing your thing)

- Lottie, big fat tease, Matthews. She loves to tease you, especially in public and she loves getting teased back. The thrill of it makes her stomach flutter and heat up. If you’re in a suit, tugging at your tie to pull you in and whisper in your ear—or by your belt loops, pulling your body against hers. If you’re in a dress, running her hand just barely there up the slit in it. Teasing her nails along your bare collarbone and dipping down just faintly into your cleavage. Hand on your waist thumbing at the underside of your tit. All with an innocent smile on her face, voice casual but eyes teasing as she talks to you.

- Surprisingly good dancer! And obviously, you’re there dancing with her. Letting her twirl you and twirling her in return. Giggling as she makes playful kissy faces at you each time you come face to face to her amidst said twirling. Hands on her hips and teasing along the fabric of her dress as she looks at you with a little grin, flushed cheeks and dark eyes. She has no shame in shouting out a bad pop song and bouncing around with you like hooligans and also no shame in getting real close and hot on the dance floor, ‘playfully’ grinding together. When her hips shift involuntarily with real want as your hands tighten around her waist and you laugh into her shoulder, she’s looking at you with a part needy part amused part disgruntled glare.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Van Palmer. .

- NSEKPEOSKSNSLEPWOWJSJKDKDLSPW

- Sorry, just needed to get that out 😖

- Van, of course, would be in a suit for prom and fuck would this butch look so unbelievably good. 200% she’s obviously matching her tie to the colour of your dress/suit. She’s just looks so.. mhmm. The idea of Van wearing a binder and packing under the suit 😫. The slight bulge in the slacks and the flatter plane of her chest. & you just know she’s feeling so fucking good in herself, grinning from ear to ear.

- Van is a gossip and I stand by that. Sitting at one of the tables, your legs in her lap with her rubbing and gently kneading all over your thighs, unable to help herself, gossiping about everyone’s outfits and judging them. A little cheeky grin on her face, her voice playful and just for you as she makes (mostly) lighthearted fun. Some cunts she will properly rip into. Telling you everyone’s business about their dates and blah blah. Her hands never leaving you all the while.

- Off the back of the idea of her packing: dancing with her, your back to her chest and feeling the packer rub against you through her slacks. Her pale, freckled (MDKSKSKS) strong arms wrapped around your waist, singing enthusiastically into your ear to the song as she shamelessly with about.. 60% subtilely, rubs up against you. It’s a good thing no one is paying attention to you on the crowded dance floor. Also—on a different note, she is on that fucking dance floor, tearing it up 😭.

- The compliments oh my god, Van would be complimenting you all night long. Being openly and unapologetically whipped for you. Praising you at every single breath you take. You’re just so everything to her and she really, very much has no problem with you knowing how she feels. Flirty comments into your ear while you dance up against her like ‘you feel so good baby’. Ducking her nose into your neck, taking a dramatic sniff and letting out an even more dramatic (semi genuine) moan as she babbles on about good you smell in her usual theatrical fashion.

- But seriously she’s looking at you like you own her. With genuine worship and devotion on her beautiful smiling face. Every word of her praise is genuine. & When you give it back to her—complimenting her—this bitch is a mess. She’s so pathetic for you it’s comical. Head in your hair to hide her burning blush as she curses her redhead gene. Accidentally letting at a fully genuine whimper into your ear as you push back even further against her while you’re dancing together. Breathing a little whiny ‘fuck’ in your ear.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Taissa Turner. .

- In my mind—this Tai has her long curls from the pilot and she’s wearing a regal, thin strapped satin dress that makes her slim tall frame look unreal—& she’ll have definitely some sort of matching something with you. Taissa really thought that shit was cheesy, like, matching? Really? Until… you. And sure, she still put up a bit of a fight against the idea but internally well, she was already planning it all out. She just couldn’t seem like she was, you know?

- Will certainly put up a fight with you about dancing and might even actually just sit at the table for a bit and watch as you go and dance. But either—seeing you happy and so fucking beautiful it truly made her heart ache, out on the floor, dancing and having fun, she’ll cave because she wants to be a part of that. Or you and one of the other girls were dancing a bit too close for her comfort and—yep, she’s already up and striding over. Will outright snatch you into her arms, dancing with you as you cackle at getting your way.

- Tai would be the type to roll her eyes at slow dancing but again.. you. Fuck, you’re like her kryptonite. It’s a problem for her. When a slow song comes on, she’ll willingly let you manoeuvre her, even if she gives you a playful little scowl—her eyes are bright and you can practically feel her melting against you as you dance, even if she’ll try and hide it. Dancing in comfortable, intimate silence to the music. Only occasionally broken by little jokes and snips and sickeningly in love giggles.

- Nicking some weed from Nat or someone and shotgunning in the bathroom—in a stall together, her hand on your waist and your hand on her jaw, lips brushing as you blow puffs into each others mouth. Laughing as you both almost fall into the toilet—her cracking dry jokes but her voice is so uncharacteristically warm, always is for you. And her eyes are focused on your face like it’s the most magnificent thing she’s even seen and she never wants to stop looking.

[infictionalwonderland]

thinking of van who packs... 18+ only.

· · 𓃦 · ·

first of all. BUTCH VAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! butch bulge.

van who dresses up in suits when she takes you out for dinner and wears her best packer/strap underneath. not even to fuck in the car after or when you guys get home, but because she loves packing. she fucking loves the bulge and feels good when she looks in the mirror while fixing up in the bathroom, smiling at the imprint of her packer and adjusting it before walking back out to you.

van who prefers actual packers to straps. just something about it gets her going. she was always fascinated by them.

van who always groans and moans and whines when you deepthroat her packer like she can actually feel it. van who tells you she's glad she doesn't have a real cock because she'd be drenching your face in her cum 3 seconds in to you blowing her.

van who loves realistic straps :) honestly, i can see her loving both realistic and those weird ones, like pink monster straps 😭 but she loves one that match her skin color and loves sending you pictures of her stroking her strap in bed. van who gets an ejaculating strap and sends you a video of her playing with her 'cum' on her stomach...

van who is always rubbing her bulge against you in public. van who loves when you grope her in public. van who loves readjusting her packer so it looks like she has a boner after said groping.

frotting with van but using your straps :)

dry humping with van but she's in her boxers, her strap bulge rutting into your clothed ass.

you know what? ball worship with the packer. kissing and sucking the packer's balls while jerking van off, her hips going crazy as she throws her head back and tells you how good you're doing.

van with a clit piercing + strap. gently bobbing your head up and down on her strap, knowing you're hitting her sensitive clit. god. pulling the harness off her and just seeing the amount of slick clinging to it....

[infictionalwonderland]

YELLOWJACKETS W/ VERY FEM READER!

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Shauna Shipman. .

- You’re all bubble, beauty and sparkle and honestly at first she found that kind of annoying. Maybe even saw you as weak—like, you’re so girly and pretty you should’ve been in cheer or something other than the soccer team (her unjustified dislike towards you was, actually, probably just internalised homophobia and hating you for giving her all of these feelings)

- However, once the plane crashes and you’re all stranded. You truly show that you’re more than just this pretty princess who really reminds her of bubbles from the Powerpuff girls (everyone else on the team already knew you were more but she never allowed herself to dwell—subconsciously trying to prevent any of the feelings from getting worse) but no. You’re amazing out there. You’re very resourceful, you’re efficient. And sure, you always do make sure your hair is all silky and brushed in the mornings: you even make fucking perfume from the flowers once yours runs out.. but these are things she’s (regrettably) coming to really, really adore about you. Fuck.

- Once you two actually get together, it’s done. She’s gone for you. Like, pathetically bad. She indulges all of your whims, no question - she’ll trek out into the wilderness in the pitch black and freezing cold if you wanted a specific flower to make a new perfume. She made you flower crowns in replacement when you lost your one bow that survived the plane crash and were upset about it. Especially later seasons Shauna: as time goes on in the wilderness, she’s get so possessive over you. Unhealthily so. She literally doesn’t care about anyone else expect you and will do anything to keep you alive and happy. Sometimes she’ll give you a bit more food than one of the other girls (cough Mari) without anyone noticing, because hey. She wants you alive. Who gives a fuck about them?

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Natalie Scatorccio. .

- She honestly thinks you’re cute as fuck, not that she would ever say that. You’re so completely her polar opposite but she actually admires that about you. Again, not that this pussy would say anything to you. She likes your vibe more than she’s comfortable with: she likes your bows and your lace and all the pretty pastels you wear like necessity. Sometimes, in quiet private movements she will never ever admit to, she imagines taking that bow out of your hair and watching the pretty locks tumble, running her hands through them. She imagines kissing off that sparkly lip gloss and having it smeared all over her own lips as well.

- The plane crash happening only solidifies that uncomfortable squirmy stomach feeling you give her. You’re so on it. Not that she thought you’d cry and bitch and let everyone else do all the work but still, seeing you. In your torn pretty pink shirt and your mudded jeans, gash on your soft cheek, stomping around the wreck and bandaging people up with whatever supplies you had—comforting people, sorting through all the luggage and making plans. Shit. She feels weirdly safe around you, which she never feels around anyone mind you. (And seeing an absolute babe of a femme taking charge isn’t something she doesn’t not enjoy)

- Regardless if you’re together or not, she doesn’t want anyone to dim your sparkle. No one says anything bad about you really—but if anyone did, she’d be there. Defending you like it’s what’s keeping her alive. Like there’s no fucking question. Your bubbly soft nature is something she lives for and she’ll do everything in her power to keep it thriving, no matter how many friendships she has to tear down to do so. You are really the only light in her life.

- When you’re dating, Natalie is definitely the more silently devoted partner type. She doesn’t make a big deal out of her love: it’s a quiet, fierce and achingly genuine thing. Private kisses and sincere compliments instead of big gestures and spectacles. She worships you and she feels for you something she’s never felt with anyone else. Giving you forehead kisses and lingering caresses before she goes off for a hunt. Staying in ‘bed’ cuddling as long as you want. Truly listening and giving you all the time you need. Braiding your hair for you. Soft, honest consideration and care.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Jackie Taylor. .

- You’re sort of like ‘rival’ personalities in school, you know? With a half hearted friendship, at least on her half. Because you’re both very popular, you both play for the soccer team, you’re both gorgeous girls with hot, equally as popular boyfriends. (Ugh fuck you’re so pretty it just annoys her). She hates staring at you—lie—because she can never bloody look away—truth. It really frustrates (read: confused ‘straight’ girl flusters) her that way she always seems to be thinking about you. Like, what? She doesn’t even like you! You’re basically her competition in the school hierarchy.. and yet, you constantly plague her mind. Weird.

- Jackie feels even more weird and probably strained towards you after the plane crash because she thought you’d be in her boat. But no—you really seem to manage. You don’t bitch or moan and you certainly don’t embrace it, but you make do. Somehow. You’re steady and smart and you plan, all while looking and sounding just as much like Fluttershy from My Little Pony as you usually do. Ugh. You take to it in a way she doesn’t and you’re still you. It upsets her, and all around aggravates her. (The smatterings of butterflies that dance around her stomach as she watches you only aggravate her more).

- Eventually, you end coming together after a blow-up. Jackie ends up having a one-sided screaming match with you; she’s just so tired, scared and frustrated with everyone and you’re just so not and you always seem to be everything that she just can’t be. So blows up. And well.. it ends differently than she thought it would: you’re kind. You talk her down with a soft voice and gentle reasoning and by the end of it, she’s in your arms and sobbing into your chest. From then on, you grow closer as she realises you’re actually.. so not what she thought. You’re the only one that makes her feel heard and sane and honestly comfortable, these days. She takes to you very quickly from there—and as your relationship progresses, you honestly soften her as a person. She’s less biting and you help her learn how to actually help out, and deal. You make her feel like her again.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Lottie Matthews. .

- Pre-crash Lottie and you are best friends!! She’s pretty feminine herself and she really, really enjoys your whole aesthetic—and just you as a person. 1000% you’re the closest friendship she’s ever had!! You share everything—makeup, clothes, books, tips on how to get yourself off!! You know, casual best friend things ha. Really, you’re best friend goals: she was even kind enough to suggest you learn how to kiss together, by practicing on one another. Sleepovers are filled with makeout sessions—but hey, you’re just practicing! (The only time it was ever really practicing was when you were both 13 and it was for the first time. You were each other’s true gay awakenings). Sometimes she’ll model for you in lingerie that she brought, pretending that she brought it with a guy in mind when really it was for you—this usually ends in aggressive making out and groping.

- Pre-crash Lottie is playfully possessive more than anything, even if you do sometimes catch the genuine clenching of her jaw, but after the crash… girl. This bitch is on you like a barnacle. She is so possessive and protective over you. Like you’re just her beautiful little princess fairy she wants to hold close and protect. Always sitting by your side around the fire, hand rubbing a bit too far up your thigh. Setting up on the cabin floor right next to you—like, I’m talking barely two inches of space. Sneaking kisses in the night when everyone else is asleep and she rolls all the way over. Obviously, she’ll never be overbearing (oh!)—she’s just incredibly devoted to your health and safety. You’re, also, the only person who makes her feel safe and thus she’s more inclined to seek your presence.

- Once the wilderness starts effecting her and she begins having her visions again.. well. She only seems to cling tighter to you, both metaphorically and literally. You’re her haven, her soft safety net in pretty pastels. You ground her in a way nothing else ever has. Just sitting in your arms, head tucked into your neck and eyes closed—allowing all thoughts of anything other to dissolve is all she needs. Muttering gentle worries and nonsensical mumbles into the sweet skin of your throat. Confiding in you. Something in her always feels right when she’s with you—like yes, this is where I should be. A sort of truth that reverberates through her weary bones. You’re right. This is right.

- Lottie who’s fully affected by the wilderness at this point is wholeheartedly convinced you are some sort of deity. She is in love with you, just as the wilderness is in love with you. If you’re officially ‘dating’—she takes it more like marriage, honestly. This is a certain forever thing to her, a fact she makes known constantly through declarations against your lips, into your hair, into your knuckles as she kisses them slowly. Savouring you. Cherishing you. She truly worships you in a way that is almost religious.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Van Palmer. .

- Openly flirting with you. Sometimes she’ll make it more jokey and mocking—like ‘cute bow princess’ with a little cheeky grin when she’s mentally picturing you with just your bow on. But other times she really will make it blatant—‘you looked so fucking pretty out there you’re lucky I actually managed to save all those goals, bubbles’. You’re either under the impression she’s messing around, in which case you flirt back and she, promptly, short circuits or you’re just flustered as shittttt because come on. Van is pretty bold—she doesn’t really hide the fact she obviously finds you attractive, despite being your ‘friend’. But there is a part of her that genuinely doesn’t believe she deserves you: sure, she’s confident but you’re you, you know? Beyond gorgeous, talented, a total sweetheart and funny to boot. Ultimately she just wants to see you happy, under all that flirting.

- You end up saving Van, when the crash happens. Hearing her screams and coming running back in—your perfect hair all strewn and mussed, blood along your arm, pretty pastel purple summer dress mudded and bloody too, racing towards her and using all your might to undo her belt and get her the fuck out. You are, simply put, her angel. Van couldn’t give a shit less if anyone thinks she’s being dramatic about that—and she’s dead serious: you weren’t really far off from being an angel to her anyway, but this? This just solidified it. From that point on, she feels closer to you. More than she ever has with anyone ever, really. Making a point to accompany you… everywhere. You need a piss? She’ll escort you and find the prettiest bush she can. You’re going down to the lake? Funny! So was she.

- Her angel. Her pretty fucking angel. Is even bolder and more open with her intentions now, but with an extra aching softness. She really is the gay stereotype of a yearner. You mean more than you will ever known to her, and she can’t tell you enough how it really is not just your looks. It’s your everything—the way you make her feel so light and alive. So free and content in a way she’s never felt before. So full of love and genuine joy: she doesn’t have to fake anything with you or for you. She can just be.

- Van was already practically crawling on her knees after you with the most obnoxious heart eyes before you were together but you when you actually get together? It’s seriously ridiculous times tenfold. The littlest touches from you make her shiver. Her pupils dilate just admiring a strand of your hair. Her whole goal for her days is to make you giggle and smile. And now she can openly show affection? She literally will not stop. Picking you up around your waist and spinning you randomly until you’re in fits of laughter. A hand always on your back or in your hair. Cuddled so closely you’re basically one, her head nuzzled into your chest, warm content breaths against your skin—no place she’d rather be. She’s anything you want her to be: your bodyguard, your puppet. She’s so gone she even lets you test out the ‘makeup’ you’d tried to make from berries, etc, on her—just leans into your touch on her cheek and closes her eyes with a dopey grin. Whipped.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Taissa Turner. .

- Tai is more in Shauna’s boat. Without knowing you, she judges you. Sees the delicate sparkly jewellery, the shiny hair, the perfectly done makeup, smells the warm perfume that makes her stomach tingle and thinks superficial. Your bright smiles and your genuine giggles make her a mix of secretly flustered and slightly annoyed—come on, there is no way you can be that much of a sweetheart. Ever skeptical, she thinks you’re just.. fake, really. However. At one practice, in which Tai ends up getting injured—nothing serious at all, but even slight mistakes embarrass and frustrate her like no other. She played it off and you were the only one to notice—you didn’t make a big deal out of it, you simply flounced over looking all perfect, discreetly handed her a bandage and her water bottle, asking a quiet sincere ‘are you okay?’. She thought differently of you from that day. Not noticeably. Not really. But to her it was noticeable. Her eyes lingered on you, and sometimes when you sprayed your perfume near her—she breathed in a little deeper, wanting to catch it. Seeing your smiles and knowing you mean them makes her heart beat with emotions she’d rather not name.

- When the crash happens, Tai panics. In a way that both surprises her and doesn’t, pumped on adrenaline and gut wrenching fear. Where are you? That is what’s racing through her head. When she finds you—soft locks of hair fallen from your bun, baby blue dress half torn and bleeding from your leg, looking so devastatingly perfect and alive—she hugs you. Engulfs you, really, would be the right term—in a flurry of emotion and limbs, launches herself at you. From then on, she knows in herself what she feels for you. Every day after—she keeps her eye on you, discreetly (mostly). Making sure you’re there, breathing. It’s all she needs at the moment, all she feels is really getting her through. Speaking with you, hearing your voice, laughing with you—quietly catering to you, it becomes her escape. The only times she feels normal. Feels happy.

- It’s very noticeable to the others that Tai is much softer to you than she is with them. Her face always does this little melting thing subconsciously when she looks at you—I mean, she lets you dress her up for fun, Christ sake! They never would’ve expected Tai of all people to fall for your bubblegum sweetened feminine self, but alas. You’re her weakness. She’s headstrong, stubborn—but you make her.. ease, a bit. You relax her enough for reason. Gentle hands running over her skin as you mumble into her ear softly, calming her. You’re a miracle worker.

[infictionalwonderland]

“𝗬𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗝𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧”

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

van palmer —

nothing yet.

natalie scatorccio —

nothing yet.

lottie matthews —

nothing yet.

taissa turner —

nothing yet.

jackie taylor —

nothing yet.

shauna shipman —

nothing yet.

headcanons —

YELLOWJACKETS W/ VERY FEMININE READER

PROM W/ THE YELLOWJACKETS

[infictionalwonderland]

PROFESSOR!RAFE CAMERON

professor!cameron who stammers over his words and can barely breathe in your presence. every time you sit in his class, in those tiny, tiny skirts, tits pressed together. he has to try not to get hard during his lectures.

professor!cameron never asks you to stay after class, but you do anyway because you know he cant resist you. looking at him as you bat your eyelashes, nails grazing his chest and your chest pressed flush against him and you tempt him into giving in. he gets beyond nervous, not confident enough to touch you until you grab his hands, placing them on your ass as you bite your bottom lip. "I don't bite professor...unless you want me to.."

professor!cameron who may or may not already have a girlfriend, and yet it didn't stop him from looking at you like he knows your cunt tastes sweet. going to his office hours for no good reason other than to keep him company, and looking at the small trinkets, and other shit occupying his office. your fingers grazing over a polaroid of him and his girlfriend, giving a small giggle. "cute photo, it's a shame you don't look at her how you look at me."

professor!cameron finally confessing that he wants you so desperately. dreaming of you at night, thinking of you as he strokes his cock in the shower. palms sweaty as you sit on his desk in front of him, computer and papers pushed aside as your legs swing. his voice shaky, mouth dry. "y-you're very uh...voluptuous." a giggle leaving your lips as you hop off the desk, dipping low to palm him through his slacks. "professor cameron, you callin' me sexy?" his gaze averting to your hand and his tongue darting to his bottom lip, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose as he tries to keep composure. "uhh...," a silent 'fuck' leaves his lips as you continue to palm him, "yeah, yeah I am."

professor!cameron being nervous as fuck the first time you suck his dick after confessing, struggling to maintain eye contact and beads of sweat falling off his forehead as you take him down your throat. the moment you pull up for air, your hands continuing to stroke him, all to be heard being the wet sounds of your saliva sticky on his cock and his heavy breathing. he continues to breathe heavy, head thrown back until your voice speaks syrupy sweet. "rafeyyyy, look at me." a whimper leaving his lips when he catches sight of your eyes staring back at him and your tongue swirling around the thick tip of him, pre-cum coating your tongue.

[infictionalwonderland]

Hiiiii.❤️❤️ How are you doing ???

im sorry this is ridiculously late 😭 im shit on this app mannnnn. but im okay, thank you for asking!!! just came back from pole dancing lessons w my best friend and she almost popped her fucking ankle out (i cried laughing. i promise she’s fine don’t hate me pls). and uni work is eating my ass, really not in the good way.

how are youuuuu???

[infictionalwonderland]

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ wearing sub cowboy!jj’s cowboy hat as you ride him.

The rough straw of his hat is a gentle weight atop your messy hair—bouncing softly with the movements of your body as you rode the cowboy under you. Wanton moans slipping from his lips, unsuccessfully held back by the grip of his pearly teeth in his lower one. Your cowboy is laid out on the bed below you, leanly muscled chest stretched out, your nails digging red crescents into the tight skin on his abs. His large calloused hands clung desperately to the plushy skin of your thighs—like he needed something to ground him from the intense pleasure you were causing him.

“Ah—fuck fuck fuck,” JJ moaned, southern drawl run ragged by pleasure, sweat glistening on his brow, eyes glazed as he looked up you—blue eyes dilated completely with devotion and lust, “d—darlin’, please, don’t wan’ cum just yet.”

You laugh breathily, purposefully squeezing around his dick as you rolled your hips to get a deeper angle. Taunting him with your faster movements. You leaned down slightly, his cowboy hat that smelt of him, dipping further down on your face, your voice a low teasing murmur, “What if I want your cum right now baby, hm? wanna feel you spill everything you got into me. Wanna—mhm—be stuffed w’you.”

JJ whined hopelessly, shaking his head and letting it fall back as his eyes squeezed shut, abs tensing tightly as he tried to hold off his orgasm. “No nono darlin’ please please need you ta’ feel good f-first. Wan’ your sweetness all—ah—‘ver me“

Your stomach fluttered, spine tingling: Your one hand came up, grabbing his jaw and pulling his face back to look at you, “open those pretty eyes baby, wanna see em while I make you stupid.”

He did, helpless to resist you, big dilated pupils staring back at you. The second your eyes locked—when he saw you again, leaning over him, flushed cheeks, messy hair with his fucking cowboy hat sitting on your head, you felt his cock twitch inside of you and he whimpered, his desperate half-lidded eyes still locked on yours.

You pussy spasmed and fluttered, stomach coiling tighter and you bit back a moan—riding him faster. Harder. “Can feel you twitching inside me, angel.” You breathed, leaning down some more, nails migrating from his abs to his collarbones. Your nipples brushing his chest, his cowboy hat brushing him as well, moving as you moved. “Sight of me turns you on that much huh?” You tease into his ear.

JJ’s hips bucked with a broken groan and he nodded desperately, his hands on your thighs moving—one to hold his hat steady on your head, the other to work your clit. “C—can’t think straight, you in my hattt,” the word stretched out in a whimper as he stared up at you, “l-look so good darlin’, looks so good.”

You moaned, head leaning down against his, tits and ass bouncing with the pace of your movements. The feeling of him playing with your clit—his cock plunging in and out of you—his big hand holding his hat steady atop your head, a needy claim in his submission—his wrecked voice was too much. “Tell me how much ya’ like it.”

“I love it—lov’ so much.” He breathed out desperately, beyond gone, fingers holding it tighter to your head, thighs tensed as he tried not to cum. His other hand working quickly at your clit. “I—m—was half hard just fuckin’ lookin’ atchu in the thing—nghh,” he whined deeply, eyes slipping shut before he forced them open, wanting more than anything to please you, “it’s—you’re mine darlin’. C—can’t believe—“

“I am yours baby,” you moaned softly, pussy clenching and fluttering around the throbbing heat of him inside you, biting down on your lip as the knot in your stomach grew tighter, the eye contact between you two never stopping. “Always yours J. And you’re mine—now fill me up honey, claim me.”

JJ whined brokenly, crying out as he was unable to resist any longer—his hips left the bed, back arching off it, thick dick sinking as deep as it could into your fluttering walls. His cock pulsing inside you as he came, ropes of his cum flooding your wanting pussy.

“O—oh—darlin’—“

“That it’s JJ, my good boy.” You cooed, moaning again at the feeling of him filling you. Nuzzling your cheek soothingly against his as he whimpered, the heat an angry ache in your stomach. Tensing and pulsating with the need to snap.

“You—ngh—you didn’t,” JJ furrowed his brows weakly, stars still behind his eyes. But that didn’t stop him. He held you to him, hand keeping his hat steady on your head as he worked your clit just how you liked it. Dazedly looking up at your face, watching your reactions in his blissed out state. All he wanted was for you to feel good too.

You groaned thankfully—within a few motions of his calloused fingers, the band pulled achingly tight in your stomach was snapping and you were coming. Your release leaving you hotly, thighs trembling softly as you ducked your head into his neck, letting yourself slump against his sweaty, muscled body.

JJ sighed happily, finally letting himself relax now you’d found your pleasure too. Blissed out, dazed and weak as his hand left your clit to wrap around your waist, holding you close. He loved you. The intimacy of the moment warming something deep in him. He nuzzled your hair, enjoying the press of his own cowboy hat against his head. You were his, he was yours.

“Just wan’ make you feel good darlin’,” JJ breathed hoarsely, southern drawl rough with blissful pleasure and heart-achingly soft and honest, “‘s all that matters. Love you so fuckin’ much.”

[infictionalwonderland]

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ nepo-baby!reader having sex in the back of chauffeur!rafe’s car to get his attention.

The air of the vehicle—your—Rafe’s car—was thick with the sound of grunts and breathy moans, the slap of skin. In the back of the car, you’re on top of some guy who looks more like your chauffeur than you think you should admit, albeit younger. Short skirt rucked up your thighs and panties pushed aside as you sink up and down on the length of him. Your hair is a mess and your shirt and bra are long gone (you’d wanted to throw them into the passenger seat to elicit even more from Rafe but decided against it… instead they hung off the back of it. See, you had some decency).

The guy below you was horny enough not to care about the company but the company was what was getting you wet, frankly.

The leather of the seats squeaked and rustled as you rode his cock—the throb of it inside your hot gummy walls doing nothing to swirl the fire in your stomach as much as the feel of those piercing blue eyes on you in the mirror did. You pitched out high, breathy moans, moving your hips faster, your tits bouncing. The guy below you groaned in appreciation, muttering out nonsense as he gripped at your plush thighs.

You didn’t care. You titled your neck back enough to look into the rearview mirror, big dilated eyes locking onto steely ice blue ones. Your pussy clenched—your moans coming more real as you bounced with more vigour, arching your neck back further and letting your tits bounce more as you kept your eyes on Rafe’s in the mirror.

Rafe’s jaw was clenched so tightly the line of it looked good enough to ride, rather than this guys dick. Your clit pulsed as you took in the slight change in his breathing, the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The stony, dominating look on his stupidly attractive face.

Eyes still on his in the mirror, you picked up the pace as you rode the groaning guy below you. Moaning like a slut as your tits jiggled and the meat of your ass bounced under your flimsy torn skirt. Blown out pupils locked onto his, your pouty swollen lips mouthed ‘Rafe’ as you moaned, his name escaping you as barely a breath.

A harsh sound left him and before you could blink, the car was speeding and then jerking to a quick stop as Rafe pulled up on a random road, making a hasty park. He wasted no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hauling his door open before walking to yours.

Your pulse raced, your pussy fluttering—the guy below you grunting in a strangled confused way. The back door tore open and there stood Rafe. Jaw locked beyond tight, muscles tense and the prominent bulge in his slacks almost made your thighs tremble, a gush of slick coating the guys dick anew.

“Get the fuck off of him. Now.”

You whimpered uncontrollably, body immediately complying with the fierce, enraged command in his voice. Scrambling to get off his dick, sitting back on the seats with your tits heaving, your heart beating madly in your chest. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

“What the fu—“ The guy began, beyond confused: Rafe wasted no time in leaning down and grabbing him by his arm, yanking him out the back of the car effortlessly. Uncaring of his state of undress, his gaze steely and his jaw tight.

“I don’t appreciate seeing that shit in the back of my own fucking car, bro,” Rafe practically snarled, leaning down to chuck the guys shirt at his bare chest as he scrambled to pull his jeans and boxers back up, giving him a sharp mocking scan. Rafe didn’t look at you—ignoring you as your thighs clenched at his tone of voice alone. “Get some self respect and maybe fuck someone who actually knows your name. Not a whore who wants my fucking attention.”

Your clit pulsed and you barely bit back a whining moan at the harsh growl in his voice—still not even looking at your mostly naked form. The guy stumbled and sputtered in confusion but in looking more at Rafe, retreated as he hastily redressed, bitching all the while.

Rafe finally turned to look down at you, scoffing at your state—panting softly, pretty tits out with pointed nipples begging for attention, thighs open enough that if the fucking street lights were better who would be able to see your dripping pussy. He sneered, even as the evident, large bulge in his slacks told you all you needed to know. Fuck.

He leaned over the seats, hovering before you. “Princess, look at the state of you,” he gritted, eyes dilated and fixed on your own: needy and big, stuck to him. His gaze flickered down, breath becoming more laboured at the sight he could vaguely discern of your swollen glistening cunt. “Dripping all over my backseats like a bitch in heat. Jesus.”

“Rafe—“

“No.” He growled, cutting off your whimper. His large ringed hand came up to roughly grab your jaw, leaning closer to you—you whined, leaning into his touch, and his cock jerked in his boxers. “No. If you want m’ fucking attention, you ask for it. Like a good, polite girl. ‘Stead, you made this scene. Brought another man into my car. Let him inside of that pretty pussy and made me watch like a creep. You have to be some kinda desperate whoring bitch to do that baby, lemme tell you.”

“I—I’m—“

“You are a whore, ‘s what you are.” He grunted, squeezing your cheeks harshly, lip curled like he wanted to spit into your mouth. He didn’t. “A filthy whore who wants to get my dick wet more than she cares about her self respect, clearly.”

“Rafe—“

“Shhh, slutty girl. Those gorgeous lips aren’t meant for talking anyway.” Rafe breathed roughly at you, mockingly, crawling into the back after a moment and slamming the door behind him. His dick steel hard and throbbing in his trousers, muscles straining in his button up. He manhandled you over, hand on your chin tugging you as you whimpered, staring at him pleadingly. “Show me how much of a whore you can be, pretty thing,” He groaned softly against your ear, spreading your legs enough to give your pussy a slap, “‘n we’ll give your needy cunt what she really wants.”

[infictionalwonderland]

PLAYIN' THE PLAYERS

PAIRING: player! reader x frat hockey players jj maybank & rafe cameron (obx smau)

SUMMARY: You were mad at first—pissed, really. A dare? a bet? Like you were just some trophy for two cocky hockey frat boys to fight over. But then you thought about it— like really thought about it. If they wanted to play games, fine. you’d play back—harder. Colder. Hotter. you turned your fury into flirtation, your pride into power. Now you've got them both wrapped around your finger, and you're not choosing. you're punishing. Sweet revenge, served with a wink and a whisper.

CHAPTERS:

one : it’s always the frat boys

two : let the games begin

three : hottie on watch

four : pose for the fans

five : king of the ice

six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen

SOCIALS:

instagram / twitter / kildare college

[infictionalwonderland]

☆ secretary!reader first interview/introduction into the company with ceo!rafe

You’re nervous. Rafe can see that. In the way your pretty teeth dig into the plushy flesh of your lip—in the way your fingers are fidgeting with your skirt, or twirling at your hair. Your feet squirming slightly under the seat, heels clicking faintly against the ground with your movements.

God.

He keeps his reaction to himself, instead just smirking slightly as he leans back in his chair. You’re beautiful and he knows he’s gonna hire you anyway, honestly, but he’s enjoying watching you like this.

“So, Miss Y/L/N,” Rafe begins, his voice deep and drawling and blank to anything he’s thinking. He keeps his eyes dead set on you, the intensity of his stare making your thighs clench lightly despite yourself: the action causes your cheeks to heat a bit, this could be your boss! but Rafe just smirks wider, not outwardly acknowledging, “why do you want to work for Cameron development?”

You blow out a little breath, Rafe’s eyes dropping down to the movement of your chest with it, before you natter on about why (even though all that’s really in your head now is because you’re ridiculously hot and I would kill for you to bend me over this desk)

Rafe listens, finding with genuine surprise that he’s not bored. He does this shit too often—interviewing new people. Ever since he took over the business, he’s wanted more workers, more people, expand the business etc. Improve—he’s proactive like that. But fuck him sideways, people are just boring. But you’re impressive, and likeable, and okay maybe he’s already a little bias because of your pretty pretty face and the way your business casual look hugs your body—he wants to touch but he’s enjoying listening. Your voice is sweet, he thinks, he wants it right in his ear, to feel your breath against his skin—as he watches your lips move with your words.

Idly wondering how they would look sucking at his skin. Bitten between his teeth. What flavour lip balm do you use? Your lips are shiny. Distractingly so. He wants to taste, now. Touch, taste, feel.

Once you finish speaking, his eyes flicker back up to yours lazily. Like he wants you to see he’s been admiring you, like he doesn’t care that you can sense his probing stares. It shouldn’t be attractive, but it is.

He gives you an approving nod, still smirking faintly. He leans forward in his seat, one large ringed hand sliding a few forms over your way but remains leaned in even after he’s passed them.

“Welcome to Cameron’s development, Miss Y/L/N.” He drawls your last name like a secret and a promise all at once, smirk widening.

You blink, face scrunching in confusion, “That’s all?”

He huffs a small gruff laugh, nodding his assent. “That’s all.” Rafe repeats, slightly amused and almost mocking as he tilts his hand and looks at you.

Your stomach flutters despite yourself. “Shouldn’t there—“

“Ah-ah.” Rafe cuts you off, raising a brow. The smirk on his face never leaving but becoming more pointed now. “I’ve got full reign over my company. My people. And I want you to be my secretary, ain’t matter how much I ask you. I want you. ‘Kay? Be happy, you got the job.”

His voice is deep, slow and firm. A man who knows he’s in control. Knows he’s the boss. Thrives off it in that quietly confident way. The look in his pretty eyes is vaguely dark, but almost amused, that smirk that’s causing your heart to fucking palpate always seeming to be on his mouth. He says ‘I want you’ with such a sure, subtly sly tone that it makes you forget you’re even at a job interview for a moment—that this man, this outrageously attractive guy, is going to be your boss. It makes your belly flutter with heat and you grip your thighs in your hands, actively fighting against the urge to squeeze them together like a desperate whore instead of the professional, polite woman you’re trying to be. That you are.

“Thank you, Mr. Cameron.” You say then, smiling sweetly. Excited, curious, apprehensive and nervous all at once. This was a lot easier (and more erotic) than you expected. Your voice is soft and polite as you tentatively reach forward and slide the paperwork your way.

Rafe chuckles again, rough and pleased, his eyes never leaving you—he leans back a little, his hand gives the back of yours a feather light brush as he hands the paperwork off. You bite back a sound. “Welcome to the team.” He welcomes you again, his smirk morphing into an arrogant grin.

You hate that you think that’s hot.

“Glad to be part of it.”

He smiles without much warmth, his foot brushing against yours from under his desk. He moves it unhurriedly, not apologising, like he wants you to feel it. Him. Not doing anything but watch you with the look that’s making your belly turn and flutter.

Shit.

[infictionalwonderland]

ur sub rafe makes me frothing at the mouth #needthat

omg… im so honoured to have made you salivate (i love you thank you so much he’s my fav rn)

[infictionalwonderland]

Hii girl so i have a request it’s about the “Marvel Cast flirting with Y/N” series that you’re doing and like instead of it just being the marvel cast you could also put other celebrities in there

(If you haven’t already thought of it off)

hello pretty!!! i have already thought of that and im considering doing the obx cast x reader with the same trope/situation thing bc outer banks is my current fixation hands down. and i also think im in my active era on tumblr, which is terrifying.

[infictionalwonderland]

★. s1 rafe who loves doing coke off your tits and calling you mommy.

warnings—drug use, mommy kink, semi-nudity, pathetic pathetic boys, bit of mocking

You’re not sure why you always find yourself in this situation—you’re not together, and quite frankly you don’t even like the guy (apart from the fact he’s so ridiculously attractive the lace of your panties is currently sticking wetly to you) but you suppose being a hot, bored nineteen year old is enough of a reason for you.

Not the fact the sheer power you have over him makes the heat in your stomach burn hotter than it ever has and his desperation makes you throb.

You’re sat on the sofa in his room, frilly black skirt nestled high up your thighs, exposing the lengths of your silky smooth skin. Your shirt is elsewhere, having been torn from you the second you sauntered into his room—leaving you in your pretty lace bra, the one that made your tits sit just right. Rafe Cameron, King Kook (or whatever the fuck those braindead clowns called him) was currently nestled into the expanse of your cleveage. His slicked back greasy hair falling forward slightly from the constant movement of his or your hands through it, leaving it to tickle the skin of your tits just so.

The sounds of his loud sniffing filled the air as he snorted lines of cocaine from the plush cushion of your boobs, while you relaxed against the sofa like you owned the place, like you owned him. His cheeks were flushed a delightful shade of pink, eyes glazed over from the high. Eager whines muffled against your skin as he grappled at your waist, squeezing at you, desperation in each press of his fingers.

“Mh—fuck, mommy,” Rafe whimpered, dumbed out, the sound so needy and wanting no one would’ve believed it came from him, “been—been needin’ you so bad.”

“Yeah?” You hum softly, coaxingly. Running your bare thigh over his in slow, soothing strokes as he practically kneeled in your lap. “How much baby? How much have you needed mommy?”

A shiver ran deep through him and he whined again, at the sound of you. The feel of you. You. He pressed his face deeper into your tits, eyes fluttering shut blissfully as he inhaled the scent of you and the last remaining flecks of the coke. His brain was cloudy and disoriented—in that fuzzy place that only you could take it to. His hips squirmed slightly, seeking attention.

“So, so much,” he breathed out, his gruff voice having a constant edge of a whine in it as he nuzzled into your chest deeply, “n—never need anything more than I need you mama.”

“No?” You mock lightly, your tone soft but sharp around the edges, just enough to take pleasure in his floundering whines, just enough to make him simper like a bitch for your praise instead. “Not even your coke, baby? Almost seems like that comes before me.”

He choked out a soft protest, clinging to you tighter still and shaking his head against your cleveage—mind too fuzzy to argue verbally. He squeezed tightly at the meat of your thigh, leaving red handprints, in a subconscious claim over you almost. Trembling, pouty lips pressing into your chest reverently, a single babble of ‘mommy’ leaving his mouth.

“Not even gonna tell me I’m wrong?” You huff gently in mock disappointment, lifting a hand to run your fingers through his slick hair, the strands still tickling the skin of your exposed chest in a way that sent flickers down your spine. “Mommy needs reassurance too pretty thing.”

“I’m—I—‘s you I need, not the coke.” He murmured blearily into your chest, snuggled up so close into you it was like he was trying to get in your skin. The gentle feel of your fingers over his scalp causing his breathing to pick up, his mouth pressing more insistently into your skin as he withered lightly under your touch. So pliable for you. “You—all you mommy. You’re—so good. Nghh. So good. Can’t think.”

You cooed, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “That’s my boy.”

The praise sets him off, a whimpering thread of something almost keening leaving him as he fully moved into your lap, shamelessly. You know all his weaknesses. He buries his face into your tits, never removing himself from them once. His big arms wrapping around your waist, his large muscular stature so unlike the current whiny, whimpering, pathetic behaviour he was exhibiting.

“I’m—your boy. You’re good boy.” He sniffled through the coke and his emotions, fingers rubbing patterns into your sides as he laid on you, a melted mess of the man people thought he was. His brain was so fuzzy it was hard to comprehend but you—your boy, being your good boy. He would do that. That’s all he could do. Be good for mommy. “N’need to be—for you, mommy.”

“Oh, I know. I know,” you sooth, brushing your fingers through his hair still, your other hand on his back as you let him sit in your lap. Your boy. “And you are my boy. My good boy, my best boy—“

His brain was completely blank now, feeling floaty and trapped on the same obsessive cycle of you, you, you—he was yours. Nothing else mattered. Rafe nodded desperately into your chest, a continuous stream of whimpers leaving him. Eyelashes fluttering against your tits as he clung on tightly ‘mommy—mama—‘ and ‘need you’ being babbled from his delirious, pouty mouth.

You bit back any sounds of your own, continuing to hold him in your lap and murmur cooing praises as he babbled needy pleas and nothings, completely yours to do whatever you wanted to—your lips tugged into a little grin as you allowed yourself to bask in the sheer power rush running through your veins right now, something oddly satisfying in the filthy fire in your stomach and the throb in your clit. Fuck if it ever felt good to do this to this man. Beyond good.

[infictionalwonderland]

firm believer in sub!rafe

[infictionalwonderland]

PERIODS | r.cameron

period comfort w boyfriend rafe!

warnings—swearing, period pain???, rafe actually being soft. for my girlies going through it rn bc i sure as shit am

“Oh baby.” Rafe tutted gently, his expression instantly dropping into something incredibly soft as he walked into the room and saw you—curled up in the sheets, face pinched with discomfort, hot water bottle to your stomach. He immediately strode over, no hesitation in kneeling down on the floor by the bed so he could properly see you, his face in front of yours. “My poor pretty girl. Cramps bad again?” He spoke gently, rough voice always sweet for you.

“Uh-huh.” Was your miserable reply, eyes fluttering open to look at him. Head still buried into the pillow, legs curled up.

“Tell me what you need.” Your boyfriend looked at you intensely, genuinely. He nudged his nose softly against yours, his large hand soothing over your blanket covered thigh. “Anything baby. Just let me know. I’ll get it.”

You hummed weakly, going to reply only for him to take out his phone with his free hand, clicking onto his notes app—into the note he’d made of everything you’d ever asked him for when you were on your period, with the number in brackets next to each thing of how many times you’d asked for it.

You couldn’t help the flutter that joined the constant ache in your stomach, a little smile twitching at your lips at his focused, concerned expression. All for you. Only for you. The blue eyes you so loved flickered between his notes app and you attentively, still rubbing your thigh with upmost care. All his attention was always yours whenever you were near him, and certainly when you were discomforted.

“I can give you a back rub and some tablets if you want baby.” He suggested gently, a worried creased between his brows as he gave you another Eskimo kiss, willing to do anything to make you feel better. “Mh, ‘can get you some MacDonalds too, even though I hate that shit. Know you love it.” Rafe smiled lightly, his hands on your thigh tracing up to your hip and gently rubbing the tender inner side without thought or question, just knowing you like it when he did.

You laugh weakly, a small breathy sound that makes his smile widen a little more. Despite it not being your usual laugh, he still loved it whenever he could bring you—well, any positive emotion really. A smile, a laugh, a blush. Anything. He kissed your head gently, wishing he could strangle your stupid fucking cramps with his bare hands. Hurting his princess. The cheek.

“No food.” You denied gently, lifting your head to look at him more, your hair a mess on the pillow. Your cramps thankfully had dulled slightly but you knew they’d kick right back up any second. “Just you.”

Rafe’s heart actually melted right before your eyes, his eyes softening and hardening with protective determination all at once. Fuck. He loved you so much.

He shifted off of his knees onto the bed beside you, being careful as to not disturb you as much as he could. Muscles tight at the worry of causing you any further pain. He pulled you into his chest lovingly, big arms wrapping around you—one veiny hand replacing yours on the hot water bottle and holding it to your stomach without question while the other soothed your hair with such a tender touch nobody would believe it was Rafe Cameron.

“Mh—ow.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed tight with concern, his heart genuinely aching at the sight and sound of your distress, knowing there was nothing he could do. His big arms held you tighter, kissing your head against as he continued to sooth over your hair. Like you were something precious—you were something so so so precious to him. He kept his grip firm on the hot water bottle against your abdomen, mentally snarling in frustration at the thing obviously not working. Cussing it out in his head and demanding it ease his girls’ aches.

“Stupid nasty cramps,” He murmured nonsense into your hair, as he soothed said locks. Relishing the feeling of you. His chest vibrated with the sound of his deep voice, sweet because of you and frustratedly gruff in sympathy for your situation, “you know I would do anything to get them to stop for you baby. Go to war wit’ the period gods or whatever the fuck. Hate seeing you like this,” he sounded genuinely distressed at your distress and the nonsense he was babbling in his voice that was just so comforting to you—as well as his soothing and the feel of him—was actually helping to relax you, your eyes fluttering shut.

He noticed this, of course he did with how attuned he was to you, a gentle flare of satisfaction warming his chest as he continued on, solely intent on making you feel better. “I’d kick their ass too. Absolutely destroy ‘em for you princess. Make sure you never experience another cramp in your life. They wouldn’t stand a chance, I’d take ‘em all out with—“

You slowly dozed off, lulled into a sense of semi-peace finally, against the warm broad chest of your boyfriend with his arms encasing you. His hand soothing gently through your hair—his gentle, deep voice in your ears as he continued on for you. Encompassed completely in his love, in his care and—god, you loved him so much too.

[infictionalwonderland]

ghost of you

summary: jj thought he had her back—his dead girlfriend—until the moment he tried to prove it, and suddenly, she was gone, leaving him spiraling while his friends realized he had already fallen too far.

dead gf!reader x jj maybank

cw: grief, death, loss, hallucinations, depression, psychological distress & trauma, jj slowly losing himself to the grief, 18+, sad smut, angst

IT STARTS WITH THE LONELINESS…

a slow, suffocating thing, curling around JJ like a vice, sinking its claws into his chest, pressing against his ribs until he can’t breathe right anymore.

it follows him everywhere.

at the chateau, where your laughter used to bounce off the walls.

at the boneyard, where you used to tug on his arm, pulling him into the waves, rolling your eyes when he smirked and grabbed your waist, pressing wet, salty kisses against your skin.

in his bed, where your absence is a hollow, gaping wound, a space that still smells like you but will never hold you again.

it’s been months, but time means nothing. the grief hasn’t lessened. if anything, it’s worse now—festering, rotting, bleeding into every part of him like an infection.

the pogues have stopped asking him if he’s okay.

they tried at first, of course.

kiara had whispered, “JJ, you need to eat.” she had placed a plate in front of him, eyes full of worry, but JJ just stared at it, appetite long gone, stomach curling in on itself at the thought of swallowing anything down.

pope had tried to keep him moving, keep him distracted, rambling about some new treasure hunt, some new plan—JJ didn’t care.

john b had sat beside him, quiet, handing him a beer, taking a sip of his own, waiting for him to speak. but, of course, jj didn’t say anything.

he didn’t want to talk.

didn’t want to think.

didn’t want to exist. not without you in this world.

————————

JJ hadn’t wanted to go, but kiara had practically dragged him out of the chateau, insisting he needed to be around people.

he sat in the booth, staring blankly at his untouched food, the murmur of conversation around him a dull hum in his ears.

and then, in the corner of his eye. he saw you.

sitting at the counter, head tilted slightly, a loose strand of hair falling in front of your face.

his heart stopped. he turned, breath caught in his throat, chest aching with something raw and desperate.

but the second his eyes fully focused, you were gone.

an empty stool sat in your place.

his blood ran cold.

his pulse thrummed violently against his skin, his fingers twitching, his stomach twisting into a knot so tight he thought he might be sick.

“JJ?” kiara’s voice was distant, concerned. “what’s wrong?”

he blinked, forcing himself to breathe, shaking his head. “nothing,” he muttered, but his own voice sounded hollow.

kiara didn’t push.

but JJ knew.

he knew what he saw.

————————

after that, it begins to happens more often.

at the boneyard, he catches a glimpse of her standing by the water. he nearly breaks his fucking neck spinning around, but she’s already gone, replaced by nothing but waves lapping against the shore.

in the chateau, he swears he hears her humming in the kitchen, the soft melody one you used to hum absentmindedly when you were cooking or cleaning or just existing.

he walks in, chest tight, throat burning—but you’re not there to greet him.

just an empty counter. a quiet house.

he checks his stash of weed, wondering if he’s just too high, too strung out, but he knows what’s happening.

and it’s not drugs.

it’s you.

————————

he doesn’t sleep anymore. or at least, not properly. when he does, it’s restless. he wakes up in cold sweats, dreams fading too fast to grasp, but the feeling lingers. like you were there. like you were touching him.

his bed is too cold. his sheets don’t smell like you anymore. so sometimes, he sleeps on the floor instead. because if he closes his eyes, if he lets himself get too comfortable, he starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’re curled up next to him again.

and when he reaches out and finds nothing?

that’s when it hurts the most.

——————

the chateau is dark except for the dim, flickering light of the tv, playing some old movie JJ isn’t really watching. the volume is low, a quiet hum in the background, doing little to fill the empty silence where your voice used to be.

JJ is stretched out on the couch, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, his free hand resting against his forehead. he hasn’t slept properly in months. not since you died.

his body is heavy, his mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and something darker. that’s when he sees you. at first, it’s like every other time. a flicker in the doorway. a figure in the corner of his eye.

his heart stutters in his chest, but he doesn’t react.

he doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t reach out—he’s done that before, and every time, you just fucking disappeared like smoke slipping through his fingers.

so this time, JJ just speaks.

“y’know, if you’re gonna keep haunting me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, rough with exhaustion, “you could at least say something.”

his words are half a joke, half a plea.

JJ’s body goes rigid as your head turns just slightly towards him.

not past him.

not through him.

at him.

your big, perfect eyes lock onto his, the way they used to in quiet moments, the way they did when you would lay beside him in bed, tracing shapes on his skin, whispering things only for him to hear.

his entire world tilts. his heart is a violent, thrashing thing in his chest. his fingers tremble against the empty beer bottle. his mouth runs dry. you look exactly the same. your skin, soft and real. your lips, slightly parted, breathless. your hair, falling into your face just like it always did.

his mind is screaming at him that this isn’t real. but his heart—his fucking heart—is telling him that you’re right here.

he swallows hard.

“baby?” his voice cracks, barely a whisper.

you blink.

JJ’s blood turns to ice. you’re still there. not disappearing, not flickering out like some cruel trick of the light. JJ sits up slowly, every movement careful, like if he moves too fast, he’ll wake up. like if he blinks too hard, you’ll be gone. his chest feels tight, his stomach twisted into a painful knot.

“you’re here,” he breathes.

you nod.

his hands tighten around the couch, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. his head shakes, barely noticeable. “how?”

you just watch him. your eyes are soft, thoughtful.

JJ’s head is spinning. his body is stuck between fear and relief, his pulse thrumming wildly against his skin.

“you’re not real,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, dragging a shaky hand down his face. “i—i’ve seriously lost it. i’m losing my fucking mind.” he rubs his eyes, blinking hard, forcing himself to breathe.

but when he looks again, you’re still there.

his heart lurches into his throat. his lungs feel too tight, like he can’t get enough air. he hates how his chest aches with something like hope.

“you don’t believe i’m here?” you ask softly, head tilting in curiosity.

JJ flinches. he heard you. not just in his head. not just an echo of a memory. your voice—your actual fucking voice—is right here, in the room with him.

his vision blurs. he grips his knees, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans as he struggles to breathe past the lump in his throat.

“i don’t know,” he chokes out. “i don’t know what’s real anymore.”

you take a step closer.

JJ doesn’t move. he’s frozen, paralyzed, fucking terrified, but at the same time, he doesn’t want this to end. he doesn’t want you to disappear again.

“i miss you,” he whispers. his voice is wrecked. barely there.

you tilt your head slightly, your expression soft.

you reach for him.

JJ’s stomach drops.

hus heart stutters, his entire body locking up—but he doesn’t run.

for the first time in months, he felt your touch.

———THE FIRST WEEK———

JJ doesn’t tell anyone. how the fuck could he?

the pogues already treat him like he’s on the edge, tiptoeing around him, waiting for him to snap, to finally break for good.

if he told them the truth—that he sees you, hears you, touches you—they’d put him in a fucking psych ward. so, he keeps it to himself.

during the day, he pretends. he lets kie check in on him. lets john b sit with him in silence, passing him a beer. lets pope ask if he’s been eating, if he’s been sleeping.

he lies.

he tells them what they want to hear.

because the truth?

the truth is he has you now.

at night, when he’s finally alone in the chateau, you are there. you’re waiting for him, just like you always used to. and JJ doesn’t take it for granted.

the first time he kisses you again, it’s hesitant, like he’s afraid he might be imagining it. his lips barely brush against yours, and for a split second, he’s terrified that when he opens his eyes, you’ll be gone. but you’re still there.

still soft.

still warm.

so he lets himself fall deeper into his psychosis.

he pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your waist like a lifeline, his breath uneven as he whispers against your lips, “i fucking missed you, mama.”

you smile.

and JJ swears he could die like this.

———THE SECOND WEEK———

something changes in JJ.

it’s subtle at first.

his shoulders don’t sag as much. his eye bags aren’t as dark. he starts eating more, his appetite seemingly back from the dead.

he even cracks a joke or two—real jokes, not the bitter, half-hearted ones that barely counted.

the pogues notice.

because JJ has been drowning for months. and now, it’s like he just decided to be okay overnight.

they don’t question it—not to his face, at least.

but when JJ walks into the wreck one day, whistling under his breath, kie and pope exchange a glance.

“what the fuck?” kiara mutters under her breath, watching as JJ slides into the booth next to john b, snatching a fry off his plate like nothing ever happened. he strolled down the dock, a little more pep in his step as usual.

pope shakes his head, lowering his voice. “he looks… good?”

john b shrugs. “better than before, at least.”

kie frowns, watching JJ laugh at something dumb.

it’s so different from how he was just last week—from the ghost of himself he had become.

“what do you think happened?” she asks.

pope sighs, taking a sip of his drink. “i don’t know. but whatever it is… i just hope it stays like this.”

———THE THIRD WEEK———

JJ doesn’t care what the pogues think. all that matters is you. because at night, when he’s finally alone in the chateau, you are waiting for him.

JJ doesn’t question it anymore. he doesn’t care how or why. you’re here. and fuck, he’s never letting you go again

it starts slow and sweet—the way it used to be.

JJ traces your features in the dim light, fingers ghosting over your cheeks, down your jaw, across your lips. he memorizes you again.

the way your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your forehead.

the way you shiver when he drags his fingers up your thighs.

the way you whimper when he whispers, “fuck, i missed you, pretty girl.”

his hands worship you. his lips leave soft, lingering kisses along your skin, his breath warm, his body so close to yours that it hurts.

when his his tongue finally licks are you clit, he doesn’t rush.

he moves slowly, teasingly, his tongue warm and devoted.

he listens for every gasp, every sigh, every way your body responds to him.

because it’s been too long.

and JJ is never wasting another second again.

and when you finish on his tongue, your hands tug at his hair, legs shaking around his head.

JJ just grins, kissing his way back up your body, pressing his forehead against yours.

he breathes you in.

you’re so real.

and that’s all that matters.

———THE FOURTH WEEK———

JJ is happy. for the first time in months, he feels like himself again. the weight in his chest is gone. the emptiness, the hollowness—gone.

the pogues are relieved—but are confused as fuck. because JJ doesn’t just wake up fine one day after losing the love of his life.

but here he is. laughing, making jokes, initiating conversations.

he’s JJ again.

and none of them know what the hell changed.

john b watches him from across the boat one afternoon, eyes narrowed.

“dude,” he finally says. “you gotta tell me—what’s up with you lately?”

JJ just smirks, leaning back, sunglasses perched on his nose.

“can’t a guy just be in a good mood?”

john b stares at him. “not when that guy was a walking corpse two weeks ago.”

JJ shrugs, biting back a grin. “maybe i just needed some time, man.”

john b squints, playfully. “orrr maybe you got a new girl.”

JJ pauses. his stomach twists. his grip on his beer tightens. because he does. he has you. but he can’t tell them that. he won’t.

instead, he just laughs, shaking his head. “something like that.”

john b eyes him suspiciously, but lets it go.

JJ exhales, turning his gaze toward the horizon.

because tonight, he gets to go home to you.

and that’s the only thing that matters.

———

it’s routine now. the second he steps into the chateau, you’re waiting for him.

JJ grins the moment he sees you, his body already relaxing, his heart thrumming with something warm, something real.

“missed you,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.

your hands slide around his waist, fingers bunching up his t-shirt, body pressing against his.

“missed you too,” you whisper, smiling against his skin.

some nights, it’s slow and sweet. JJ will pull you onto his lap, fingers tracing lazy circles against your thighs.

he’ll kiss you softly, slowly, letting his lips linger against yours. he’ll whisper sweet things in your ear, his voice low and rough.

“you’re so beautiful, baby.”

“i don’t know what i’d do if you never came back.”

some nights, he’ll just lay there, holding you, whispering about the future.

the things you’ll do together.

the places you’ll go.

as if you have forever.

other nights, it’s desperate. it’s needy.

it’s JJ pushing you against the mattress, pinning your wrists above your head.

it’s his dick slamming into your pussy until you’re trembling.

it’s your name falling from his lips over and over and over, like a fucking prayer.

it’s JJ losing himself in you, holding you so tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

like if he lets go, you’ll slip through his fingers.

like this is the only thing tethering him to reality.

and maybe it is.

maybe you are.

——————

the pogues weren’t supposed to come over today. JJ had everything perfect. two plates. two cups. two sets of silverware. your favorite show playing in the background, volume turned down low with the captions on, just the way you liked it. your nail polish was set out on the table, shades of pink and blue, because you always made him paint your nails and he was finally getting good at it.

everything was just right.

everything felt normal again.

until the front door swung open and the pogues walked in.

JJ turned from the kitchen, spatula in hand, a lazy grin on his face. “damn, y’all ever heard of knocking?”

no one answered.

they were all too busy staring.

JJ followed their line of vision, his smile twitching slightly as he realized what they were looking at.

the extra plate.

the extra cup.

the way the couch was slightly indented, like someone had been sitting there.

kie’s eyes landed on the coffee table. the open bottle of nail polish, the brush resting neatly on a napkin.

JJ shifted on his feet, suddenly hyperaware of how this might look from the outside.

to him, everything was normal.

to them?

it must have looked like a scene from a fucking horror movie.

john b was the first to break the silence. he gestured to the table, one brow raised. “got a girl over?”

JJ hesitated. it was one second. one second too long. because when he hesitated, he instinctively looked toward the top of the stairs, and you were there.

standing at the landing.

watching.

your expression was wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, your body tense like a deer caught in headlights.

JJ felt the panic rolling off of you in waves.

you knew. you knew exactly what was about to happen. you knew he was about to tell them.

and you didn’t want him to.

your head shook violently, your hair bouncing with the force of it, eyes pleading.

don’t do it, jj. don’t say it. don’t fucking ruin this.

JJ swallowed, forcing himself to look away from you, turning his attention back to the pogues with a slow grin spreading across his lips.

for the first time in weeks, he was about to tell them the truth.

they had no idea.

they had no fucking clue what had been happening in this house every night.

now, he could finally say it out loud.

JJ swallowed, forcing himself to look away from her, turning his attention back to his friends with a slow grin spreading across his lips.

for the first time in weeks, he was about to tell them the truth.

“guys,” he exhaled, his grin widening. “she’s here.”

the air thickened.

no one spoke.

no one moved.

it was pope who broke first, his voice slow, cautious. “…what?”

JJ let out a laugh, relieved. like he’d been waiting so long to say this, and now he finally could.

“she’s here,” he repeated, nodding, almost giddy. “she’s been here. this whole time.”

his friends didn’t share his enthusiasm. they were staring. not at him, but at each other. like they were silently deciding who would be the one to handle this.

kie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. john b shifted uncomfortably. pope rubbed his palms against his jeans.

JJ looked between them, his excitement dimming slightly. “what?” he laughed again, but it sounded off this time. “you guys don’t believe me?”

they didn’t respond. their silence was too loud. JJ’s stomach twisted. he suddenly felt like a kid trying to convince his parents there was a monster under his bed. like he was crazy.

like they already knew he was crazy.

john b sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “JJ…” His voice was careful, cautious, too careful. “she’s… she’s gone, man.”

JJ’s whole body locked up, his hands twitched at his sides.

“no.” his voice was firm, steady, confident. he shook his head, waving a hand toward the stairs. “she’s right here.”

they followed his gaze. and that’s when everything shattered. because when JJ looked back—she wasn’t there. the space where she had just been standing was empty. the landing was dark, lifeless, cold.

JJ’s breath caught in his throat. his smile faltered. he blinked. once. twice. three times. his chest grew tighter. his stomach sank.

“babe?” his voice came out small.

no response. JJ’s pulse roared in his ears. his hands curled into fists. this didn’t make sense. she was just here. he saw her. they saw him look at her. she was just fucking here.

he turned to them, suddenly frantic, desperate.

“she was just here,” he insisted, voice rising slightly.

no one said anything. they didn’t have to. their expressions said it all. they didn’t believe him. they thought he was insane.

JJ’s body went stiff.

the air felt too thick, suffocating, pressing against him like the walls were closing in. his throat closed up, his breathing quickened.

this wasn’t real. this wasn’t happening.

she was here. she had to be.

JJ turned violently, moving now, searching, yanking open doors, checking every corner.

“she’s here,” he kept saying. “she’s here.”

his voice grew louder, more frantic. he shoved open the bathroom door—empty. he ran to the hallway—empty.

his hands trembled, his chest aching, his vision swimming.

the pogues watched. they didn’t know what to do.

because JJ Maybank was unraveling in front of them. they had never seen him like this. never seen him this lost.

JJ spun back toward them, eyes wide, wild. “she’s fucking with me,” he said, voice frantic, unhinged.

he forced out a laugh. “she’s just hiding,” he assured them. assured himself.

kie flinched. john b exchanged a worried glance with pope. pope looked genuinely disturbed.

JJ’s breath hitched.

the walls felt like they were closing in. this wasn’t happening. this wasn’t real. he turned toward the stairs again, his throat burning. his heart clawing at his ribs.

“…babygirl, please,” he whispered.

silence. nothing. JJ’s fingers curled into his hair, gripping tightly.

his knees almost buckled. because if she was gone—if she was really gone—then that meant he was alone again.

and JJ couldn’t do it. he wouldn’t.

so he laughed. hysterical. sharp. broken.

his fingers dug into his skin.

he shook his head, muttering, “no, no, no, no.”

and for the first time in weeks—JJ Maybank felt completely and utterly alone.

a/n; hi! this is completely based on a why don’t we fanfic i read in middle school. i can’t find it anywhere :’D

[infictionalwonderland]

sorry i know we all mutually agree season 2 rafe was peak but season 1 rafe is soooo fucking pathetic … i need him so bad

like he’s clearly very bitchless, you can tell he abso fuckin lutely whimpers like a pussy when he actually gets his dick wet. he would be so easily manipulatable too like send him a pic of ur tits and he’s definitely gonna do anything you tell him lolololol daddy issues so bad he’s so eager to please