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RENEÉ RAPP ♫ LEAVE ME ALONE via TikTok, June 3rd 2025
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I have a request based off of something that happened to me with my gf LMAO but if you could write a Vi and reader having ✨sesbian lex✨ and Vi suddenly gets a phone call. Instead of Stopping Vi covers reader’s mouth and answers the call, chatting normally as she continues to strap reader down and reader is struggling to stay quiet 👁️👁️ thanks pookie!
that's so hot pookie bless so glad u got to have that experience 👁️👁️
+18, mdni, carmech!vi bc i miss her wow
"n-ngh -- vi... r-right there --"
"yeah sweetness? like it when i fuck you right there?"
vi sounds a bit breathless, there's a light quirk to the side of her lips as she works her hips into yours, her strap hitting against a spot inside you that has your vision petering out at the edges. there's a heat curling in the base of your belly that makes your toes curl, your spine bend. you reach for her, sinking your fingers into her tightly corded forearms as she leans down to pin you back.
"fuck -- fuck -- you're so tight, pretty girl -- y'hear how wet you are for me?" she asks, even as you nod, a desperate bob of your head as she hoists your thigh over her hip to drill in all the deeper.
it's saturday afternoon, the air conditioner on full blast, the car garage empty for the heat. it'd been a slow kind of day, the kind where ennui tickles at the summer-stained corners of the imagination, threatening to set in. and when it does... well, there's only one thing for it --
"please, vi -- i'm gonna --"
she lets out a low groan, leaning down to suck a sloppy hickey against your shoulder. even though the pair of you have been together more than a year now, she's still as insatiable as when you'd just met her.
"that's it, c'mon princess -- cum for me, cum all over this strap like the good little girl you --"
the phone rings; her pace stutters.
you keen, squeezing your thighs around her hips, your heels digging into her back as she reaches for her cellphone and frowns down at the caller id. you shake your head vigorously, tugging at her arm.
"vi -- vi -- no don't --" you beg, because there's a dangerous smirk cresting her lips even as she presses a finger to them.
"shh... quiet princess, unless you want someone to hear," she murmurs, before swiping up and pressing the phone to her ear.
"heeeyyy silco, what's up? y'lookin for vander? he's out at a show in kansas -- oh yeah -- sure, we should still be good for dinner -- 7, at the bar, right?" vi rocks her hips down into yours and has to press her palm over your mouth to muffle your squeak.
"huh? no nothing -- just uh --" vi cocks an eyebrow down at you, swirling her hips, the feel of her strap dragging inside you nearly makes your eyes roll back. you clench down around her, biting down hard on your own lips to keep from making noise. she nods her approval before letting go of your mouth and straightening back up, resting her free hand on your hip to hold you still as she tugs back for a particularly hard thrust.
"-- doin' some maintenance work," she chuckles, "some of these screws are in a bit tight," she winks, pulling back and thrusting forward once more, "y'know how things get when they're not... worked out properly once in a while."
you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the coil tighten inside you with every soft shallow thrust of her hips, the tip of the silicon strap nudging up against your g-spot till it's all you can do to keep from falling apart. you scrabble for her wrist, giving her a warning tug as she laughs at something silco says, glancing down at your with dark, blown-out eyes.
"yeah, i know, i know, you've always hated the shop talk -- kay, we'll see you at dinner -- yep, she'll be there too," vi says, before bidding her goodbyes and clicking off her phone. she sets it face down on the bedside table and before returning to the shape of you pinned beneath her.
"f-fuck vi... th-that's not --" you try to force out a coherent sentence, but vi only coos as she reaches down between you to flick playfully at your clit. immediately, your mouth falls open, and you jerk up against her. she laughs.
"mmm... i really do love it when you're tryna keep quiet for me princess..." she says, leaning down to brush her lips against yours. you yank her down for a kiss, fingers fisting in the choppy pink hair at the base of your skull. she groans into the kiss, fucking into you now with the kind of wild abandon you've come to know all too well.
within a minute, she has you shuddering apart, coming hard enough for the world to blink out for a few seconds, the air in your lungs to taste sweet and bitter all at once. she holds you down and chases her own climax, muttering the entire time about how hot you look, how much she loves it when you soak her strap like this. you keen as she collapses into you with a long breath, groaning into the sticky skin of your shoulder.
you run your fingers through her hair.
"really?" you ask, after a few steadying breaths, "a few tight screws?"
vi chuckles, pulling back with a lopsided shrug.
"what? wasn't exactly a lie."
"yeah? you really wanna compare our sex lives to car maintenance?"
vi pulls out and you crinkle your nose at the sudden loss of feeling. she leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee before reaching for a napkin to wipe you down.
"'s not that different -- good, timely maintenance gets you a good, healthy, long run with your car," she says, tossing the napkin into a bin in the corner before offering you a mug of water. you take a sip before holding the mug up to her lips. she lets you tip some into her mouth, licking her lips as she works the harness off from around her hips.
"thanks princess," she says, leaning forward for a kiss. you watch her pull her tanktop back on, shimmying back into her boxer shorts.
"oh, you're good for dinner at silco's right? at 7?"
you cock an eyebrow, "you mean the dinner you already agreed to for me on the phone right now? while we were fucking?"
vi shoots you a cheeky smile.
"so... 7?"
you roll your eyes, tossing your underwear at her with a huff.
"get me a new pair of panties."
vi laughs, snatching your crumpled up underwear from the air and considers them for a brief second before pressing them into the back pocket of her cargo shorts.
"nah, think i like you without them."
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You belong with me. 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤
Letter on my site :)
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IMAGINE PART I: “Nipple Theory” — Reneé Rapp x Reader
— Chaotic makeup session.
You knew agreeing to let Reneé do your makeup was going to be a thing, but you didn’t expect it to be a full-blown theory.
It starts with the sound of a drawer slamming.
Then a gleeful gasp.
Then—“Oh my GOD, remember when lip liner was supposed to match your nipples?! Like... that was the trend. That was the whole aesthetic. That’s where we were as a society.”
She turns to you like she’s discovered the Library of Alexandria. Except instead of literature, she’s holding a stubby pencil in a shade called “Bare Seduction.” You’re sitting in her bathroom, legs curled under you, robe slipping off your shoulder, while Reneé rummages through a bag of expired Glossier products like a witch brewing lip combos.
"Reneé, please—"
"No, no, no. You don’t get to 'please' out of this," she interrupts, spinning on her socked heel, gum snapping between her teeth. “This is sacred. This is nipple-coded. I’m taking this seriously.”
You give her a look — half-exasperated, half aroused. She’s wearing boxer shorts and a sports bra, her hair twisted up in a claw clip, and she’s dead serious about your cosmetic alignment with your areolas.
"You act like I have a Pantone chart of my boobs lying around," you mutter.
She squints at you. “Do you not? Amateur.”
You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. Reneé Rapp has this way of saying the most absurd things like they’re law — like she’s the Greek chorus of hot girls and all of them are behind her, cheering.
"I’m not taking my top off just so you can match lip liner to my chest."
She clicks the pencil cap off dramatically. “Then describe them.”
“Reneé—”
“Warm rose? Cool blush? Terra-cotta titty? Give me something to work with.”
Your hand flies to your face in secondhand embarrassment, but your cheeks are already heating. Of course. This is so her. There’s not a single moment in your friendship where boundaries haven't been bent like wet mascara wands. It’s part of the charm. Or the chaos. Both.
She chews her gum like a devil at the gates of Sephora.
"Fine," you sigh. "They’re like... mauve? Kind of dusty pink. Not too bright. Definitely not coral."
She beams like you handed her state secrets. "Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?"
Baby. There it is again. She throws pet names around like confetti, but somehow when it’s just you, when it’s quiet and she’s standing over you with her wrist at your chin and her tongue in her cheek, it doesn’t feel harmless.
It feels... intentional.
She leans in. Close enough to count her lashes. Close enough to see that little freckle under her left eye twitch when she’s concentrating.
“No talking,” she says, all serious now. “This requires surgical precision.”
You sit still. Lips parted. Breath steady. Her fingers are warm when they cradle your jaw, tipping your head back like something delicate. The pad of her thumb brushes your bottom lip before the liner ever does.
And then — slow, careful strokes.
You feel the drag of pigment against your skin. You feel the shift of air between her chest and yours. The scent of her — vanilla lotion, coconut hair oil, peppermint gum — folds over you like a blanket made of everything you’ve ever wanted to taste.
"You’ve got good lips," she murmurs, not looking at your eyes. “Plump. Naturally lined. It’s unfair. You could ruin someone with these.”
You arch a brow, but your mouth doesn’t move. She’s right there, pencil tracing the edge of your cupid’s bow like a map she’s memorized.
"I’m starting to think this whole thing was an excuse to stare at my mouth," you whisper.
She doesn’t flinch. “And you’re only just starting to think that?”
Another stroke. Another pause.
You can feel her breath when she exhales — soft, sharp, amused. Her eyes flicker up to yours, and for a second, neither of you moves.
The vibe between you ripples. Lowkey. Tense. Familiar.
“Okay, I’m done,” she says, stepping back, but her voice is a little too breathless. A little too proud.
You blink yourself back into the moment. The mirror shows you something... different. Polished. Sharp. A little sensual. The lip liner does match. You’re not sure if it’s the color or the context that makes your throat dry.
“See?” she says, hip cocked, gum snapping. “Nipple theory never lies.”
You smile despite yourself. “You’re such a menace.”
She leans in again — much closer this time, eyes on your mouth. “Yeah. But admit it... you’re kind of into it.”
Then, just before you can think of something smart to say, she kisses your jaw. Right below the corner of your mouth. Lip liner and all.
“I should name the shade after you,” she murmurs against your skin. “Call it... 'Muse Mauve.’”
Your body goes still.
Reneé steps back with a wink. “Perfect match.”
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renee’s voice when she says “leave me alone bitch i wanna have fun” scratches my brain just right
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renée you are my modern day princess diana… i love seeing lesbians bringing back messy celebrities
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RENEÉ RAPP Leave Me Alone (Official Music Video)
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