#it's interesting and maybe troubling that he can only get so far away from it as a mask for as long as he has his job

[enneamage]

Tommy – 6w7

Tommy as a Six

It’s kind of hard to make a six stereotype that actually fits any living six neatly. It’s also really hard to introduce them succinctly. One can say that they’re anxious and safety-driven, but unlike other types that can be flattened into an (often wrong) caricature, it’s generally too obvious from the get-go that it isn’t the whole picture. If you’ve glanced over a six profile with Tommy in mind and gone “He’s like that but also not at all,” welcome to the Six experience.

Child of the algorithm

As soon as I first saw a Youtube analytics page, whatever questions I had about Tommy’s streaming/youtube persona went out the window. YouTube literally quantifies attention in every way you could possibly want, which works incredibly well with someone who has an abundance of two things:

A mind for systems and frameworks

A very strong drive to avoid abandonment

Over time, the internet has been designed to mimic the attention-grabbing impulses of humans, but other humans did it first, and sixes in particular can be good at engaging nearly every form of attention to avoid abandonment. A big drive of the core six is stability (internal and external), preparedness and maintaining a safety net.

Tommy has always talked about relating to YouTube as a video game, finding enjoyment and comfort in being able to look at engagement in solid, reliable measurements. He can make the number go up, he can relate to his performance and behavior with a score, and he can break down other people’s strategies for getting the best results. YouTube is a system that he finds comfort in and literally gets engagement from.

A mind for systems

I have a book lying around with a self-identification questionnaire for each type. There’s a standout line in the Six section: “I might not follow the rules, but I at least want to know what they are.” Sixes naturally gravitate towards thinking in systems, in spite of how chaotic things might look from the outside, or feel from the inside. They tend to feel lost without them and like to orient themselves using them, even if they choose to not follow them or explicitly go against them.

Sixes also tend to have a low-grade fight-or-flight thing going on. This makes for a very interesting combination with their systems-brain, when the systems that they commit to memory become like reflexes. Structures and rules become second nature, and they can flow between following them perfectly and breaking them intuitively. This shows up in Tommy’s use of language (one of the first systems we learn), as well as his remarkable skill in Jazz Piano.

The Seven Wing

Tommy’s Seven wing makes him up-beat and expansive. He’s got a fun-seeking streak, using humor to blow off tension and lighten people’s moods while he’s making friends. He likes to reach out and make connections to a lot of different people so he always has the option of company, even if something else falls through.

While 6w5’s are more withdrawn, 6w7’s have more of a physical and mental wanderlust. Basically, the seven wing lends him part of his chaotic streak.

Counterphobia

Ah, the reason this account exists, explaining counterphobia.

Think of the fight or flight instinct (putting aside freeze and fawn and the other bonus F’s.) When anxiety wakes you up, you have a set of instincts that you can react with reflexively. Regular phobia makes you want to pull away from something, but counterphobia moves you towards it so you can handle it. Most Sixes have a mix of the two, but Sixes who lean primarily on counterphobia more can lead surprisingly dangerous lives for people who are secretly anxious.

Counterphobia can compound onto the Six tendency to anticipate danger. The irony of this happening at an extreme level is they can come off as reckless, seeking out danger and charging right into it for the rush.  Tommy does this one a lot, and I wonder if it’s intentional that the people around him have to pay extra attention and take on a disaterbrain way of thinking in order to keep him… alive. When I asked a Six friend about this, they said that it was also very comforting to receive acknowledgement of care, as acting up without anybody reacting can be incredibly shameful.

I’ve seen this line tossed around enough in YouTube comment sections to be comfortable quoting without a source-- “some people are socially awkward, Tommy is awkwardly social.” Tommy turns his social anxiety into forward-moving energy and can get into some fascinatingly bizarre situations because of it. This also makes some of his humor just about as dark as he can get away with, knowing exactly what button he’s not supposed to push and then power-slamming it down.  

Sixes are able to burn their anxiety like fuel to propel them forward, sometimes on purpose (deeply valuing bravery) and sometimes on impulse. They can feel the contrast within themselves between what a phobic life and a counterphobic life look like, and in the name of puffing themselves up big to protect themselves and those they love, they choose the latter. 

Tommy still has a working sense of self-preservation (sometimes) and is capable of getting nervous about abstract fears as well as practical ones, but more specific situations are more likely to bring about his counterphobic side.

The Loyal Sceptic

One of the things that made Tommy successful as a content creator in the beginning was his impulse to reach out and ask other people how to do things. Sixes like to pool information and opinions to be sure that the choice that they’re making is the best one, and like to have a wide range of references to fall back on. Hell, he asks people for advice as a verbal tick, just inventing questions for people to answer.

Sixes are sceptical. Because systems are so important to the way they get through life, they want to be sure they work first, and can be a natural trouble-shooters if they don’t. Tommy will ask for advice from all kinds of people, but he’s more than capable of arguing against something if it doesn’t seem right. Still, he has faith in people who seem to know what they’re doing—and sometimes a headass decision is good content anyway.

An interesting thing about sixes is they have a complex relationship to being in charge. Someone on the top (in a conventional sense) can’t rely on other people to guide them and are the first to get in trouble if something goes wrong, which is a nightmare scenario for Tommy.

Enter: Wilbur. Wilbur’s willingness (and natural inclination) to act as a mentor to Tommy played a huge part in keeping him stable in his rise to fame, even when Wilbur himself was on the rocks. Having someone to fall back on, ask advice from, and share some blame (in Minecraft) was a big deal for him. Tommy put down an iron-clad attachment to Wilbur, but a detail that gets missed is that although Tommy is very loyal and appreciative of what Wilbur has/can/will do for him, his attachment doesn’t come from pure idealisation.

This clip is a very good example of how Tommy holds onto relationships even when he knows they aren’t ideal. C!Tommy is actually very realistic about C!Wilbur, and you can probably guess what that translates into in real life.  Tommy doesn’t burn many bridges and likes to keep his options open when it comes to people. Tommy’s attachment to Wilbur isn’t because he’s perfect, it’s because he’s Wilbur and he’s there, and Tommy can handle troubleshooting and the bumps in the road for as long as he’s got something to hold onto. Dream, Philza and many others also played a mentor role to Tommy during his rise, and he likely has a good sense for who to go to depending on the problem.

Come and go

Sixes also need freedom and space. Most people have to balance their need for connection with their need for personal autonomy, including (and maybe especially?) Sixes. Tommy’s habit of just picking up and leaving when he feels like it? Pretty classic 6w7 behavior. Tommy needs to exert a certain amount of agency over his day to feel alright, so he doesn’t feel merged with the people around him or suffocated.

People who put down roots with Sixes get used to a kind of come-and-go pattern, where their attachment to you is secure enough to last an absence. Tommy is just as likely to get energy from interacting with people as he is when he’s alone, since Sixes are known for being some of the truest ambiverts.

Disintegration to Three

When a Six is under a certain kind of stress, they can act like a version of an unhealthy Three, feeling that they are the only thing in life they can control. Feeling too insecure and suspicious of other peoples input, Sixes can shut down and begin to rely only on themselves, while also having a huge crisis of self-esteem. From here, Sixes take a turn into good old-fashioned overcompensation, becoming concerned with their own image and effectiveness (that word again.)

Most people have versions of who they want to be, but the image-driven influence of the Three contrasting with the fear that they lack the qualities that they want most can make them desperate to prove themselves. The issue with this is that panic makes them put on a funhouse-mirror version of what they think will help them, which tends to be abrasive and maladaptive.

Tommy seems to have toughness, confidence, humor and status as some of his core values that get distorted by Three. He comes off as showy and loud, making a scene of trampling over other people to create a contrast between himself and them. When something doesn’t seem to be working out, he doubles down, thinking that the only way out is through. He generally needs a wrangler to keep this from getting too out of hand, which he is both glad to have (attention) and will fight to the death (agency.)

The interesting thing about this is that Tommy seems to have taken a snapshot of this personality and uses it as part of his streaming persona when he’s In A Mood. It’s reasonable to assume that he may have genuinely slipped in and out of this place in the past, but judging from where he’s at now, this isn’t his full emotional truth anymore. Still, it pops up on stream on occasion, and this might be why people swear up and down that Tommy is a sweetheart off stream but can be a whole other thing when he’s on.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[touyasdoll]

Like a Sister

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x best friend's little sister!reader

! Disclaimer ! NO INCEST. NO STEPCEST. absolutely nothing against those who write/read that, but this isn't that and I just wanna make that clear <3

Word count: 5k

Warnings: reader is Kiri's adoptive younger sister. I always try to make everything as inclusive as possible, so pls let me know (politely!) if I failed somewhere. fem reader, alcohol, intentionally making someone jealous, reader is wearing a skirt & a charm bracelet, reader gets picked up, missionary/intimate sex, no real prep, lots of feelings involved

Notes: I'm so sorry that this took literally over a year, but I hope that you enjoy it <3

Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist

Your big brother is always looking out for you. You two have been close for as far back as you can remember and he’s always been very protective of you, because the absolute worst thing that he can think of is seeing you get hurt, so he does whatever he can to prevent that. 

It’s sweet, of course, and you love him for it. Eijirou is the best sibling that anyone could ask for. It’s nice having someone who cares enough to look out for you the way that he does. 

However. 

The problem is that he does so damn good of a job trying to look out for you that he ends up scaring off most of the guys you’re interested in. 

It started back in your school days. You’re only a year younger than your adoptive big bro, so you almost always attended the same school. But the moment that he put two and two together and realized that boys had taken an interest in you? It was like his protection skills leveled up. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for when a cute boy was talking to you. He was always just around somehow. 

It went beyond your time in school though. It’s now become a sizable problem for you well into your adulthood. The same routine over and over again. The guy you’re talking to finds out that you’re the Red Riot’s little sister and suddenly they’re ghosting you for fear of ending up on his bad side. They’ve seen what he’s capable of. Well, physically capable of. In actuality, you don’t think that anyone who did cross you would get more than maybe a stern talking to from the “fearsome” hero. You can’t really blame them though. Most people don’t look at the rock hard hero and think of him as the teddy bear that you know him to be. 

The worst part is that doesn’t even realize that he’s essentially a chronic cockblock and you haven’t ever had the heart to tell him. Not that you think you want to. It is a bit of an awkward conversation to broach with your elder brother. How are you supposed to tell him that him being terrifyingly good at his job is what’s causing all your dick appointments to cancel on you? Especially when he thinks that you’re still such a sweet girl too. Such an innocent girl. Thankfully, he is incorrect there. His brawn doesn’t scare away absolutely everyone that you’re interested in. You’ve had plenty of practice by ways of shallow dating app hookups and bad decisions made after one too many at the bar. But it’s not like you’ve ever brought anyone home to meet the family, so he’s none the wiser to your ways. 

You’ve never so much as mentioned anyone you were seeing to your brother, which is fine by him. In his humble opinion, no one’s good enough for you anyway, which is something that he has expressed multiple times; it’s not a secret that’s what he thinks. He’s more than prepared to see you as his pure, innocent little sister forever.

Bakugou though? He has a lot more trouble picturing you as innocent.

He’s spent too many nights fisting his cock to the thought of your tight pussy wrapped around him. He’s imagined the taste of you on his tongue one too many times to see you as the virginal sweetheart that his best friend believes that you are.

He hates himself for it too. Hates that he always ends up here, furiously stroking himself while suffocating the sound of your name on his lips into his pillow, lest his roommate—your brother—hear him. Hates it. 

Because as much as he lusts after you, he loves you more. He's had to insist to Mina, who can see through his ruse and has called him out of it before, that he loves you like a sister, but in truth, he loves every little thing about you far beyond that. The sound of your laugh, listening to you talk about your interests, even the face that you make when something’s bothering you. He knows it immediately, because all he does when you’re around is watch you. He wants to know what upsets you, so that he can avoid it, so that he can fix it. So that he can make you happy, because that’s all that he’s ever wanted for you. Happiness. 

He couldn't tell you when it started, this little crush of his. As far as he can recall, he's always been drawn to you. You, who would always tag along with the rest of the gang back when you were all in high school. Who never seemed put off by his abrasive personality, even though it was certainly much worse back then. Who, even still today, always offers him a smile and makes his day just a bit brighter with only your presence.

He also couldn't tell you how he felt. First, he had no idea if you felt the same. He liked to think that he was fairly emotionally intelligent, good at reading cues and all that, but when it came to you, he was clueless. And he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to take the rejection. 

Little did he know that you were trying to make it obvious. Your innocent schoolgirl crush had turned into something that ran much deeper than that after so many years of knowing Bakugou. Much like your brother, you immediately saw past his tough exterior and came to realize that he's actually one of the most caring and thoughtful people that you've ever met. He's always looking out for others, and you’ve noticed that you are no exception.

He saw you out on a date once, which was the point. You went to his usual coffee shop with some guy, because you knew that he would be there after his shift for an afternoon pick-me-up. You had hoped that it would make him jealous. That maybe you could get a sense for whether or not he harbored the same feelings that you did. Whether or not he had the same recurrent  thoughts about the feeling of his skin on yours. You just wanted to know; you wanted an inkling of something to prove that maybe he was just as interested as you. 

He did seem irritated beyond that typical gruff facade of his, but he also seemed genuine when he pulled you aside and told you that your date wasn't worth your time. Of course, he'd been right too. Not too long after Bakugou had scooped up his order and bolted, the idiot in question started visibly ogling other patrons in the cafe.

He was always right. About everything. It would honestly be annoying if he wasn't so good at giving advice. You knew that you could always go to him with even the silliest of problems and he'd offer you an attentive ear and a few words of wisdom that you never would've considered on your own. He had a knack for solving your every dilemma. 

Which gives you a wicked idea. 

He's always helped you out before. So why can't he help you with this little problem that you're having now?

Feeling a stroke of genius, you hatch a plan to send Bakugou signals that he can't miss.

You check the time on your phone. 2:16 PM. Your brother still has plenty of time left during his patrol shift and Katsuki is most likely at the apartment all by himself. 

///

Half an hour later, you’re rapping your knuckles against the apartment door and before you can even drop your hand back to your side, the door’s swinging open. 

Bakugou stands before you in gray sweatpants and a loose muscle tank that may have been a sleeved shirt at one point, but now it’s been cut nearly all the way to the hem on both sides. His face twists in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Didn’t your brother tell you he was workin’ today? He won’t be home for another couple hours.”

“I know,” you say simply, shrugging and clasping your hands behind your back as you stroll inside the apartment. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” He asks, sounding slightly incredulous, though he covers it by clearing his throat. “Why? Ya need somethin’?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you have a minute?” 

You go ahead and slip your shoes off by the door before making yourself comfortable on the couch, fanning out your short skirt, so that it drapes across your thigh just right when you cross your legs. 

“I’ve always got time for you.” 

He shrugs, sauntering over to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. He angles his body to face you as he sprawls out, his muscular arm laying over the back of the couch, fingers almost near enough to touch your shoulder. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

It’s hard to focus on his question when you can see so much of his bare chest beneath his altered tank top, but his voice pulls your eyes to his face and your brain, thankfully, catches up. 

“I’ve just been having some boy troubles,” you admit, a soft pout pursing your lips together. You don’t miss the glance that he steals at them. 

“Well, that’s your problem,” he scoffs. “Stop dating boys and trying dating a man for a change. Boys are just gonna break your heart. A real man’ll treat ya right.”

“By a real man, do you mean someone like.. you?” 

You ask so blatantly that it makes his head spin. He doesn’t even register your hand on his knee until a full two seconds later; he’s too busy trying to process whether or not you actually said what he thinks you said. He looks down and you swear you can sense the nervous energy radiating off of him as he lifts his hand to rest it atop your own. He doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he’s already picturing folding you in half right there on the couch and he respects his best friend too much to ever do something like that to his sister. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Someone like me, yeah,” he says as he starts to push your hand away, but he can’t bring himself to actually do it. 

He presses his hand down on top of yours and finds the nerve to meet your gaze, which he immediately recognizes as a mistake. That little smile on your lips. The sense of longing that he’s almost certain he can see in your eyes. They’re both dwindling his resolve down to nothing. 

“Well, why not you?” You shrug, daring to slip your hand up to his thigh. “Why can’t I have you, Katsuki?”

He can’t believe how simple you’re making it sound. As if you two could be together just like that? What would Kirishima think? What would he do? He’s at a loss for words. He can think of reasons to say no, but all that he wants to say is yes. 

“Out of every man that I’ve ever met, you’ve always treated me the best,” you say as you look down at your hands, placing your other one on top of his. “You’re always here for me when I need you. You look out for me. You actually seem to care about how I’m doing. You even pay attention to the little things like how I take my coffee or even when I wear a different perfume. Why shouldn’t I be with a guy who does all of that?”

His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never actually felt his pulse move quite this fast and considering his line of work, that’s saying something. He opens his mouth, trying to find a way to refuse you, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

“You should,” he starts, brows knitting together with regret. “You absolutely should and you shouldn’t settle for anything less, but I don’t.. I don’t know if..”

His lips press together in a hard line. He can’t even say the words. You tilt your head and the disappointed look on your face just about kills him right there. 

“It’s okay, I understand. I thought that..” you trail off, looking down as you start to pull your hands away. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been misreading things.”

“No,” he says quickly, sandwiching both of your hands between his own as you lift your head to meet his eyes once more and he finds relief in the hope that he finds there. “No, that’s not it. I,” he sighs. “You didn’t misread anything. I like you. Goddamn, do I fucking like you..”

HIs ruby eyes search your face, a melancholy smile just barely turning up the corners of his mouth. You hold your breath, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable ‘but’ that you feel coming. 

“But I don’t know if I could do that to your brother.”

Your shoulders slump and your face falls too, eyes averting to focus on a spot on the floor as you nod your head. You would try to mask your disappointment, but you can’t seem to. Even in this scenario, being Red Riot’s little sister hinders your romantic prospects. 

“I was hoping that because it’s you it wouldn’t be an issue,” you say quietly, retracting your hands as you stand up. “I’m really sorry for bothering you with this. Just don’t even tell him that I was here, please. I’ll get out of your hair before I embarrass myself further.”

You turn to leave and he flies to his feet, reaching out to take your hand and spin you around to face him. His impressively large form looms over you, sizing you up with a genuinely curious expression. 

“What do you mean by that? Because it’s me?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes again. “I just figured that if ever there was a guy that he thought he could trust would treat me right, it’d be you. He respects you more than anyone else he knows. He’s known you forever. He even still looks up to you. If you don’t meet the standard in his eyes then.. I don’t know that anyone ever will.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stares down at you with knit brows and a scowl on his lips, rendered both pensive and frustrated by just how much sense it makes. He can’t deny that. But he also can’t ignore the seemingly infinite amount of times that Kirishima had warned every single member of their friend group growing up that you were strictly off limits. 

Then again. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. And he’s always thought that his friend was a bit too overbearing when it came to your dating life. He gets where he’s coming from; he doesn’t want you dating an asshole, but they’re on the same page there. And this is different. Right? What you’re saying makes sense. He’d never hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Kirishima would understand this logic, wouldn’t he?

He hoped so.

You’re waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything. Finally, he seems to snap out of his thoughts and he tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to slip his arm around your waist as his hand leaves yours to cup your cheek. He kisses you the way that he’s wanted to for so, so long and it feels too right to seem like the wrong decision. 

It happens so fast that you’re caught off guard. It takes a moment for it to register that this is actually happening, but when you realize, you kiss him back with just as much passion. All that tension is broken, shattered to pieces to leave nothing but a sense of all encompassing need in its place. You press your hands to his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of his tank to tug impatiently. You’d both waited long enough. You’d both waited long enough for this and it was becoming evident just how little patience the both of you had left by the way that you’re hands are greedily exploring each other’s bodies. 

“Are you sure about this?” He manages to mutter between feverish kisses as his hands start to skim beneath your top. “Because I don’t think I’ll survive it if you end up changin’ your mind on me, princess.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you reply without hesitation, reaching down to pull your top off completely before you reach back to unhook your bra. 

You lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back to take in the sight of you. He’s dreamed about this moment for too long, but it’s clear now that his imagination hasn't been able to do you justice. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says so sincerely that it makes you stop for a moment as your cheeks grow warm. 

You lean in again to grab the hem of his shirt, giving him a chaste kiss before you lift it over his head and toss it aside. Your fingertips explore the shape of his abs, traveling up and over his chest until your hands are pressed behind his neck to pull him in once more. 

“So are you,” you murmur against his lips, capturing them again to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

His large hands find the small of your back before they dip lower to cup your ass. He flips up your skirt and groans when he feels the warmth of your bare skin, massaging your cheeks with a firm but gentle touch. His confidence seems to be growing as quickly as his erection has. You think to yourself that he must not have anything beneath his sweats with the way that you can feel his cock prodding at you.

He helps you shed the rest of your clothing, tugging your panties off along with your skirt before he lifts his arms to let you lift his tank and toss it aside. He’s thoroughly worked up and ready to go, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your palm against his throbbing member. His breath hitches and the noise he makes almost sounds pained. All he can think about is having you wrapped around him. He nearly forgets to breathe as he bucks his hips into your touch. A whine even slips from his lips.

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, eyes closed and hands greedy as they knead the fat of your ass again. 

“I think I have an idea,” you reply, wearing a playful smile as you cut to the chase and tug his sweats down to wrap your hand around his fully exposed and swollen cock. 

He suddenly stoops down to grab you behind your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up onto his waist as he silences you with a commanding kiss. He steps out of the sweats now pooled around his ankles and carts you off to the bedroom. 

Your arms are wound tight around his neck and neither one of you seems to want to come up for air. Even when he lays you down, he keeps his lips moving against yours. You part your legs and his fingertips skim along the outside of your thigh as his hips start to roll. He can’t even pretend that he’s in control of them as his tip begins to press against your slit, begging to part your lips and slip right inside of you. 

“Do it,” you beg, the plea hardly a whisper as you continue crashing your lips into his. “Please, Katsuki. I’m ready, I promise. Just fuck me already.”

You shift your hips forward and, as much as he wants to take his time with you, he can’t help himself when you manage to nudge the head of his cock inside of you. He immediately gets lost in the warm, wet, and welcoming sensation of your walls. You apparently weren’t kidding when you said you were ready. He drags his hips back and then allows himself to be sucked in as he slowly sinks himself inside. 

The both of you let out a sigh of mutual relief and he pushes himself up, placing his hands on either side of your body to stare down at your perfect face. He gives another roll of his hips and struggles to keep his own eyes open, so that he can watch the way yours fall shut and how your face twists as the pleasure courses through your body. He thinks to himself that it has to be one of the best things that he’s ever been blessed enough to see and he knows that he needs more. He needs to make you feel better than anyone else ever has. 

So that’s what he does. 

His lips connect with every inch of your skin as he languidly thrusts in and out, allowing you to fully cherish every glorious sensation. The feeling of him stretching you out so slowly, filling you up as his hips gently connect with your own. The loving kisses peppered all the way from your temple to the valley of your breasts. The soft yet sinful sounds of him losing himself within you, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear as he sinks inside yet again and realizes he never wants to pull out. 

You return his gentle touches in kind. Your hands blindly travel along his body, exploring his back, chest, and biceps at a leisurely pace, eager to offer him as many wonderful sensations as he’s lavishing you with until you feel a tightening deep within your belly that inspires you to clutch tight to his back, nails imprinting half moons into his flesh as your legs tighten around his hips. 

Without a word, he knows what you need and he gives it to you. 

He readjusts, propping himself up further to allow himself more leverage, which he uses to his full advantage as he starts drilling into you, steadily increasing his pace with each thrust of his hips. He tosses his head back, letting out a guttural groan and the odd curse word as his movements become more sloppy, but in the best way. 

The both of you become completely tangled up with one another, a mesh of two bodies become one as you move in tandem, trading fervent kisses and wanton moans back and forth until your overcome by pleasure. 

Your hands find the fabric of his comforter, now mussed atop his once neatly made bed, and you hold fast to it as your spine bows. Everything is rigid and all too much for a brief second before euphoria explodes throughout your every nerve ending, sending you into a glorious spiral. You call his name again and again in your bliss, too far gone to find any other words. They’ve lost all meaning. You beckon him closer with each utterance and every maddening pulse of your walls around him. He hardly has time to appreciate your orgasm for all it’s worth before his own hits him like a freight train. 

“F-fuck!” He growls, overwhelmed by the force with which he cums.

He doesn’t even have the sense to think about pulling out, much less the time to do it before he’s pouring every last drop of his seed deep inside your cunt. He hangs his head, enveloping you in his arms as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, smothering it in kisses as he pants and groans through his release. 

Eventually, you both slow to a halt, but you don’t disconnect right away. You exchange more tender touches and gentle nuzzles back and forth, content to maintain your proximity while your blood slowly begins to cool and the thrumming in your chests starts to dissipate, though both of you are pleased to find it never goes away completely. Not like it ever had before when you were around one another, but now that both of you know how the other feels, it’s different. It’s better. 

Everything is better. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to finally breathe life into those three little words that have died on his tongue countless times throughout the years in his cowardice, but the sound of the lock on the front door clicking open has them perishing yet again. 

He freezes, realizing that there’s likely no way out of this now. You’re just as petrified, holding stock still until you hear the door swing open and both of you spring into action. Bakugou clambers off of you to snatch a pair of boxers from his drawer, hopping into them as he swings his bedroom door shut while you scramble beneath the covers to at least protect your modesty. Thankfully, your brother isn’t able to take a peek inside the room. You just hope that he doesn’t recognize your clothing piled beside the coffee table.

“Shit, I guess I should’ve told you I was comin’ home early. Sorry, bro,” Kirishima laughs as his heavy boots can be heard venturing into the living room. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Pretend like I’m not here.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's minimal. You know you have to go and go fast. 

“I’ll get your clothes,” Bakugou says quietly, listening at the door for the click of Kirishima’s. 

You nod and sit up in the bed, waiting for him to return and hand you your outfit before you slip out from beneath the covers to dress. He does the same, stepping into the same sweats and tank top that you’d torn off of him earlier. 

“M’sorry about this,” he mutters, nodding towards the door. 

You shake your head, walking closer to wrap your arms around his middle as you tilt your head back and smile at him. His arms fold around you to pull you snug to his chest. You rest a hand on his cheek and pull him into a kiss that’s as sweet and deliberate as he had been with you and he’s grateful for it. He’d been half afraid that you’d scurry away and pretend as if this hadn’t even happened.

“Don’t be. We’ll figure out how to tell him together, okay? I just don’t want it to be this way.”

“Right. I don’t either. We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, his lips turning up in a smile that softens as he studies your features. “We’re gonna have to, because I love you.”

His admission renders you speechless, your eyes widening as heat creeps up the back of your neck. The pulse of your heart starts thumping in your own ears again, hammering throughout your every blood vessel as you will yourself to snap out of it. 

“I love you too,” you blurt out unceremoniously, though you know you mean those three little words and the smile on his face says that he knows it too. 

“I’m not working tonight. I can come by in a little bit?” He suggests, hopeful that you’ll agree and how could you not?

“I’ll make us dinner,” you confirm, smiling ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him once again.

He tightens his hold on you, finding it more and more difficult to let you go the longer that he has you in his arms, but reluctantly, the two of you soon part and he knows that you have to leave. 

He pokes his head out to ensure that the coast is clear before he guides you out of the room and you hurry out the door, turning to blow a kiss over your shoulder before you head down the hall, giddy as you’ve ever been. 

Bakugou tidies up his room, mulling over an excuse to offer his best friend until he and Kirishima both end up in the kitchen together. 

“Seems like you’ve had a pretty good afternoon, huh?” Eijirou grins and bumps him on the shoulder before he ducks into the fridge for a beer. “Who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”

“Nah, just some girl from the gym. Don’t think you’ve seen her around.”

He feels terrible lying, but he figures it’s for the best, just for the time being. He’ll come clean eventually. No harm, no foul, right?

“Well, good for you, man. It’s good to see you puttin’ yourself out there. I was gettin’ a little worried about you being chronically single,” he jokes, chuckling as he travels into the living room to get comfortable on the couch and flip on the tv. 

“Ha, yeah.” He nods, though he’s unable to even look his friend in the face as he snatches his water bottle and heads for the door. “I’m actually going over to her place for dinner, so I’ll probably be back later, but don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, man,” Kirishima calls back, smiling genuinely as he waves him out the door. 

That is, until he notices the small charm on the floor in front of him. He leans forward to pick it up and isn’t difficult for him to put two and two together. The clothes he’d spotted earlier had seemed familiar, but he didn’t think much of it. This, he couldn’t dispute. He knows this charm, because he had gifted it to you just last week as an addition to the bracelet that always adorned your wrist. And, as far as he knew, you hadn’t been over to their place since last month, yet here the charm was. 

He doesn’t know what hurts more, that two of his best friends felt like they had to sneak around behind his back or that one of them had just lied to his face about it.

I know I didn’t have to end it this way. the impulsive thoughts won today and I’m sorry about it ajdhsh but thank you so much for reading!! 💕 take a forehead kiss on your way out *mwah*

[11rosebunny]

— CHARACTER WITH STUPID READER !!

content: f!reader, fluff

characters: Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Toma Hiragi, Hayato Suo, Jo Togame, Tomiyama Choji

Haruka Sakura

He is equally as stupid so it's not surprising whenever somebody sees you two, they can expect one of you to start jumping from building to building like a monkey.

Nobody knows how you two are even living, especially with the way you meet new people could rub off the wrong way, you two are known for your notorious insults...

However, you are dumber than him which is terrible, when two stupid people pair up together, what do you expect? He sometimes gets frustrated if you two end up arguing, you can't even help each other when none of you know what to do, and the worst part is he can not have peace and quiet if you're around.

Hajime Umemiya

This boy finds it funny because of how stupid you are. If anything, he will still treat you well just like everybody else but sometimes, when he sees you mess up during an argument, say something abominable that could get you locked up in jail, start a fight because someone looked at you funny, or genuinely mess up any task your given, he does end up getting a bit annoyed, because how do you mess up watering plants?

It's like he has a personal dog, like a border collie that runs around in circles chasing their own tail, it's funny, cute, but also a lot of responsibility...

Toma Hiragi

He feels like he's raising his own child. Suo had noticed that he'd always have to pick you up and toss you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes before you did anything remotely moronic that could lead you in a huge mess.

He needs double the stomachache pills when he's around you... which is all the time.

He still finds it cute and engaging to see you act all clumsy and oblivious to anything, the only down part is he doesn't like it when you can't read the room. He has to cover your mouth with his hand before you continue to talk about something that would get you beaten up, drag you away and apologize on your behalf before scolding you in a random alleyway, if it was from a different perspective, a person would have assumed he was babysitting his friend's younger sister.

Hayato Suo

Surprisingly, he deals with you very well.

He knows how to correct behaviours in a proper manner, something Toma lacks... he's learned the different tricks and plans to get you to stop acting like a nuisance whenever he doesn't approve of the way you're acting, and it works very well!

He'll tell you to stop and let you off with a warning, cherish the way you light up whenever you're speaking a little too loud in public, he even lets you insult someone as long as you don't take it too far.

Jo Togame

To be honest, he has the slightest interest in stupid girls.

He wasn't aware that that could be a type of personality he was interested in till he met you. Your outlook on situations, people, objects, drama, made him have to take a double guess on you, he convinced himself for a while you were maybe just outgoing, till listened to you speak one day that you used to think the moon would always follow you as a kid whenever you were in a very long car ride.

'Maybe she is just stupid...'

Like Umemiya, he will love the way how funny you are without even trying. If he were to just look at you from across the room and you were simply just standing there, he would start snorting to himself to refrain from bursting out laughing. But, instead of stopping you from doing dumb things, he lets you continue to do them. The only reason why allows you is because he knows he can always stop you whenever you go to far.

Tomiyama Choji

Everyone has to run and hide from you two if you manage to come in their sight.

Choji was already bad enough in the beginning, especially for Togame who had to withstand if from the very start, so once you rolled around, he oddly began to fall sick even more, weird...

You two are known for being trouble makers, because this boy does not stop you from doing stupid things, in fact, he might even encourage it if it's just you two alone and have no one else to tell you otherwise.

You're not alone when you do your stupid things, because 99% of the time, he's joining you. The only time he'll stop you is if he or you gets hurt, not even before you get hurt, it's only after.

He loves the way you're just as outgoing as him, he finds it amazing that you're able to keep up with his personality.

[cleoluvrr]

Call Me (Rafe Cameron x Reader) I

SYNOPSIS: call someone else if you want that.

WARNINGS: mature content; secret relationship, verbal abuse, jealousy, general violence, manipulative behavior, explicit language, substance abuse & addiction, obsession, depiction of explicit sexual acts

masterlist

rafe always had a meanness to him, one that you’d never been oblivious to, though never really on the receiving end of it at first. the two of you would have petty banter, little arguments that would eventually reveal the underlying tension between you, but it was nothing more than that.

with others, however, you’d seen him be cruel–beyond cruel. your middle sister, just a couple years your junior, was friends with kiara carrera and those other boys she hangs out with by association. you’d heard the stories of his behavior, and while it may make you a terrible person, you really didn’t care. his business with them wasn’t yours, and you weren’t close enough to rafe to confront him about it. she’s never said he’s done anything to her directly, so what could you really do about it? it’s not like she knew you two even talked in the first place, so it was out of your hands.

maybe it was because of his strained relationship with his father, or the lack of relationship with his mother. it could be just how he is naturally; you wouldn’t be surprised.

however, you began to become a victim of his malice yourself at some point last year. you two weren’t particularly nice to each other, but there was something different this time. it used to be playful, but this time it was purposeful; at least it was on his end.

sure, rafe isn’t the most rational person in the world, but the amount of anger and frustration he was taking out on the girl he was secretly fucking was completely out of proportion. 

you asked him more times than i can remember; begging him to tell you what was wrong. even when you should have been mad at him for treating you like some bitch off the street, you simply couldn’t ignore the feeling of something being wrong with him. maybe you caught feelings for him and that’s why you cared so much, even when you shouldn’t have.

it was around the time you sister started staying out later, riding around town with her friends and stirring up trouble like she had no home-training. you were positive rafe had something to do with it, but never said anything about it. it wasn’t like he was answering your calls at the time anyway.

eventually, you just stopped talking. maybe it was inevitable, a natural occurrence from lack of mutual communication.

so when you saw him just a few dozen yards away for the first time in months, you weren’t sure how to feel.

you watch as he takes each drink to the head, shot after shot from across the room. his blonde hair that would have once been blocking his vision was now cropped short and barely visible from where you stood. the people around him encouraged the behavior, cheering him on every time he slammed the bottom of a shot glass back on the table.

he looked deceptively sober, but his body language was all the evidence you needed to know he had more than a bump of the cocaine some girl brought to the party. his alcohol tolerance was way stronger than everyone around him, the sloppiness of his friends completely opposite of his nonchalant demeanor.

that was one of many differences between the two of you. he liked to drink, get high, and do things that were far past the limits of legality that only someone with money and influence like him could get away with. you hated the feeling of losing control, of not being completely aware of what was happening around you, and would even never think of doing a fraction of the things he does.

yet, for some reason that you could never figure out, he piqued your interest. 

maybe it was because he was “bad,” and you were “good.” maybe it was his roughness that attracted you, or the way he did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. rafe’s instability contrasted everything about you; it gave you a rush that you’ve never felt with anyone else.

“what are you looking at?”

you’re pulled out of the one-sided staring contest, the sound of your friend’s voice capturing your attention over the loud music. 

“what?” you said. you leaned down towards the shorter blond, ear in better reach of her voice.

“what are you looking at?” she repeats louder this time. her breath smells of alcohol, the pink whitney sitting in the bottom of her cup the clear cause of her slight swaying.

your eyes flicker back to the boy across the room for a moment, the sight of him leaning down to snort a white substance from the table beneath him making you cringe to yourself. your friend’s eyes follow yours, the green irises further revealed by the widening of her eyes.

“rafe cameron?” she says quite loudly, her voice carrying around the area as other people nearby turn to look at her in annoyance. “why the hell are you staring at rafe cameron?”

“say it louder, why don’t you? i don’t think russia could hear you.” your eyes tear away from him and return them to your scantily clad friend. “jesus christ, misty. you are so drunk.”

“you should try it some time.” she giggles, arm raising her cup in a cheer. you rolled your eyes at her and raised your own drink to your lips, the taste of cool water refreshing on your tongue. 

your experience with alcohol is slim by choice. the idea of not being in total control of yourself makes you more than uncomfortable, and the taste of the beverage did not appeal to you. you knew how to have a good time without the aid of alcohol or drugs.

“i’ll pass…” you say with a breathy chuckle. you pulled out your phone to check the time, the dark of the night beginning to drag on into the earliest hours of the morning. you were sure if you stayed out any longer your parents would send a search group.

the party hadn’t been much fun to me anyways, the celebration of your friend’s recent graduation not doing much to keep me entertained.

your gaze returns to the spot where rafe stood only to be met with nothing, the boy nowhere to be found in your brief sweep of the area. you look around the party from where you stood, head swiveling to find the blonde amongst the gaggle of kooks in the room. he has seemingly vanished into thin air despite being the most noticeable person in the place.

“hey, um…” you trailed off, head turning back to face a drunk misty. “i need to get home. are you ready to go?”

the girl shakes her head, finger pointing behind her to the familiar figure of her boyfriend. he was watching her closely, clearly on edge as his inebriated girlfriend consumed enough liquor to take down a grown man.

“jordan is taking me home with him.” she giggles again, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. you were sure he’d have her tucked into bed within the next two hours, whatever she thought was gonna happen would not be happening if he had anything to say about it.

“okay, girl. i’ll see you soon.” you pulled her into an embrace, the top of her head reaching the bottom of your chin as you lean down to hug her. you weren't sure how she wasn’t falling over yet–there wasn't much body for the alcohol she had befriended for the night to go through. “and lay off the liquor.” your voice was stern as you pulled away.

she throws the rest of the liquid down her throat in response, the bottom of the red solo cup left empty as crushed it beneath her fingers. you couldn’t help but to smile at her before turning away, her boyfriend now fast approaching before she got a chance to find the liquor table again.

stepping out of the party, you pull your phone from the pocket of your skirt to order a car home. it had completely slipped your mind that you rode here with misty and her boyfriend, instantly reminded of the fact that you didn’t own a car nor a license as you approached the front yard. the prices for cars at this time a night were more than you got paid per hour.

your head fell back in frustration, the warm summer breeze blowing against your bare legs as you ground out into the night sky. 

“y/n?”

the sound of your name sends a shiver down your back. you stopped dead in your tracks, as if the cool metal of a gun was being held to the back of your skull. 

your head turns in the direction of the familiar voice, eyes tearing away from the distant constellations in the night sky. lafe’s leaning against the side of his truck, a mixture of keys dangling around his finger.

“rafe.” you respond to him with his own name. “long time, no see.”

your feet carried you towards the blonde resting against the dark colored vehicle behind, eyes locked on the blue of his own. 

you could feel the sharpness of your teeth tearing into your bottom lip, the warm, bubbly feeling you got whenever the two of you were in the same room making a return. rafe’s eyes fell to the way you were ravaging the plump flesh, almost entranced by the sight. 

“how’ve you been?” the taller man pulls his gaze away and returns it to your eyes as he inquires. “heard you graduated, congrats by the way.”

“yeah, thanks.” you reply chipperly. “um…i’ve been alright. not a lot going on, to be honest. you?”

“same, same… he trails off awkwardly, the sounds of the late night filling the air between us. “hey, um, do you–do you need a ride, or anything?”

you shook your head immediately and raised your hand to show him the rideshare app on the screen.

“no, i’m good. i don’t wanna take you out of your way.” you smile politely at him as you speak. “thanks, though.”

rafe shakes his head and opens the passenger’s side door he was previously leaning on just seconds before. 

“it’s no big deal, seriously. you don’t live that far from me, i’m heading in that direction anyway.”

you stare at him wordlessly for a moment, eyes tearing away from him and flickering around the street around you. no one had exited the party after you did, at least not that you had seen. the ground was shaking beneath the two of you as the bass of the music continued strongly through the night.

you hesitantly take a step towards the car door being held open by the tall blonde, not quite sure if it’s smart for you to be around him right now. you lift yourself into the tall truck and plop down into the seat before your eyes set on rafe once again. 

the fist-stized muscle protected by your ribs feels as if it’s trying to tear your chest in half to escape just from the sight of rafe, unsure of how to behave around him anymore. 

shutting the door after seeing you settled inside, he makes his way over to the driver’s side. watching as he buckles himself in and starts the car, the roaring of the engine sent a vibration through the entirety of your being. 

“do you think you should be driving right now?” you spoke up after a minute of silence. his head turns fully to meet your eyes, his pupils large and eyes dark under the minimal lighting of the moon above.

his eyebrows raise at the inquiry before just barely furrowing them in confusion.

“you think i can’t handle my liquor?” he blinks at you in the darkness of the car, eyelids hiding and revealing the blown out pupils that had taken over the ocean blue of his irises. “you never had a problem with it before.”

your mouth opened briefly before snapping back shut, the words that left his own rendering you responseless. 

you and rafe had a long history together, though, if you were to ask anyone else that, they’d be taken by surprise. there had been plenty of times where you’ve let him drive around while he was far from sober, but it had been months since then. it had been months since you two had spoken, and it wasn’t really something you felt comfortable with anymore.

“okay, well it’s been a while and you’ve had a lot to drink tonight.” you eventually found your voice again, pointing out how long it’s been since you’d been in a situation like this one. 

rafe didn’t argue, instead choosing to shrug his shoulders wordlessly. he put the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway smoothly, the truck pulling off into the dimly lit street.

you sat in silence for the entire ride, the awkwardness in the air more on your end than his. the trees blew by on the side of the road, the leaves appearing to be nothing but dark blurs as you observed them from the window. rafe was not sparse with the gas, each sharp, fast turn leaving you more anxious than the last.

you could feel rafe glance towards me every so often, steely eyes burning into the side of your face and leaving behind a warmth in your cheeks that couldn’t be shaken.

it was when he pulled in front of your dark house that he finally broke the silence, leaving a question that you weren’t quite sure how to answer hovering in the cool air of the truck.

“hey, y/n?” 

“yeah?” you didn’t turn to face him, choosing instead to watch the windows of your house for any signs of life.

he sat wordlessly for a few seconds and you could feel his eyes on you once again, much more intensely than the first few times on the road. you were afraid to look back at him, fully aware that you would become lost in them like you did when you first met him.

“why’d you stop calling?” he asked. 

you blinked at the reflection in the window, his question echoing in your head. turning to face him, his eyes locked onto yours. they refused to let go, gaze leaving you trapped under the spell that it casts upon you. 

gulping soundlessly, you wet your mouth with the saliva collecting underneath your tongue as you prepared an answer. it felt as if the words had been stolen from your throat the moment you exchanged looks. 

“why’d you stop answering?” you said after finding your voice.

the feelings repressed began to bubble to the surface the longer you two sat in the enclosed space. you felt breathless, confused, and angry. not only at him, but at yourself as well. 

you let yourself become attached when you shouldn’t have, and because of that you had to suffer repercussions of unrequited feelings. you were angry because he left you hanging for weeks, but you let him. he treated you like shit, but you let him. you were never supposed to catch feelings, but you let yourself. 

that’s why you’re angry.

even with all of that, your heart never failed to beat out of your chest when he was near you. rafe didn’t even need to put his hands on you to leave you breathless. you should hate him, especially with how he treated you, treated your sister and her friends–but you don’t. you can’t.

that’s why you’re confused.

“i was dealing with a lot. i’m sorry.”

“that’s not really an excuse, rafe.” your lips pursed at him before rubbing together, the clear lip gloss coating them acting as a lubricant to prevent friction between them. “you didn’t want to tell me what was wrong when i asked, so you don’t get to use that card.”

rafe puts the car into park before fully turning to you, the furrow of his brow intensifying as he squints. shaking his head slightly, he opens his mouth to speak.

“it didn’t have anything to do with you, though.” he said. “i didn’t wanna drag you into my shit because it was…it was a lot. it was a lot and you didn’t need to be involved.”

“okay, and that’s fine.” your eyes flickered over at the dashboard’s clock to check the time, the number rising with each minute into the night. you turned back to him. “what’s not fine is blowing me off for months and then asking me why i stopped calling. you didn’t care to answer the phone when i did.”

rafes hand rakes over his buzzed head, fingers running through the stubble that replaces the golden locks that once held its place. he pulls his lip in between his pearly white teeth as he nods at you, tongue peeking through as they part to make space for the pink muscle. 

“you’re right.” he doesn’t argue like he usually would, the sudden accountability taking you by surprise. “that was kinda fucked up, wasn’t it? you didn’t deserve that.”

“no, rafe. i didn’t.”

he nods his head again and leans back against the cool, tinted window. his lids are low as he looks across at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your heart to leave bruises on your ribs from how strongly it pounded. you could barely hear anything, blood rushing past your ears and every breath shakier than the last.

stepping out of the car, rafe makes his way over to the passenger side door. you watch curiously as he crosses the front of the car, the street lights shining down on his broad frame. you don’t move when he opens the door, nor when he looks between you and your seatbelt expectantly.

your brows raise at the man briefly before the ‘click’ of the seatbelt fills both your ears, hands removing the snug strap from across your chest. you take the hand that he offers to exit the car, glancing up at your house again before taking it. nobody seemed to be awake but you still didn’t want to risk anyone seeing us this close together.

“nobody’s gonna see, y/n . calm down.” rafe’s voice so close to your ear pulls your attention away from the property and back towards him standing before you. 

you stepped down from the truck with his aide, but he didn’t move even once your feet touch the ground. instead, his hands moved to grasp your waist and pull you closer. the move felt so familiar yet so strange, but you accepted it rather than pushing him away. 

the warmth of his palms against your bare skin was intensified by the jolts of electricity felt whenever we touched. you could tell he felt the way you shivered in response to his fingers just barely gripping the soft flesh beneath them, thumbs smoothing over in a back and forth motion.

“i’m sorry i ghosted you. i was an asshole for that, and you know what? i deserve whatever you feel towards me.” you say nothing, but don’t push him away either. he takes that as a sign to continue. “but i hope you find it in you to forgive me, because i–i miss you.”

you nearly snorted as he uttered the sentence.

“you miss me?” you repeated the words back to him. “you sure know how to show it.”

“yes, i miss you.” rafe’s hold intensifies for a moment before going back to its previous state. “when i saw you at the party tonight, i–i didn’t know how much i missed your face. i missed your smile, your smell. i missed having you close to me and being able to hold you like this…”

the sound of him inhaling strongly shook you, his eyes screwing shut as he took in the combination of your natural scent and the gourmand perfume you wore. his fingers twitched against your skin as he resisted the urge to dig them deep into the flesh like he always used to. his chest rose and fell intensely, all but able to see his blood pumping through his jugular. 

“god, i fucking miss you.”

“rafe…” you called his name softly but sternly to pull him out of his hypnotized state. his eyes open but they’re barely focused. you weren’t sure if his pupils were blown because of the high, or because of you. “i miss you, too.”

the stillness between us remains until you broke it, the voice in the back of your head reminding you of the months spent trying to get over him.

“i miss you, but i can’t do this again.” you sighed heavily. “you fucked me up for months, rafe, and i can’t let that happen again.”

“it won’t happen again. i promise.”

sou shook your head at his words, tongue poking out just enough to taste the vanilla flavor of the gloss coating your lips. 

“no–no, rafe. no promises.” you let your hands fall to rest on top of his, watching as the sudden contact makes him shiver just as much as it used to when he did it to you. “no feelings–i can’t do that again.”

you pushed him away gently and stepped to the side, unsure of if you’d regret the words about to leave your lips next.

“if you wanna fuck, then we can do that.” your bluntness catches him off guard, head jerking back at the directness of the words. you’d never spoken like that before, and it shocked you as well. “but the lovey-dovey shit that we used to do? no more of that.”

“what?” rafe looks at you in disbelief, the vulgar language leaving him stunned. it was a rarity that you cursed–at least around him–, let alone said something so…intense. “what is that supposed to mean? ‘no more lovey-dovey shit?’”

you shrugged and pushed past him fully, feet carrying your body a few yards away before turning back to speak. he looked thoroughly confused and a bit hurt, but not as hurt as he left you when he ghosted you with a million unanswered questions and just as many ignored phone calls.

“it means if you call me in the night-time, i might pick up.” your eyes scanned for his reaction to the words left echoing in your own head for a moment, the heat of his gaze reminding you of the reason you needed to escape into the house behind you to begin with. “just depends on what you’re on.”

rafe was left standing in the dark of the early morning, bewildered and alone. 

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Hi may i please request swerve trying to be the human liason on the lost light's wimgmech untill they jump grab his shoulders do a pullup and smooch him.

Thank you! Hope your flights arent horrifically delayed.

Thank you for the request, and sorry for how long it took to finally get it out lol! Coincidentally my flights ended up being okay despite the hell I went through to get onto the planes.

I put a lot of thought into this request, and I wasn't entirely sure what you meant with Swerve being the reader's wingmech, so I went down this route. I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it's on the shorter side. Thanks again! :D

Wingmech

Pairing: IDW Swerve x Human Liason Reader

Word Count: 2181

Summary: After noticing you are lost in love with an anonymous mech, Swerve decides to help you prepare for going after the secret crush you have.

  Swerve has been watching you for a while now.

  It’s not uncommon for the Lost Light’s crew to focus on you. You are, after all, the only human aboard the Cybertronian exploration ship. Though you’ve been here for months, no bot can help but find you fascinating. And Swerve? Well…he’d never admit it to anyone, but his interest in you goes well beyond mere fascination. Yes, you're small, smaller than even him. Yes, you're soft, and squishy, and adorable, and sometimes he really wants to scoop you up into his arms and kiss you right on the lips after confessing his love-

  Okay. So maybe he has a bit of a crush on you. But that’s all it is! A crush that compels him to  keep tabs on where you go and what you do. He’s learned about you from the various conversations he’s listened to during busy nights. He knows you adore dogs and melt at the sight of cats (What are dogs? What are cats? Like hell he knows. He isn’t particularly caught up on his Earth knowledge). He knows you like to turn in early and wake up late. He knows you aren’t exactly a party person, and sometimes being surrounded by robots three times your size is incredibly overwhelming. And following that little tidbit, he understands you don’t like coming to his bar.

  So why are you here now?

  He’s watching you while he makes drinks. Your little form is tucked away in a corner at one of the smaller tables reserved for minicons, hunched over a notebook, eyes focused on the pages of written material he can’t read. Even when he zooms his optics in, your writing is far too small for him to coherently pick up on from this distance. With one hand propped against your cheek and the other idly tapping a pen against your head, you look far too troubled for someone who’s currently spending time in a place where all troubles are drunken away. It makes him curious and concerned. Why would you, someone who hates large crowds and loud environments, be writing in such a place?

  He needs to get to the bottom of it.

  Now, he knows what someone might say about this: “Swerve, it's none of your business. Swerve, they clearly don’t want to be bothered. Swerve, eavesdropping is bad.”

  Well, you know what he would say to all of that? “I’m a bartender. My business is everyone else’s business. That’s what being a bartender entails.”

  So yeah, he’s snooping. But it’s all for a good cause. Being around you is worth it. He’ll always take the chance to talk to you if he can.

  “Whatcha writing?” he asks when he pops up behind you with surprising stealthiness. You let out a surprised shriek and nearly jump right out of your seat. He barely catches a glimpse of your notebook’s contents before you slam it shut and cover it with your arms.

  “Swerve!” you yell, fleshy human cheeks flushing a wonderful pink color (Oh, how he loves the way you blush like that. He wants to make you do it more). “Don’t scare me like that!”

  “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. You humans make the cutest sounds when you're startled.” He folds his servos behind his back and leans forward a little. “I don’t see you in the bar often. A place like this isn’t really the best for writing stories, ya know.”

  You sigh and slip your notebook into the knapsack you always carry around. Darn, he thinks, how will your secrets be spilled to him now? “I’m not writing stories. I’m just…doing research on something.”

  “Research,” he says. “In a bar.”

  “Yes. Research in a bar. Is that so hard to believe?”

  He does a quick scan of your features. The blush on your cheeks has deepened to a shade of red that almost matches his paint job. You're fiddling with your knapsack and guarding that notebook with your life. Suddenly, it comes upon him like a tidal wave; his smile widens with the victorious air of someone who just won a medal. “Oh, I know what's going on here,” he says. “You've been spying on someone, haven’t you?”

  Your reaction only further proves his theory. You look horrified, and the way you frantically rush to defend yourself is like a bright neon arrow pointing directly at your head. “What? No! Nonono, why would you think that?!”

  He laughs. “Oh, you totally are! Your notebook is probably chock-full of evidence, amiright? Wait, don’t tell me! Let me guess!”  He circles the table and plops down across from you. “Is it Ratchet? Nah, too grouchy. Cyclonus? Mm, too weird. Oh, oh! It’s Rodimus, isn’t it? It has to be Rodimus!”

  “What are you talking about?” you ask him.

  He leans forward and smirks. “You're in love, little one. Am I right, or am I right?”

  “I-I’m not-there’s no-” You stutter for a moment longer, then get a hold of your emotions and reel them in. Sitting back and going stone-faced, you stare at him with only the color of your blush signaling what you are currently going through. “I’m not in love.”

  Does it hurt to know you have a crush on someone who isn’t him? Absolutely? But telling you that would mean admitting the feelings he has for you, and no way is he doing that now. His spark aches with the sting of rejection, but he hides it well and decides messing with you will make him feel much better. “C’mon, squirt. You can’t lie to me. It’s as clear as day that someone on this ship has you smitten.”

  “It’s not someone on this ship. I’m a human.”

  “You being a human and us being mechs means nothing. How many months have you been aboard this ship?” He counts off his digits. “Two? Three? No, it’s been five months, hasn’t it? Five months with us and your little spark has finally decided humans just don’t compare to mechs anymore. Aw, how adorable.”

  You look like you want to jump across the table to snap his intake shut. Instead though, you slump back in defeat and groan, rubbing your hands across your face. “Is it really that obvious?”

  “To me? Yeah. But that’s only because I’ve picked up on your reactions. Plus, the fact that you came here to jot down ‘notes’ means…” Now he gets excited. “It has to be someone in this bar.”

  You regard him cautiously. “And what if it is? What will you do about it?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing! My job is to pour drinks and listen to people’s woes. What kind of reputation would I be giving this fine establishment if I were to go around tattling on my loyal customers?” He taps his index digit against his dermas. Scrap, this is really going to hurt him. But he wants to see you happy. “I could help you, you know.”

  “Help me?” you echo.

  “Yeah, why not?” he forces himself to say with enthusiasm. “I’m always ready to help a pal! I’ll be your wingmech! How’s that sound?”

  A wide smile splits across your face and you cover your mouth to muffle your giggle. “Wingmech? Seriously? That’s so cheesy, Swerve.”

  By the Allspark, hearing your laughter is music to his ears. He’s envious of whoever you are crushing on. They’re one lucky mech to have someone like you chasing after them.  But he swallows down his jealousy for your sake and puffs out his chassis proudly. “Cheesy or not, I’m sure I can help you woo your future sweetspark. All you gotta do is learn to use a little bit of the ol’ Swerve charm and bingo, this bot will be yours in no time. So, whattaya say? You wanna employ my humble services?”

  You bite your lower lip and look down at your knapsack. “I don’t know. The Swerve charm may not exactly work on the mech I’m thinking of.”

  “Aha!” He stands up and points at you. “So you admit you're in love!”

  You give him a pointed look. “Alright, alright, fine, I admit it! Yes, there’s someone on this ship I really like. I’ve been writing down things he may or may not enjoy so I can come up with ways to show him that…that I want to…askhimout.” This last part comes out as a weak mutter. It’s obviously difficult for you to admit it, but oh boy is Swerve glad you have.

  “So it’s a he. Hm. IIIInteresting. Mind telling me what he’s like?”

  You smile. “Well, he’s outgoing. And very enthusiastic about what he does. He always has an upbeat attitude and definitely knows how to make me laugh. Some might think he’s a bit of a wise-ass though.”

  Swerve chuckles. “Sounds like a real dream boat.”

  “You…have no idea.” The way you say it sounds strange to him, but he doesn’t think any more of it. You drum your fingers against the table. “What…what would you do if you wanted to tell him that…that you like him?”

  I wouldn’t. I’d tell you I like you and no one else. “I’d probably do something bold. Something that would really grab his attention, ya know?” He thinks. “Does he like you back?”

  “Well, you see…I-I think so? I’m not sure. I talk to him a lot, but we’re…kind of different. I’m definitely not like him, but we get along. The more I hang out with him, the more these feelings grow.” You stare at your hands. “I don’t know if I should be admitting all of this.”

  “No, no, it’s okay!” He’s quick to reassure you. “I want to help! Seriously! I said I’d be your wingmech, and I’m going to uphold my word! So, let’s think! You think he likes you, and you definitely like him back. He’s the extroverted type, bold and brash…so give him a show! Really show him that you want him and you to be together, and you appreciate all of the good company he’s given you since you boarded the ship. The key is to really hit him here.” He thumps his chassis. “Right in the spark. It’s all emotions, squirt! Nothing else to it!”

  “Emotions, huh?” Once again, that odd look crosses you. “Do you think we could…practice?”

  “Practice?”

  “Yeah, like, working on what I’ll do when I finally admit my feelings to him? Would that be okay with you?”

  “Oh, yes, totally!” He stands up. “C’mere, let’s go through it. Think about what you want to say, and then act it out to me.”

  You stand up as well and walk over to him. Looking down, he sees just how small you are compared to him; you barely make it up to his chassis. You study him, biting your bottom lip. You look so nervous. It makes him want to be gentle.

  “Don’t be shy,” he says softly. “There’s no reason to be. It’s just you and I here, yeah? No one will pay attention to us.”

  You draw in a deep breath. “Okay, Okay.” Shaking out your arms, you fixate on him determinedly. “I’m not going to say anything. I’m going to do something. Is that okay?”

  “Oh,” he says, a bit confused. “Sure, yeah! What are you going to do?”

  You take a step back. Then, you jump forward, and he’s startled when you grab his shoulders and pull yourself up. His optics widen when you lean in and give him a short kiss. Every mechanical nerve in his body sings when he feels your lips on his, and he seems to lose control of himself, becoming nothing more than a statue.

  Then, it’s over. You let him go and drop back down, taking a step back and looking at him anxiously. He stares at you, air whooshing in and out of his intake as his systems attempt to cool.

  “It’s…It’s me?” he whispers.

  You lower your head and nod.

  He can’t talk. He can’t make a sound. It’s only for a good few seconds, but when he finally regains control of his vocalizer, he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then he’s picking you up and spinning you around in a tight hug. “You like me!” he cries. “You like me, you like me!” He couldn’t care less if anyone else in the bar is watching this. The one he’s been crushing on for months has been crushing on him back!

  You laugh along with him. “It took you this long to figure it out? I’ve been dropping hints since we started this conversation!”

  “That’s why you’ve been doing research in the bar! Primus, how did I not realize it sooner?” He holds you back so he can see your brilliant smile. It makes him melt. “I can’t believe you really like me,” he whispers.

  You cup his faceplate in your hands. “I’m guessing your happy about it, Mr. Wingmech?”

  He kisses you again, leaning into your touch. “Well…looks like my humble services paid off.” He pauses. “So…what did you think of the Swerve charm?”

[magics-neptunes-things]

Love Sometimes Takes Time

Hi guys :)

This is from a request that you can find here :)

The sentences in italic are saying in Spanish.

I haven't proofread it because I'm lazy today. But please enjoy!

TW : Maybe a little angst? Jealousy.

Leila has always been a benchmark in your life. When you arrive in Barça from Levante, she was there, and she was one of the most inclusive people in the team. She was less impressive than Alexia and a little more expensive than Mapi. When you arrive from the U23 in your national team, Leila was already there too. It was natural for you to follow her and almost stick with her at this time. She was your friend, and you get along pretty well.

You were friends, only friends, but you have to admit that watching her leave the national team and Barcelona to go to Manchester was hard. She was your other half at work, even if it was only a friendly relationship, you missed her dearly. You had other friends, like Mariona or Alexia, but even if they have their eyes on you, they weren’t Leila.

It was when you were in Australia for the World Cup that your agent called you to let you know that Barcelona wasn’t interested in extending your contract. It was a little shock honestly, you had great results, but your agent explains to you that they prefer to save money for next year, when a lot of contracts well be negotiated.

You were with Ona when you received the call, and she was very uncomfortable. She just signed in Barcelona and were coming back home, but you knew it wasn’t her fault. Your agent told you that he as some of clubs who were interested in you, but you needed to digest the new.

You were devasted when you call Leila that night.

“At least you have other clubs who are interested in you” Leila said.

You shrugged. You didn’t know which one are on the list and how much. Leila wasn’t with you because of the Vilda’s story, but you never wanted her to be with you as much as right now. Being far away from her is hard, and you went several times in Manchester to see her. And her girlfriend. Because Leila has a girlfriend now. A beautiful, funny, cute, and friendly girlfriend. You can’t hate her, but you realize too how less Leila was touching with you. No hugs, no kiss on the cheek or cuddle while talking before falling asleep.

Which was perfectly normal. She has a girlfriend. You don’t even know why you reacted that way.

“My agent just sends me the teams who are interested” you mumble to Leila when your phone vibrate.

“Look at it!” she says happily.

You roll your eyes but open the message anyway, frowning while you read aloud the name of the different clubs.

“Real Madrid…”

“Yurk” Leila mumbles.

“… Wölfburg…”

“There is no way that you go to play for them.”

“… Kansas City and Manchester City.”

If Leila only made a grimace when you mention somewhere in the USA, her face light up when she hears Manchester City. You don’t know how to feel yet. You don’t know if you will be ok to be faced to Leila and her girlfriend every day.

“Manchester City is a good option” she smirked.

“I don’t know. Real Madrid too, at least I’ll stay in Spain.”

“You think you will be able to play against the girls who were your teammates for so long?”

“No” you admitted, sighing.

That’s how you finished in the blue side of Manchester, the right one Lucy said to you when you say goodbye to them. Leila and her girlfriend helped you settle down in your new flat, with Laia Aleixandri too. Thanks God she was here.

The girls welcomed you with happiness and you get along great with Mary and Kerstin. But you usually pass your time with Leila and Laila, having a little trouble to speak English at first. And then you just get used to it. You had a lot of time to think about why you always have a knot in your stomach when you are with Leila and her girlfriend. It isn’t as hard when you are with Leila without her girlfriend.

You feels like Laia understood or realized something, but the sweet girl never said anything to you. And you’re sure that she never said anything to Leila too.

********

You jump when your phone rings, feeling like you hadn’t sleep at all. Groaning, you roll on your side to turn your alarm off. That’s when you realize that it’s four in the morning and that it wasn’t your alarm who was ringing but that Leila is trying to call you.

“Leila?” you groan with a hoarse voice.

“Are you home?”

“Yes. What’s happening, are you alright?”

“I’m in front of your door… Can you open to me?”

Several minutes later, Leila is laying on your bed next to you. She’s fully dressed and after looking at her to be sure that she wasn’t hurt physically, you drag her in your bedroom. You went right under the cover, your body shivering because of the cold.

“What’s happening?” you ask again.

You are on your side, looking at Leila who is watching the ceiling, on her back. She looks tired to be honest, and maybe a little stressed? Anyway, something is wrong. You don’t come to your friend’s house at 4 in the morning without a good reason.

“Ash and I broke up” she mumbles without looking at you.

“What? Why?”

She came this weekend to the game, and everything looks fine at this point. They were smiling at each other, laughing and Leila hugged her so tight that you wonder how that poor girl could still breath.

“I don’t know. We had a stupid argument and everything like it all fell down.”

“Just because of an argument?” you raise an eyebrow.

Leila sighs and nod, still looking at the ceiling of your room.

“You will go back together.”

Leila doesn’t answer at this, and you don’t say anything else. You are tired and trying to be a good friend for her right now is hard for you. You are kind of sick about your strange feelings about Leila and her girlfriend. With time you realize that it’s maybe something more than friendship that you feel for her. And that pissed you off, because there is no way that Leila can see you like this.

You were on edge for days before having a break down when Laia casually asked you want was happening to you. Your friend wasn’t able to understand what you were saying, but after some minutes she could finally put the pieces together. She held you against her, stroking your back and promised you to never talk about it to Leila.

********

Leila and Ash get together again some days after and you snort when Leila told you. You received a slap on the head for an answer. It doesn’t last long, however, since two weeks later Leila announced to you their definitive breakup.

You were kind of avoiding her during those two weeks to be honest, passing almost all your time with Laia, Mary or Kerstin. The latter stayed sometimes to sleep at your flat after one of the team’s bonding. You didn’t realize Leila’s annoyed gaze, but Laia did. She didn’t say anything to anyone (except her boyfriend) for now though. She’s here to hear you but she isn’t the kind of girl who will try to interfere in someone else’s life.

She kept looking at both of you and she doesn’t know how much she will need to look at you tonight though.

You are with some of the girls out for a night and some of their close friends too. Your friends being only in the team, you don’t know a lot of people here so it’s always great for you to meet someone new.

“Chica!” Kerstin says happily when she sits next to you in the booth.

You were talking with Leila, Alanna, Laia and her boyfriend when Kerstin comes to sit next to you. Leila takes on herself not to roll her eyes, being grumpy almost every time you interact with Kerstin. But she will be even more after hearing Kerstin’s next sentence.

“My girlfriend takes some friends with her. And I need to introduce you to someone.”

“Who?” you frown.

You follow with her eyes the direction she shows you. Kerstin is pointing a girl some meters from you, who you assume is a friend of Kerstin’s girlfriend. While you look at her, your friend start to talk again.

“This is Mila. She’s half English and half Spanish, she speaks both languages fluently.”

“She does?” you ask with a smile.

Your English went way better since you start to leave in Manchester, but you sometimes find it tiring to always have to talk in another language than your first. Kerstin smiles wider and nod.

“She’s a football’s fan, she loves to play video games. She’s super gay and kind of fancy you. I really think that I found you the love of your life.”

You laugh softly hearing your friend’s excitement. You have to say that she’s pretty and the smile she gives you when she spots you looking at her is very beautiful. But she’s not Leila.

You cross Laia’s eyes and she smiles at you.

“Try it, what do you have to lose?”

She’s right. You don’t see that next to her, Leila is fuming because you just take your eyes on Mila again.

“I don’t know how to flirt with someone” you mumble, blushing horribly.

“No one ask you to flirt. Just try to know the girl.” Kerstin points.

“Or you don’t have to go to her if you don’t want to” Leila snaps.

It made you look at her and you frown slightly. You don’t understand Leila’s mood, she was laughing some minutes ago, listening to Moise’s stories.

“Nah, she wants to go” Kerstin says and before you can answer anything, she takes you by the arm to follow her.

You don’t hear Leila’s obscenities and don’t see the strange looks of your friends around her. Kerstin makes the presentation between you and Mila, and you have to admit that she’s right. You and she get along pretty well honestly. You talk, laugh and dance with her a lot during the evening. When you both got tired, she proposed to take you home, but you hesitate at first. It’s only when she assures you that she just wants to spend more time with you and that she will leave you in front of your door that you accept.

It doesn’t stop her from putting her arm around your shoulders when you both leave the nightclub. And that’s the last image that Leila got from you that night.

********

“So, is she a good kisser?”

“What?”

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that Leila came next to you in the dressing room to change after training. You were still trying to avoid her to be honest, your heard her talking to Ash three days before on the phone and the knot on your stomach came back stronger than never.

“Mia, is she a good kisser?” Leila asks again.

“It’s Mila”

Her face is closed and there is not a little bit of teasing in her tone. You don’t understand where this comes from and that’s annoy you a little.

“Why are you asking that?” you frown.

But Leila shrugs for any answer. So you roll your eyes and finish to put your things in your bag.

“When are you seeing her again?” Leila asks several minutes after.

“We went to the cinema yesterday. We didn’t plan another date for now” you mumble.

Mila took you out already two times and you had fun the two times. It went well, she’s very attentive to your wants and needs. You definitively don’t have the famous sparkle when you think about her, but you are willing to try things with her if it makes you forget about Leila.

“Ow, that’s why you looked tired today. You didn’t sleep well last night? Shagging already?”

“Fuck off, Leila.”

Your snapping makes her jump. Even if you’ve argued a few times before, you’ve never spoken to her that way. You take your bag and storm out the changing room without adding another word. When Leila looks around the room, she realized that Kerstin and Laia were looking at you. And know at her. If Kerstin turn her gaze, Laia doesn’t.

“Que?” Leila growls to Laia.

But the blonde doesn’t flinch, still looking deeply at Leila. They are the only people talking Spanish in the room right now, so she doesn’t have any problem to tell Leila what she thinks.

“You’re an idiot. What are you expecting from her with this attitude?”

Leila doesn’t say anything, for once she doesn’t know what to answer. She knows she doesn’t have to talk to you like that and that you have all the right to be angry with her. But she can’t help it. But Laia is tired of your behavior.

“Leila you’re my friend and that’s because I will tell you that. She fancied you for years now, even while you were looking at your ex with dopey loving eyes. And now that she tries to move on, you’re acting like a dick. She doesn’t belong to you. Leave that poor girl alone or get your things together. She’s done nothing but being here for you no matter what. She deserves better that the way you treat her.”

Leila has red cheeks now, her body full of shame. She doesn’t look at Laia when she talks again.

“Is it too late?” Leila mumble.

“For what?”

“Trying something with her.”

Laia doesn’t answer directly, she looks at your friend several seconds instead.

“It’s not my place to answer that question” Laia finally answers. “But you better be serious about it Leila, or I’ll tell Alexia.”

Alexia has claimed the place of your mentor and protector when Leila left Barcelona and the national team. She’s still calling you two times a week and Leila knows that the blonde wouldn’t have a problem to beat her ass if she fucks up something with you.

********

You weren’t supposed to see Mila that night, but after Leila behavior with you, you decided that it would be a great way to change your ideas. Mila was happy to hear you and she proposed to go out to eat something, which you agreed with pleasure. The restaurant was fancy, but Mila was very relaxed, making you laugh when she imagines out loud the life of some of the people present in the restaurant too.

You drank a little too and you are a little tipsy when she takes you home. Your flat being in the heights of your building, you chose to take the lift. In fact, it’s the same flat where Ona lived during her time in Manchester, you just take her lease.

When you arrive at your door, you lean against the wall by your front door, looking at Mila. Despite Leila assumptions, you never kissed. But maybe tonight would be the night, it’s your third date after all. And you know that Mila isn’t against the idea, you just have to look at her to know it.

She approaches you until you are only a few inches apart.

“I really had a great night” she says, putting an arm right next to your face, against the wall.

“Me too” you simply answer.

You know what will happen before it does. When Mila leans to kiss you, the ring announcing to opening of the lift’s door sound in the floor.

“Y/N?”

You open your eyes and look over Mila’s shoulder to see who is calling you. You already recognized the voice, though.

Leila is looking at you with an uncertain face and you move mechanically to be further away from Mila. The latter holds a sigh of extreme accuracy and turns to Leila with a look full of reproaches. But Leila doesn’t see it, entirely focused on you.

“Are you ok?” you ask, looking at her.

“Can I talk to you?”

You bite your lips and report your attention on Mila. She shrugs and kisses your cheek softly and looks deep into your eyes before leaving.

“I call you later.”

You don’t know if it’s a promise for you or an advertisement for Leila, but you nod and smile at her.

“Drive safely.”

“I’ll sure do.”

You look at her going in the elevator and passes next to Leila, before turning your attention back on the Spaniard. You look at her for several seconds before talking.

“Come on in”

You let her in her flat before you and close the door. Leila already made her way in your living room, turning the lights on.

“Que passa?”

“I wanted to apologize for today. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

You shrug, not really knowing what to answer to that. If she knows she was an ass, it’s already that right? You are sad about the turn in your relationship though, you and her had always get along great and you feel like it isn’t the same anymore.

“I hate what we became” you mumble. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug one more time. You don’t want to cry but you know that if you look at her, it will happen.

“Hey.”

Just like Mila earlier, Leila approaches you and is only a few centimeters away from you. But it doesn’t seem strange or intimidating with her, it seems normal and comforting. Leila raises her hand to get your hair out of your face and probably get a better view of you.

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, it was so wrong of me. Can I make it up to you? Please.”

“How?” you ask, frowning.

You swear that Leila looked at your lips for a second, before shrugging. You are still close like before, so you can perfectly read her eyes.

“Maybe we can go out, like only the both of us?”

You can’t answer because your phone rings on your pocket and you are pretty sure that it’s Mila. You take your phone almost without thinking to have the confirmation that it’s indeed Mila. She sent you a message and when you are watching, another one is coming.

Mila I had a really great night with you, you’re amazing ♥ I can’t wait to see you again 😉

Leila read the texts at the same time as you are, and you can feel her body tensed. You already noticed that she doesn’t like your pretender, you just don’t know why. Her jaw is so tight that you are scared that some of her teeth will just break.

“What’s up?” you frown.

“I can’t stand her” Leila answers sour toned.

“She’s very sweet and caring though. And funny.”

Leila snorts and starts to walk around in your living room while your put your phone back on your pocket. You’ll answer those texts later, when Leila will be gone.

“You’re wasting your time” Leila finally says.

“Why are you saying that?” you ask, frowning even more.

“Because you don’t belong with her!”

Leila is almost shouting now, forgetting her promise to Laia to keep it cool. She’s angry but not against you, but against herself for the time she lost. And for the reason that she maybe lost any chance with you. Well, she might be angry against Mila, too.

“So, who do I belong with Leila? I have no one else, that girl is sweet and caring, she’s funny, she’s beautiful and very interested in me. And I’m…”

“With me!” Leila cuts you with a strong voice, before adding in an almost defeat tone “You belong with me.”

You are shocked. So shocked that you can’t make a move or even think for now. What the hell is she talking about?

“Seeing you with her made me realize what I should have a very long time ago. I know it’s maybe hypocritical because I had other girls before, but I can’t stand the fact that someone else is kissing you or even touching you. That should be me, no one else.”

She’s looking at you, waiting for your answer. But you, you are looking at her, wanting to be sure that she isn’t joking or messing with you. You just have to take a look in her eyes to know it.

“It’s better not being your ego talking Leila, because I swear…” you whisper.

“It’s not”

She comes close to you again, like really close to you and put her hand on your arm. Like this, you can see all the details of her pretty face.

“I really want to kiss you” she whispers.

You don’t answer, but you lean slightly in her direction, and she get the message almost immediately. She closes the gap between you both, kissing you so softly at first that you wonder if your lips are really touching. But when she’s sure that you’re not going to back away, she gains confidence and passes her arms around you to kiss you harder.

You will have to talk a lot about all of this, but for now you only want to enjoy the moment. Having Leila for you like that is unreal and you want to engrave this memory in your mind for ever.

[sakumz]

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[ m. orter x fem reader ]

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

" why does it feel like I've caught you in some sort of affair? its unusual for a visionary to still be in this school, so late at night, hm? " your voice was stern and threatening though still slightly curious.

orter was leaving after his quick dinner with margaret, that he won't tell anyone of. you're one of the teachers in this school. known for having great foresight. he had heard countless rumours about you. they said you used to be an assassin, having killed a few witches or maybe a spy for an enemy organisation waiting to overthrow the visionaries and the government. they said you had power strong enough to actually be part of the visionary. hearing all that, he had to be cautious around you.

" well isn't it strange for a teacher to still be in the school, after 7? " he replied as you quirk a brow.

" I'm clocking out and this is the earliest time of the week that I'm clocking out. I've worked countless overtime. mainly to help students write their report for any troubles they've cause, marking papers and such. " you state matter of fact, rendering the man speechless for a moment.

" I see, have a lovely night then. " he turns to walk away, before moving too far away. you open your mouth to speak one last thing, " don't try to do anything to stop mash from taking the exam. especially using a student of the school to- "

as he turned around, you were gone. how did you even know he was going to stop mash. he tossed and turned in his sleep, that night. well you're a teacher, you'll most likely be at the stadium. he can always put you in jail and question you, he can also question you later on.

at the stadium, he wasn't expecting you to stand next to walhberg. kaldo on his other side. he wonders what the two of you could possibly be talking about, seeing the dumb smile on kaldo and you laughing at the man. was he that funny? heck, he can see the tears on your eyes. WAS HE SO FUNNY?

" are you seeing anyone as of late, ms l/n? " walhberg starts, feeling your face burn up a little, kaldo couldn't help but laugh at you.

" w-whats it to you, mr walhberg! I have no interest right now, and I'm very busy! " you scold.

orter wonders what the conversation was, seeing you turn red and kaldo laughing at you embarrassed self, walhberg was smiling too. WHO'S FUNNY NOW? he wanted to painfully rip someone's head off. it's not his business but he too wants to know. how come both of them, aren't so cautious around you. did they not cared for such rumours? what about you, are you trying to prove that such rumours weren't even true?

after the whole fiasco of innocent zero showing up, the exam was over. everyone was slowly leaving. you, kaldo, orter and the light cane remained. discussing the attack.

" ms l/n, I didn't get to see you fight today but I've heard countless rumours. care to fill me in about you? " ryoh starts, as yall made your way out of the stadium.

" oh those rumours are true. I'm a witch assassin and I'm working for a secret organisation to overthrow the idiotic government and visionaries, " the three were stunned to hear your confession.

" I don't buy it, " orter says as he walks past the three.

" if its true and you ever try to do anything funny. mark my words, I'll stop you singlehandedly. "

" he likes you, y/n. " kaldo whispers in your ear before rushing off somewhere.

surely that wasn't the last he's seen you. you're even dropping by their office, as if you worked here! it's mainly to drop off reports and to check in on lance and dot, hearing they're being trained by orter.

upon hearing his training methods, you can't help but sit and watch. of course cheering your lovely students on and cursing at orter. he tried challenging you to that particular training only to be surprised at how easy you dodge his attacks with your smoke magic.

maybe both of you were meant to be, having similar magic skills. slowly but surely your presence is everywhere. the man didn't even realise he was falling.

" say do you like l/n-sensei? " dot questions as they take a quick short break from training.

the sudden question making orter stop wiping his glasses to stare at him, stupidly.

" a man has been trying to court her, the past few days. she said she's close to accepting his proposal, " lance spoke.

" I see, trainings over for now. " orter rushes out, making his way to your office at Easton.

" what brings you here, dear madl? " you swirl in your chair to face him.

" you're getting married? " you couldn't help but burst out laughing at his dumbfounded expression as he only glared at you in return.

" n-no, just thinking about it. " you wipe the tears from your eyes, staring back at his face.

" then marry me not him. I'll treat you way better, " he walks closer to your table, grabbing a few locks of your hair to plant a kiss.

such simple actions, made your heart go doki doki.

[vampyan]

Hello! Do you have any ideas for Yandere!reader x Shinjuro? Thank you so much.

shinjuro rengoku x yandere!reader hcs

✮ an ⨟ i do >:) this got long my bad. i'm not used to writing for yandere!reader, but i hope i did ok! it's also relatively tame? def more soft yandere coded.

✮ cw ⨟ shinjuro rengoku . yandere!fem!reader . stalking . possessiveness . obsessive behavior . manipulation . gaslighting . suggestive . dubcon in places . stylized lowercase .

✮ you met by chance, stumbling into one another in the market a few years after his wife's passing. shinjuro scarcely remembers the interaction, but you can recall it in vivid detail.

✮ what he was wearing. his drunken wobble. his warm body knocking into yours. his prickly stubble grazing your cheeks as you nearly topple over. his bulging biceps in your hands as you rush to steady the man. his molten golden-red gaze searing into yours, making your heart stutter and your brain give pause.

✮ he was quick to pull himself away from you, warning you to "watch where you're going." something in you changed that day, or maybe this is who you always were, but kept it buried. you hadn't spoken a word to him, only stared in amazement after him as he stumbled off, and yet his gravelly voice rung in your ears days after your encounter.

✮ you make sure to bump into him several more times after that, actively seeking out his flame-colored hair in crowds. you always played it off as a coincidence, but it was far from it.

✮ you follow him home, shadow him wherever he goes. just observing from a distance and memorizing his schedule. you have a few awkward run-ins with his sons whilst snooping around the premises of the rengoku estate, but both were too young at the time to suspect anything malicious of your uninvited visits.

✮ you gradually weaseled yourself into his life, insisting on walking him home, initiating conversation whenever possible, and listening to all his gripes and troubles he'd let slip in his drunken stupors.

✮ eventually, he grew less irritated by your presence, allowing himself to look forward to your company.

✮ soon you're staying for dinner a few nights out of the week, showing up with gifts for shinjuro and his sons, and shinjuro can't help but be surprised every time. it's been years since he's had a woman around, especially one so outwardly kind and caring towards him and his family.

✮ he's naturally suspicious of your intentions and more than a little skeptical of the flirtatious comments you throw his way.

✮ but when you don't disappear or grow bored of his attitude, he softens, becomes more compliant, and starts thanking you. the ecstatic glimmer in your eyes when he so much as acknowledges you makes his stomach flutter.

✮ his sons have taken to you like ducks to water, overeager to have a motherly presence in the home after so long. shinjuro gets this warm feeling in his chest when he finds you caring for them as if they were your own, looking all too domestic.

✮ shinjuro isn't dumb, he sees those longing looks you send his way. he notices all the little things you do for him, all the effort you put into maintaining your relationship. he admits he's made it hard for you intentionally, pushing you away whenever you got too close.

✮ but your persistence makes it all the more clear that you're interested in him, and he can't deny that your feelings are far from one-sided.

✮ you're kind- too kind, suspiciously kind. he realizes that, but he's a weak man, and you are a beautiful woman consistently making the first move. it was only a matter of time before he gave in, seeking you out for comfort instead of looking for it at the bottom of a bottle.

✮ your friendship quickly escalates into a clumsy romance. shinjuro is rusty, but you balance out his awkwardness with your burning passion. it's as if all your inhibitions disappeared the moment he indicated your feelings were reciprocated.

✮ you praise him for every little thing he does, and he's absolutely unequipped to handle all the attention.

✮ he's got a few years on you, but you don't seem perturbed in the slightest- in fact, he gets the feeling you like it. you can't go five minutes without complimenting him, in that poetic (and midly disturbing) way you always did. his looks, his voice, his taste in literature. you found it all so captivating, and shinjuro can't help but get flustered by how outspoken you are about it.

✮ you court for a while, move in together shortly after, settling further into domesticity within the span of a few months. a year passes by, and shinjuro is still left reeling from how truly happy he feels. he lashes out less, and when he does, you're always patient with him, never screaming back at him no matter how nasty he gets.

✮ it's a little unsettling how content you always look, even when he's being awful to you. it's as if you're simply happy to receive his attention. it only deepens his guilt when he sobers up again, pulling you aside to hold you and murmur his reluctant apologies. you shouldn't forgive him so quickly, he often tells you after you make up.

"i know you didn't mean it, dearest. please, don't worry yourself a moment more over it," you croon, stroking your fingers through his flaxen hair. "i'm not going anywhere."

✮ you're too good at putting his concerns to rest. he isn't proud to admit how easily he folds underneath your tenderness. he's all too aware of how reliant he's become on your affection, and he fears what would happen to him if you were to ever leave.

✮ you're not like his ruka, he realizes. you don't hold him accountable for anything, not for acting out, or being defiant, or rude. he's always 'just tired', or 'must be hungry', or 'having a bad day.' at first, he's grateful for your understanding nature until he puts two and two together that you don't take him seriously.

✮ not his emotions, his protestations, or his input. even as you begin to overstep more and more boundaries. insisting that you dress him, feed him, and even brush his teeth for him. you're insistent on not letting him raise a finger. any opposition on his end is veiwed as a tantrum and not to be concerned with.

✮ you pout and tsk when you catch him brushing his own hair or bathing himself, quickly taking over any tasks he attempts.

"i thought i told you i can do that for you, darling," you hum from the doorframe, startling him as he fumbles with his obi. you waltz into the room, sliding the shoji door shut with your foot and replacing his shaky hands with your own. his joints don't quite work the same after long years of wielding a sword and beheading demons, but he can surely dress himself. his pride demands he be self-sufficient, but you're always so convincing. your acts of service are appreiciated but... embarassing. he can't help but feel infantilized by your smothering behavior, but can never quite tell you no when you give him 'the eyes.' "i'm not a child, love," he grouches, rouge blooming across his cheeks as you tie his obi and straighten his kimono, smoothing over any wrinkles like a doting mother would. "i could've done that myself." "i don't want you to," you snap, your facade slipping for but a moment and his thick brows raise in surprise. your smile is quick to reappear, and you snake your arms around his waist- noting his increasing plumpness with delight. he was a bit scraggly when you first met, having cared more about drinking his sorrows than eating regular meals. but look at him now! healthy... and soft. "maybe i just want an excuse to touch you." you flutter your lashes at him and just like that he folds, lips parting as you pull him closer by the obi until your hips are flush. "j-just ask then. don't gotta baby me s'much. i'm a grown man," shinjuro stutters, his gold gaze falling to where your bodies meet. "do i have to ask to touch my husband? your body's mine to do with as i please, isn't it?" you asked with a smirk, your voice intentionally seductive as you knead his hips in your hands. your head tilts, entertained by the way he shivers. "well, i suppose not..." shinjuro rasps, his adam's apple bobbing as your lips find his throat. but you aren't satisfied yet, you want to hear him validate your claim over him. that ugly piece of you that you keep buried paces like a beast in a cage, gnawing at the bars, trying to claw its way out. your fingers tighten on his hips and you grip becomes bruising. "say you're mine," you demand in a near growl against his neck and his breath hitches, thick brows furrowing. he's helplessly aroused and slightly unsettled by the way you're handling him. "i... i'm yours. yours to use and to touch." he gulps, and you nearly moan in response, suckling a dark mark just below his ear. "hnn, yes. all mine."

✮ you're good at that too. making him forget why he was uncertain about your behavior. and when he asks you about it after the fact, you raise a brow, claiming you didn't remember the conversation.

"you must be sleepy, darling. perhaps you dreamed it?" you dismissed, continuing to chop vegetables and busy about the kitchen. and with shinjuro's tendency to get pass-out drunk, he can't help but doubt his convictions every time. you wouldn't steer him wrong, no... he must've dreamed it like you said. "yes... yes, perhaps you're right about that." you only smile at him over your shoulder, humming a cheerful tune as you make dinner for your perfect family.

✮ you know you're taking things too far. setting curfews, not letting him go out without you, smothering him like an overprotective parent would... but you just can't stop- can't control yourself. you ache for him so profoundly that being away from him is like torture. if anything ever happened to him, you'd never forgive yourself.

✮ you want him to need you like you need him. desire you half as much as you desire him. maybe what you feel for him is too messy and twisted to be love, and maybe your love is more like a festering sickness, but you can't let him go.

2024 © vampyan ; do not modify, translate, or repost my work onto any platform. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated!

[pedge-page]

Imagine baby Sarah angry with Joel for not giving into her asks and wants like idk candy maybe and sides with reader going behind Joel’s back to ask the exact same thing and then in the middle of the day Joel questions how Sarah got a lollipop and reader says that Sarah told her that Joel said yes but to ask reader as well and they then connect the dots to discover that they’ve been played

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Sarah's Bargain

Notes: I’ve derailed from this prompt a little because Sarah’s gotta outsmart all of the adults in the room.

- - - -

Sarah and Joel are walking through the gas station mart when she spots the colorful rack of assorted candy. 

"Daddy, can I have one ring pop?"

"No," he responds plainly, counting the twinkies in his hand and figuring out how many he can get before you yell at him.

"Why not."

He grabs two bottles of Pepsi in one hand before heading over to the check out counter. “Because I said so."

She grumbles and follows close behind him. "If I clean my room--"

"You can't bargain with me. I'm not mom. My answer is no."

She thinks about it for a moment. Then smiles. "Ok Daddy, I understand."

Joel is surprised she acquiesced so quickly. She seems to have gotten over the tantrum phase. Maybe he's doing a pretty good job at this parenting thing after all. 

- 

Later on, you take Sarah along with you to go grocery shopping. "Mom.”

"Yes bubba."

"Dad said if I cleaned my room, I could have a ring pop."

You pause, surveying the special deal for pepsi cans. Despite Joel telling you about the suspicious amount of pepsi that’s been disappearing from his stock, you hadn’t touched any. In fact, you had your own stock that you suspect he’s found out and been stealing from. 

“What?”

“A ring pop,” she repeats. “Dad said if if cleaned my room, I could have one.”

 Thats very uncharacteristic of him to bargain with Sarah.

"He did? So what are you coming to me for?"

"Well he said ONLY if you agreed. Said it was OK but to ask mom first to be sure."

Fuck, making me do the hard decision. Joels always the favorite, and if you say no now, then it’s going to make you the mean mom for no reason. You did see she cleaned her room without being told...

You grab the pepsi case, hoping Joel won't scold you for your own hoarders pile.  

You see the innocent batting of her eyes just as you look over to the candy aisle. “Well if Dad said yes..." 

-

Sarah and Joel are sitting at the table as he unwraps his secret stash of pepsi and Twinkie’s away from you. 

"I asked mom for a ring pop and she said yes,” she mentions while coloring her book.

Joel freezes with half the cream custard in his mouth. “I said—“ 

"Its ok! I told her since you had said no, that she didn't need to get me one. I just wanted to see if she would..."

"You trying to set me up against mom?"

"No..." she adds quickly. "I just... thought it would be an interesting experiment.” She smiles softly, before turning to a very mature, saddened tone. “But then I realized it was wrong and I should have listened to you in the first place. So I didn’t take it because I know you said no."

He thinks about it for a moment. Now you’re going to come to him lecturing about why Sarah doesn't get things when she CLEARLY has a good sense of responsibility, going as far to say no to something she clearly wants just to respect him. She's also smart to test both of you, and even when she could have had it, she still refused. 

“Alright. Just cuz I'm proud of ya.” He dusts the power from his fingers and fishes for his wallet. “You’re a smart kid. But I don't want you testing your mom n’ me for the same answer.  And I don't want to get in trouble with her. I'll get you one. Just this once ok?"

She nods solemnly and crosses her heart. “I won’t say anything.”

-

The next day, you hear Joel and Sarah coming in from the garage and you quickly stash your pepsi behind the potted plant. Your daughter gives you a fat kiss on the cheek before running to the living room and turning on the tv.

You and Joel sit at the table. “I saw the can by the way.” He remarks.

You grunt, pulling the aluminum from its hiding spot and proudly sipping it before crinkling it in your hand. “Well I haven’t been stealing from you. I …have my own stash.”

Joel gasps, offended and surprised by your double standards. “And you yell at me n’ my Twinkies!”

"There better not be any f-ing twinkies in this house Joel Miller," you point at him threateningly.

"Nope none Nada. Haven't seen any." he slowly tucks the new plastic back full of them under his legs.

"The two of you talk about Sarah having cleaned her room without being told. 

"Yeah, I ended up getting her the ring pop,” he tells you.

You furrow your brows.

“?… but, I got her the ring pop. She said you told her I would get if it I also approved? I didn’t want to be the mean mom!"

Fuck, Joel knows you get too worked up on trying to be too nice and cater to Sarah... "What? I told her no first. I never said it was up to you. Then she said she asked you and you said yes, but she refused yours, so I got her it instead for being responsible. I told you to stop worrying about being the nice mom!”

You also know Joel's a sucker for marveling Sarah's experimental mind and working on being responsible over getting what she wants. "She did NOT refuse my offer. what are you talking about?"

Tommy comes in moments later, and waves to the two of you through the open door. Sarah runs up to him near the doorway, and he greets her first suspiciously. They do a funky little hand shake, and you catch a glimpse of something silver going into his palm before she retreats to the living room 

"What are you doing here?" Joel asks.

Tommy shrugs. "Uh nothin’ just.."

"Did you just slip her a ring pop??" You ask incredulously. 

He huffs a guilty sigh. "Sarah asked for a ring pop because you guys told her no, so I went to pick one up at the store as long as she didn’t tell either you...."

Fuck. You and Jole BOTH know Tommy's complex about wanting to be Sarah's favorite uncle (despite the fact you keep reminding him he's her  ONLY uncle and he has no competition).

Above all else, Sarah knows these weakness about each of you. You all look over to her as she unwrap a third ring pop, putting all of them on her one hand and switching back and forth sucking on them. There's an open Pepsi can clutched in her other tiny palm that she sips from, with an exceedingly satisfied grin on her face.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

[kosije]

a/n: this is just...ridiculous lol. with that being said, this was also great fun

cw: fratboy!gojo x reader, toxiiiicccccc ass gojo, dubcon (alludes to reader being tipsy and high before sex), unprotected sex, creampie

Fratboy!Gojo, who listens(?) as you ramble about your ex who had just cheated on you in the secluded corner of his fraternity while they’re hosting a party. whose pink lips are slightly parted with feigned sympathy as he wipes your tears and pulls you deeper into his lap.

Fratboy!Gojo, who stops you from getting another red solo cup because you're far more interested in the blunt he rolls up. and when his tongue pokes out to lick the backwood shut, your eyes refuse to focus on anything else. your hands drop to his chest as you watch his lighter flick off and he inhales deeply before blowing the smoke into your face.

rude.

Fratboy!Gojo, who has always been relatively mean, but the pout that spreads on your pretty lips as you softly swat at his chest makes him want to up his antics. but hey, you've seen to forget all about your ex.

Fratboy!Gojo, who gets surprised when you ask him about himself after sitting in comfortable silence, only interrupted when one of you guys passed back the now much smaller blunt or whines from you when he squeezed a sensitive part of your thigh.

Fratboy!Gojo, who tells you everything you want to know. never too much detail, but more than he usually would because you’ll probably forget everything in the morning. so he lets himself be a little more transparent than he would with others, but not to the level of his best friend.

Fratboy!Gojo, who gets hard after you excitedly scoot closer on his lap after finding something you two have in common. your cute expression as you colorfully talk to him makes him almost want to bend you over in front of all these people at the party, but he's okay with convincing you to follow him upstairs.

Fratboy!Gojo, who’s not in love with you. or in like. but is thoroughly interested and extremely aroused. so in the privacy of one of his pal's rooms, he sweet-talks you till you're dripping and shying away from his heated gaze. he feels you up over your clothes as you slowly grow more impatient, but when he saw your cute cotton bra, he just couldn't help but dote on you for a little.

Fratboy!Gojo, who has no trouble getting you out of your clothes and whining around his cock. you're another cute and tight little thing for him to get his nut off to then forget about. but your babbled-out thank you-s has him feel guilty for taking you like this. and the way you earnestly look up at him with those sweet doe-eyes as you cry through your orgasm makes him almost want to look away—but only, almost.

Fratboy!Gojo, who is about to pull out, but when you wrap your legs and tell him you're on the pill, he loses his mind and shoots his load so hot into you he doubts any pill will keep a baby from swelling your cute tummy. and maybe that's not the worst-case scenario.

Fratboy!Gojo, who drives you back to your dorm room where your roommate loses her mind over the fact 'gojo-fucking-satoru just drove you home!' and on the drive back to his frat house, he thinks back fondly to your cute smile. but only briefly before thinking about how pretty your tits were after.

Fratboy!Gojo, who sees you on campus the next day, a little tired yes, but in a cute get-up wide-eyed at something. it's only when he gets closer he can see your roommate glaring at the man in front of you. he's the ugly type, at least compared to gojo. average in every way. but whatever he's saying, you're hanging on each word, and a nasty bolt of something courses through gojo when he realizes he must be your aforementioned "ex."

Fratboy!Gojo, who watches your bottom lip quiver and then there's yelling between the ugly guy and your roommate before he storms off, and you're crashing into her arms.

Fratboy!Gojo, who can't help but feel happy at the sight. why even bother with whoever-he-is when he can kiss you better so easily? you think that's heartbreak? you wouldn't even know how to live if satoru had anything to do with it.

Fratboy!Gojo, who thinks he might have his first crush.

[boneblushed]

Untouchable

masterlist | part 5 | part 6

synopsis the if only conundrum.

wc 4.6k

“Rafe,” you warn.

“Y/N…” he echoes, his finger sweeping over your warm cheek.

He’s too close, closer than he should be, far closer than your own good or his would sanction.

And it’s as though his stupid, familiar scent has immobilised you, the rough chlorine and vetiver like a disarming agent, liquefying your limbs. His lips draw nearer, less than an inch from yours now, and your pathetic heart jumps into your throat in tandem.

Is he having as much trouble catching a breath right now as you are?

Your gaze staccatos as you force it up to his features, halting on his bobbing Adam’s apple, the shadow of stubble on his neck. At his mouth now, you watch his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. Pause. His eyes are all pupil with a thin wafer of deep blue, like the rim of the horizon before it descends into velvet dusk.

He leans in further, reinforcing his hold on your jaw, and rather than doing the same, you find yourself freezing in place.

Perhaps it’s the fact that this is all becoming too real too fast—Rafe Cameron with his hand on your face, Rafe Cameron with zero regard for personal space. Rafe Cameron making the same move on you that he’s no doubt made on every other girl on his roster; he’s this close to sealing the deal, tasting your lips and marking you his, when you realise that you don’t want to be another name he gets to cross off his list.

If only you knew.

You press the heels of your palm against his chest hastily, hesitant more than firm, enough force for Rafe to stumble back in surprise.

His chest lurches in protest, his skin singed where your hands made contact.

“Rafe,” you resound, letting out another shaky breath. Unsure. “Stop.”

“I — shit,” he mutters back, his voice gruff, almost languid. He straightens a little and runs his fingers through his hair, the soft, dirty-blonde locks limp against his touch. “Why?”

You wince. “I could ask you the same question.”

Rafe falters, momentarily caught off guard, his thick brow furrowing as he looks back down at you. “Are you kidding?” He rasps, as if trying to catch his breath. “You have to know that not kissing you right now is fucking torture.”

“We… we can’t,” you say then, grappling for excuses that are quickly slipping through your fingers. “Our relationship is strictly professional, and —”

“Oh come on,” Rafe interrupts then, reclaiming his hold on your jaw so that he can prompt your gaze up to meet his. “The way we look at each other is the exact opposite of professional.”

Your eyes widen slightly, disarmed by the revelation, and you find yourself struggling to deny the truth of it without outright lying.

“The amount I think about you,” he continue lowly, his voice gravelly around the edges. “Would put Cromwell into a fucking coma.”

The things I want to do to you, he wants to add, would definitely have that effect. Maybe—definitely—that’s overkill. Perhaps it’s your closeness that’s rendered him defenceless, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s superimposed by your wide eyes and pretty mouth. Christ, you’re going to be the death of him. He wonders whether you know that you’re pressing your cheek into his palm right now, vying for more of him. You have these tells that he’s yearned for since before tonight, before this year, before the year prior and probably even before he tried to ask you out.

A beat. You want to believe him so badly your heart aches, but there’s a nagging in your chest that makes it difficult to focus on anything else.

“Why now?” You whisper, uncertain.

“Didn’t think I had a chance til now,” he murmurs back.

What happens if it doesn’t work out? It taunts, refusing to relent. What happens if he loses interest just as you’re ready to accept it?

“It’s not the right time, Cameron,” you reply finally, letting out a languid sigh. You push away from him again, more sure this time than you were before. “It… it’ll overcomplicate things.”

“The way I feel about you already happens to do that,” he murmurs back, though it’s clear he’s beginning to acquiesce. He sighs too. “But,” he takes a step back, and your heart pulls, “shit… as much as I don’t want to, I get it.”

“Okay,” you say, swallowing thickly. Selfish as it is, you sort of wish he’d fought you on the fact harder.

“Okay,” he echoes, clearing his throat. Another beat as the pair of you regain your composure, or what’s left of it after the havoc wreaked by the promise of something more.

You nod in assent, try for a smile. It’s as you’re readying yourself for the let’s-pretend-this-never-happened speech that the pair of you are interrupted by the sound of a car fast approaching, the turbulent ignition like a blade through the silence.

Your father pulls into the driveway just as Rafe turns to face it, his headlights bathing the two of you in yellow light. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of Rafe’s body heat on your skin. It’s as though having a witness has shrunk the inches between your figures; you step away quickly, feel him do so in tandem, and try to act normal whilst feeling the exact opposite.

The ignition quietens, and your father climbs out of his car with subtle surprise etching his features.

“Mr Y/L/N!” Rafe exclaims, plastering on that charming smile of his. Effortlessly—like it’s nothing. Your heart pulls again. “How’re you doing?”

“Rafe,” he acknowledges, raising his eyebrows. Not unpleasantly; he just isn’t sure what to make of the pair of you outside of an Academy setting. “What brings you here?”

“I was just leaving,” he answers swiftly, shoving his hands into his front pockets. “I… uh, Mrs Y/L/N was kind enough to invite me inside for dinner.”

“Ah.” Your father’s eyes dart to you, searching for an explanation. “Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Rafe shakes his head in response, turning toward you and beginning to walk down the porch steps backwards. “I’ll, uh,” he sounds more breathless speaking to you than he does your father, his heady gaze softening as it falls over you in paces, “I’ll see you later?”

“At the next meeting, yeah,” you answer with a nod, trying to sound nonchalant. (Failing miserably.)

He pivots on his heels and slides his keys out of his front pocket, his heart doing this odd little lurch as the distance between the pair of you increases. His skin burns despite the Autumn chill, the phantom of your touch still pressed into his torso.

Don’t turn back, he thinks. He hears your father’s footsteps ascend the porch, hears your front door open and close after you greet him. He doesn’t see the knowing look he shoots you, nor does he hear the flustered waver in your timbre. Or the way your gaze lingers on his figure. When he sits down in the driver’s seat and does catch a glimpse of his reflection in his rearview mirror, all he can see is the same mouth that should’ve tasted you by now. He closes his eyes, and all he sees is your pretty face looking up at him, blurred around the edges.

—

You’re doing a good job at being normal about it all.

Too good a job, it seems; two weeks on from your porch-side rendezvous, it appears as though Rafe Cameron has resigned himself to his apparent fate—that he’s never going to be able to call you his.

How do you know? You’ve returned to professional pleasantries sans any playful teasing—sans any lingering glances or too-close proximity, the unbearable tension between you notwithstanding.

And the worst part of it all, you’re quickly realising, is that it’s based on a fate that’s very obviously untrue. Because the thing is, you do feel something for him, try as you might to vehemently deny it. And you know that it’s selfish, hoping he keeps pursuing you despite shutting it down already, but there’s this part of you that wants him to want you despite it all.

Again, if only you knew.

Rafe Cameron’s favourite deflection tactic is moving on far too fast.

“Any other notices?” You ask, looking out over the room-full of tired prefects in front of you.

Dalton raises his arm, the rolled sleeve of his uniform shirt pulled taut. You narrow your eyes at him, skeptical about the merit of his announcement. “Notices that aren’t just party invitations,” you add, sending him a stern glare.

Dalton grins roguishly, lifting his other arm in surrender. “Third one this year you haven’t attended, Y/L/N. Where’s your team building spirit?”

You roll your eyes, your gaze darting to Rafe momentarily, a knee-jerk response. Usually, this is where he’d jump in and interject. Recently, however, it feels as though he’s more afraid of the consequences of a possible imposition.

It makes your undeserving pulse lurch, your lips pulling down into a frown without meaning to. “You know what, Haynes,” you say after a beat, looking back toward him. “You’re right. When’s the party?”

Rafe falters, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. Dalton’s too busy looking pleased to notice this reception, and he pushes back against his rickety chair, balancing it on its hind-legs. “Tonight,” he answers, flashing you another grin. A muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticks. “At mine. Cameron’ll get you the addy, won’t you brother?”

A beat. When Rafe doesn’t respond right away, you look up at him expectantly, your brow furrowing at the odd expression on his face—almost strained.

Your heart flounders.

You begin overthinking the invitation and your subsequent acceptance; why did you assume he’d want you there, anyway, at a party with all of his friends in the middle of his affluent neighbourhood? What were you trying to achieve by agreeing to go to it, some non-Academy time to solidify all this awkwardness?

Besides, you’d never fit in with a crowd like theirs, not without his Rafe Cameron charm as a buffer.

“Yeah, course,” he answers after pause, an unreadable emotion flashing across his blue irises. If you’re being honest with yourself, it looks dangerously close to reluctance. You resist the urge to grimace.

“Alright,” you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. “If that was all, we’ll lock in another meeting for the same time next month.”

A murmur of assent moves over the room, punctuated by the clamour of backpack zips and car keys jangling. You hesitate before retrieving your own laptop and placing it into your tote, Rafe’s imposing figure still frozen in place beside you.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s going through his own, exhausting turmoil of emotions. They start and end with you, the way they always do; almost kiss turned rejection or not, he’s pretty sure that your implacability in his mind is inevitable.

He’s pretty sure he’s actually fucking fucked, all things considered. (Read: wants you so badly it genuinely hurts sometimes.) Sure, the risks that come with being together may overcomplicate this whole head student thing, but not doing so is torturing him enough to render this a mute point.

Because, really, when have you ever accepted an invitation to one of his parties? Of all the absolute douchebags that make up your graduating class, why did you have to settle for someone as mediocre as Dalton fucking Haynes?

“…Cameron?”

It’s the third time you’ve said his name, just loud enough to break his reverie. He blinks a few times, glancing down at you. “Yeah?”

“Listen,” you say, frowning a little. “If I’ve… uh, I don’t know,” you pause, wincing, “overstepped, or something…”

There’s this slight, guilty inflection to your tone, and it makes Rafe feel worse, as if that was fucking possible. “Are you kidding?” He asks, shaking his head and plastering on a grin. “Of course not. I’ve been trying to get you to one of these parties for months!”

Your frown acquiesces a smidge, and you look up at him, your wide eyes messing with his brain. “I just mean… they’re your friends, and I know they never actually expect me to come to any of these things —”

“No, you should come,” he interrupts. “Get to know everyone. The girls. The boys,” he raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is a playful jibe, “Dalt.”

You lift your own in surprise, making to shake your head. “I’m not —”

“He lives at the end of the Strand Street cul-de-sac, super close to my house,” he interrupts again. “D’you need a ride there?”

And very far away from your own, as Rafe already knows. You try not to read into the fact that he’s willing to go out of his way to pick you up.

“I’ll be okay,” you respond slowly. “Listen, Cameron, I’m not trying to —”

“I’ll look out for you, yeah?” He says then, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. You’re close enough for his elbow to nudge yours as he does so, shifting a jolt of static through your bones. “Be your wing-man or something.”

You’re unsure what to make of his insistence, so you pause, chewing on your bottom lip thoughtfully. Maybe he’s already forgotten about the same almost that’s plaguing you; maybe this is his gentle way of telling you he’s over it. Or maybe, and your mouth goes dry as you consider it, he’s moved in with someone else and doesn’t want you feeling awkward about the fact that you haven’t.

He’s sweet when he wants to be, you think.

“Alright,” you say finally, forcing a smile.

He throws his backpack over one shoulder, jogging backward toward the door. “No bailing last minute, Y/L/N.”

He’s gone before you know it, disappearing around the corner and no doubt catching up with his football posse. Your smile fades. It isn’t lost on you that this is the first meeting after which he hasn’t offered you a ride home.

—

Dalton Haynes lives in a magnificent palazzo in the heart of the Eight, its polished glass windows aglow with technicolor lights. The sharp edges are bordered by a cloudless sky, sunset orange transforming into deeper plum.

From the heavy bass reverberating through the air as you near, it’s clear that the party is already in full swing.

“Y/L/N!” Dalton exclaims, joined by Kelce on the front porch. “Look at you! You made it!”

You smile bashfully, clearly a little out of your depth, allowing him to pull you into a side-hug once you’re at an arm’s length. “I made it,” you agree, nodding at the pair of them. “Everyone else inside?”

Kelce raises his eyebrows, sharing a knowing look with Dalton before grinning roguishly. “Cameron’s inside, yeah,” he answer, taking a generous pull of his half-empty beer. Beads of condensation roll down the aluminium can ominously. “But I think you need a drink in your hand before you start mingling.”

“Uh,” you hold out your empty hands expectantly, “bit difficult considering I didn’t actually bring any.”

“No biggie,” Dalton answers good-naturedly, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “What d’you usually drink Y/L/N? I’m sure we can find something you’d like in the fridge.”

“Usually?” You echo diffidently, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. You aren’t sure you’ve done enough underage drinking to justify a predisposition to any sort of liquor—the odd, too-warm beer at a bonfire, a glass of moderately priced champagne if you’re at a celebration. A Mai Tai, once, at that exclusive PTA dinner at the Island Club last year.

With Rafe. And the rest of the association, of course, but it’s Rafe you remember, in his tailored suit and polished dress shoes.

Rafe, with the glinting cuff-links and generous wad of cash redeemable for fancy drinks and bar-staff compliance. Rafe, with the charming grin and really really distracting biceps. Aftershave, vetiver, and the saccharine scent of orgeat syrup. You didn’t realise, until just now, how much of him you remember from that first night as head students.

“Yeah,” Dalton prompts, retrieving his arm from your shoulder to pull open the fridge and peer inside. He’s led you down the hallway and into the busy kitchen, his large house suffused by varyingly familiar upperclassmen. “We’ve got some of my sister’s leftover White Claws, half a bottle of Sav, three of those Mai Tai drinks, oh — and a few cans of my beer, which you’re absolutely welcome to but I assume that you aren’t a big Budweiser girl yourself.”

“Mai Tai’ll do,” you answer, “thank you.”

“Easy,” he nods, handing one over before closing the fridge and straightening. He clinks the rim of his can against yours, making a noise of approval when you hiss it open. “The head girl at a party,” he says, grinning as he tips back his beer to take a sip. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

You roll your eyes, sending him a faux-glare. “You make me sound like such a fucking bore.”

“Not my intention,” he answers, raising his arms in surrender. “You just intimidate the living Hell out of me, and this laidback environment tends to take the edge of that a bit.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “If you’re trying to flatter me, it’s working,” you say, turning to face the living room. You lean against the kitchen island in front of you as you survey the scene, the smooth marble like glacial lava on your forearms. And your gaze moves over the scene absentmindedly, a fact that isn’t lost on Dalton. It’s as if you’re trying to find someone in secret—catch a glimpse of their figure and then pretend that you didn’t.

He leans forward in tandem, taking another pull of his beer. “Oh, I’d never dream of flattering Cameron’s girl without his permission.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you face whipping around to face him. “I’m not —”

“Oh, sure, maybe not right now,” he allows, raising his eyebrows. “But I think it’s pretty obvious you’re the reason that he’s been flirting with Leighton all evening, don’t you think?”

“Leighton?” You echo, frowning slightly. “Where’s —”

Dalton places his hands on your shoulders firmly, pivoting you on your heel so that you’re facing the kitchen window. It overlooks one side of his wraparound deck, and in amongst the ruckus, Rafe is standing too close to the girl named Leighton. She’s undeniably beautiful, all glowing limbs and cheeks that are rosied by the chill. And a hand on Rafe’s—your Rafe’s—bicep.

You blink. There’s an unfair wrench in your gut. Suddenly, the fact that you didn’t almost kiss him when you had the chance feels like a cruel twist of fate, entirely unbearable. He’s already moved on, the way you predicted that he would, but the vindication of being right doesn’t feel nearly as good as it should.

This isn’t his fault, you have to remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, the nagging voice screams, seeing him with someone else still hurts like a bitch. Granted, a wholly unjustified bitch, seeing as you’re the one that insisted you keep this professional. You blink again. Her hand’s still abutted in all it’s manicured glory, on his stupid broad bicep as though it belongs there.

“Oh,” is all you say.

Dalton frowns. “Dude, did you hear anything I just said? The only reason he’s even talking to her is because of you.”

“You don’t know that,” you answer, forcibly peeling your gaze away from him. “Besides, nothing even happened between us.”

“That’s the point,” Dalton urges, sending you an assessing look. “Better an oops than a what if, right?”

You shrug helplessly, your gaze moving back toward Rafe without meaning to. He’s smiling down at the girl named Leighton, this real, genuine grin that makes you honest-to-God ache, and another ugly bout of jealousy sears through your ribcage, forcing you to resign yourself to your fate.

“Except,” you say finally, turning away from the kitchen window, “that there wasn’t ever a what if in the picture to begin with.” You pull away from the smooth marble countertop, making for the yawning stairwell before looking back expectantly. “What’re you waiting for, Haynes? You going to give me a tour of this place or what?”

—

The tour, whilst a useful way to pass time, fails to distract you from the envious turn of your stomach. It feels as though every window you peer through allows a crystal-clear view of Rafe Cameron and his latest conquest—his figure too-close to hers, his elbow nudging her slim waist, her pretty hand on his bicep, on his shoulder, ever-present.

“You need a top-up?” Dalton asks, pointing his can at yours questioningly. You’re halfway down the stairwell and fast approaching the kitchen, the burnt ochre hue of sunset transforming a deeper velvet.

You tip back your Mai Tai for its dregs, nodding in response.

“Y/N?”

He doesn’t use your first name very often. His gravelly timbre tends to oscillate between your surname and whatever pet-name he’s in the mood for; less so after you made it clear that it irks you.

If only he knew.

He’s thought about you a pathetic amount tonight. Where you are, when you’ll arrive, how he’ll play it cool when you’re with Dalton (fucking Haynes) despite wanting to die inside. And now, it feels as though his worst fears are manifesting before his eyes—gorgeous you in a singlet and jeans with a slice of waist exposed, with maddening spaghetti straps made of almost see-through material. With pretty eyes, prettier cheeks, glossy lips that he knows smell like peach. (And feel like satin, and taste like something illegal; taste like the absolute fucking death of him.)

If it isn’t already obvious, Rafe Cameron is spiralling. He doesn’t do that very often—ever.

As you complete your descent of the stairwell, he runs his fingers through his hair, drawing your attention to his taut biceps and strong forearms.

“Oh, hey!” You exclaim, a little sheepish. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Been here the whole time Y/L/N,” he responds evenly, his gaze darting to Dalton beside you. Less even, now. “How long’ve you been here?”

“Not long,” Dalton supplies, moving past him post-descent. “Just gave her a little tour of the humble abode.” He turns to back toward you expectantly. “Another Mai Tai, head girl?”

“You can go now, Haynes,” Rafe says, not bothering to look back at him.

Dalton raises his eyebrows at Rafe over his shoulder. “You’ll grab her the drink?”

Rafe ignores him, and you frown, evidently bemused by his unfriendly reception. “I’ll grab it myself Dalt,” you say, raising your empty can in farewell. “Thanks for keeping my company!”

He sends you a mock salute in response, and you swear there’s an imperceptible wink thrown in too. You frown harder, a question, but he’s too busy disappearing into the hallway to particularly notice it.

“So,” Rafe begins. A pause. “You and Haynes, huh?”

You look up at him, your pretty brow furrowed. “Did you guys get into a fight or something? Because this morning —”

“Yeah. Over you.”

You falter. “Me?”

Rafe sighs languidly, raking his fingers through his hair again. It prompts his figure an inch closer to yours, the scent of his musk and vetiver aftershave rendering your poor insides jelly. “Why didn’t you come find me when you got here, Y/L/N?”

“You were with a girl!” You protest. “I didn’t… I don’t know, you were busy.”

“You came to his party,” he continues slowly, his voice low, “I’ve invited you to so fucking many and his is the one that you finally attend.”

“For you, you idiot!” You exclaim, and then you falter, grimacing abashedly. “I mean,” you sigh, “I… I don’t know, I was sick of things being awkward.”

A pause. An unreadable emotion flickers over Rafe’s blue irises, and he takes a small step forward, caging you into the stairwell bannister. “For me?” He asks, his heady gaze trained on your features.

“Besides,” you continue, choosing to ignore him. “You — you were teasing me about the invitation, going on about how you’d play wing-man when I’m with Dalt.”

He raises his eyebrows. “‘Dalt’, huh?”

“You called him that,” you defend, “Not me. And — and you were with some other girl when I arrived —”

“Leighton’s a family friend,” he interrupts, inching closer still to rest his arm on the rounded newel at your side. His bicep on your shoulder now, a body-heat wall of muscle. “She was telling me about the college guy she’s seeing.”

You swallow. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Rafe agrees.

A beat. You can hear the steady thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the music and party clamour like long forgotten white noise. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, breaking eye contact.

Rafe frowns. “For?”

“I know you didn’t want me to come tonight.”

Another beat. When he doesn’t respond—argue with you—right away, you feel your stomach drop, your unsure gaze moving back up to him.

His once-blue irises have given way to dilated pupils. You swallow again.

“True,” he murmurs finally, his voice rough.

“Because this is your crowd,” you explain unnecessarily, talking faster, “not mine. And your friend’s the one that’s hosting. And there’s no real reason for me to be here except you, but our relationship’s supposed to be strictly professional and I’m the one that’s been harping on about —”

“Because,” Rafe interrupts firmly, his calloused palm find the contour of your jaw and pulling you closer. “Not kissing you two weeks ago was hard enough as is.” He ducks his head to eye-level, his nose brushing over yours gently. “And I don’t think I have it in me to control myself any more.”

You inhale in surprise, your lips parting slightly. “That sounds complicated,” you murmur.

“So fucking complicated,” he agrees lowly, his spearmint-and-beer breath fanning over your warm cheeks. Your lashes flutter. “Christ Y/N,” you can feel his lips ghosting over yours, now, “will you let me in complicate it some more?”

You may lean in first, but Rafe leans in harder. His free palm finds your waist and presses you against the stairwell bannister, torso to torso with enough conviction to bruise a little, your figure like putty in his hands. And his mouth is all youthful and rough, infused by Budweiser, his warm tongue moving over yours with desperation. Like he doesn’t fucking believe any of this is happening—doesn’t believe how soft your skin feels, how sweet your lips taste, how wretchedly he wants to feel more of you, all of you.

His hand slips underneath your singlet to knead the bare skin he finds there, his bruised lips dragging along your chin to your jaw. “Complicated fucking neck,” he mutters gruffly, pressing teeth-scraping kisses along your throat. His hand slides down to the curve of your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. “And shit, don’t get me started on how much these jeans are over-complicating everything.”

“Says you,” you gasp, your arms circling his neck to allow your fingers free reign on his hair. “Your hair’s cuter when it’s a little damp like this, y’know that?”

Rafe groans, his forehead falling to your shoulder in faux-defeat. “Compliments. Complicated.”

“No compliments,” you say as he lifts his head again, smiling. “Noted.”

“No talking,” Rafe agrees. He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours, hard. “Just kissing.”

“Kissing, huh?”

The voice makes the pair of you freeze, spring apart in tandem. Standing at the end of the hallway, a condensation-shiny Mai Tai in hand and triumphant grin on his face, Dalton Haynes’ knowing gaze is trained on your figures. “Please,” he adds then, raising his arms in surrender and beginning to walk backward, “don’t stop on my account.”

He disappears around the corner, and you turn back to Rafe, noticeably chagrined. Shit, you think, mostly because you want to kiss him again. You’re totally fucking fucked.

[iwishf1wasreal]

F1 Driver NSFW Profile: ✷ Lewis Hamilton ✷

smut ✷ 18+ readers only

I. Flirt. He’s a shy sort of suave. He wants to come off cool and laid back. Thank God he never has to worry if he’s dressed well. Lewis is all about eye contact, making sure to look over the frame of whatever sunglasses he’s wearing so he can hold your gaze. It’ll be hard for him to look away; maybe he’ll keep your eyes for as long as he can by looking back or walking backward. He’ll flash his million-dollar smile at you; make sure you know he’s noticed you too. If there are cameras around, he’s pretty much going to stand 40 feet away from you, but if it’s amongst the trusted inner circle or just the two of you, he is stuck to you like glue. When you first meet, he’s flirty in a relaxed sense; it won’t come across as him being particularly interested, just friendly. He takes his time sussing you out and getting a feel for you. But once he’s ready to make his intentions known, he’s laying on the charm. Making you laugh, taking any excuse to brush against you. II. Propositioning.   Warm hands caressing down your back, spending a generous amount of time on your ass before smoothing down your calves. He’ll peck kisses anywhere he can reach, his endless brown eyes meeting yours as his lips roam your body. Lewis wants to seduce and be seduced. He likes kissing–[loves] kissing. Has a hard time having sex [without] kissing. He wants your tongue hot and heavy in his mouth. Lewis likes to tease too. If the mood strikes and you start to put the moves on him, he'll play dumb. Straight up pretends not to notice, wait and see how far you’ll go before you push him down onto the sofa and straddle him.

III. Libido. It’s relatively high, but he’s also creeping up to his forties. Don’t get me wrong, he has no trouble getting (or maintaining) an erection, but it takes him a bit longer to get him up and ready…especially if it’s a night after drinking. So, he doesn’t mind a bit of soft play, whether it's your mouth or the soft glide of your hand. He’s not too picky. He feels so much closer to his partner during and after sex. Lewis feels like there’s no other connection in the world like it and would probably even be down to try sex magic if you were into that kind of thing. 

IV. Turn-Ons: tame & nasty. Tame: Expensive clothes. When you hold him close to whisper in his ear. Laughing with your head thrown back. A nice fitting pair of trousers. Pretty, fast cars. Private beaches and cabanas. Outdoor showers. Spoiling you. Facetime calls to show him what you’re wearing. Getting along with his mum and step-mum. Having inside jokes with his brother. Fitting right into a game of footy with his nieces and nephews. Musicality in any way, shape, or form. Shy silliness that he gets to draw out of you. Diamonds on bare skin.  Nasty: When he fucks you so good you can’t even get out a moan, and it looks like  you’re having a sexy exorcism. Pulling your panties to the side instead of just pulling them off. Lowkey always wants to get caught; fucks you with the windows of your cabana wide open, or herds you into the single stall. Tender love and care to his balls. When you tell him that his dick is the best you’ve ever had. Receiving unsolicited your nudes. Mutual masturbation. Lingerie sets with lace bras and satin panties. The way your ass kinda makes a heart-shape in certain positions of doggy. Titties in his mouth. Topless beaches with wandering hands. V. Self-stimulation. Ideally, he would be able to Facetime you, and you could figure out a solution together. He'll use a video if the timezone doesn’t permit that, and he’s not desperate enough to wake you or disturb you at work. He can still appreciate porn, but if he wants to finish, he’d prefer to do it to you. VI. Foreplay. He almost pays too much attention to foreplay. It’s like he’s in some kind of competition with himself to see how wet he can make you before he finally slips inside. As he’s come into adulthood, he’s realised how powerful the act of cunnilingus is. He has his own version of getting drunk off your sex, usually in the form of semi-incoherent philosophical babbles of how we’re all connected and how beautiful your pussy is.

VII. Rhythm. He likes to keep it fresh but prefers deep, unhurried sex. Taking your time getting to know each other and savouring the feeling of the two of you together. He’s not afraid to moan or let his nastiest thoughts roll off his tongue. Most often he’ll be asking how it feels, for you to be louder. He likes egging you on. VIII. How He Likes It He’s a classic man. Doggy has a special place in his heart. He likes plenty of other positions, too, of course. But there’s just something about getting to watch your ass shake as he disappears inside you. You bent over, wet and moaning and rutting back against him. Rarely do you get to feel like you have the upper hand on him–he’s got lightning fast reflexes, strength and confidence that often make you feel like he’s not even real. Except in the bedroom and he has your front pressed into the bed and you start to work to throw your hips back to meet his thrusts. He nearly busts right then and there every time. 

IX. Location, location, location. A hopeless romantic, ideally, he’d have rose petals all over the floor and candles littering the entire place. But that’s not always feasible, though he still tells you it’s what you deserve. And though he’d deny it, ducking his head to hide the burning on his cheeks but the hot tub seems to hold a special place in his heart. To the point where his buddies will point and giggle at it the second you’re aboard a yacht for the week or they notice it on the balcony through the curtains. Somehow, they always seem to be one on your holidays or hotel rooms. And you both do you best to use it to the best of your abilities.  X. Kinky. He’s open minded and easy to approach. He likes experimenting when he feels safe and he feels safest with you. Depending on the mood, he can be gently encouraging, complimenting and worshipping you into bliss. Or, he can be a little more demanding, a little less lenient and a little more mean. He’s good at playing. He likes playing…as long as you seem like you are too. Any fantasy you feel like trying, he’s all ears. Rarely will he outright deny you–about most things–especially sex.

XI. Bedroom aids/Toys He’s not stupid, obviously you use toys whilst he’s away or busy. He doesn’t mind adding them in with the both of you either. It really only took one time for him to watch your eyes roll back in your head after just two minutes on the second to highest setting. Lately, his latest exploration in the bedroom has involved plugs. Nothing gets his heart pumping blood to his crotch quite like when you bend over and reveal you’ve decided to surprise him with one. Something about the shimmer of something in your ass while he sheeths himself deep inside you feels like ecstasy. 

XII. Cum. He can go for a while. He’s old enough where he doesn't need to lay back and think of England. He would prefer to finish after you though with the ferocity of your sex life, it’s quite literally always a competition to get others to cum first. Ideally, he’d finish inside of you but obviously sometimes that’s not always fisable. Though, more than enough times have you two snuck off for a quickie and you’re left uncomfortably wet in your panties after.

XIII. Pleasure reciprocation. Lewis loves to go down on you. Likes hearing all your moans and whines and any other noise he can get you to make. When his focus is on you and getting you to cum, he turns into an assertive yet gentle figure. He has plans for you, he’d like for you to follow them. But he’s not above giving into your desperation or gently teasing you for how worked up you get. He can teeter more towards mean when he feels like it though rarely can keep it up. By the time you’ve finished, he’s melted back into his true self. Making sure you’re not too far gone or nothing got too out of hand. Despite it all though, he makes you feel like he’s hungry for you. Like just the site of you or your body could drive him wild enough to cloud all his thoughts.

XIV. Bonus.

“I wanna show you something,” Lewis tells you, head down with his eyes focused on his phone. You approach him in the living room but don't make it to him before the TV on the wall above him blinks on. It shows the generic home display before it goes black again. But it's only for a moment. Then, a grainy, night vision video starts to play. 

It takes you a moment to realise what is. It’s not until you hear the video playback what sounds like Lewis’ laugh. On screen, now  in clear view of the camera, you dragged Lewis to one of the outdoor sofas. Suddenly, you recognize everything in the video.

It from the boat trip you took a few weeks ago, traipsing around Greece with some friends before Lewis had to get back in race mode for the foreseeable future. It was late, all your friends had gone to bed and the crew had been tipped heavily to give you some privacy on deck.

You’re standing there watching yourself, watching your mouth meet his and moan in pleasure. In person, you don’t realise he’s even standing behind you until a gentle hand on your middle startles you out of your gaze.  

“You remember that?” he asks softly, with a small nod towards the TV. You nod, letting out a distracted ‘mmhmm’ as you keep your eyes on the screen. His other hand meets your other side, palms softly caressing against the t-shirt you wore. 

Back on the boat, you had already pulled Lewis free from the confines of his joggers. You were on the floor, on your knees. Even with the state of the art speakers Lewis had installed, you can’t make out what he’s saying to you on video. Just the soft rasp of his voice as he eggs you on.

“How did you get this?” you ask, your throat dry. You had taken him into your mouth on the boat, Lewis throwing his head back in pleasure on screen. It was nice to see him–actually see what he looked like while you gave him head. Up close was one thing, but watching the effect you had on him has your insides somersaulting.

“I told you I’d have them get rid of the footage.” 

Neither of you were stupid. You both knew something as risky as this would require some damage control but Lewis promised you he’d take care of it.

“Yes, but how do you have it?” you gulp after a particularly loud moan vibrates off the screen. 

Lewis doesn’t answer you, just laughs softly as he moves to start placing kisses on your neck. His hands move from your waist, roaming over your arms, then your shoulders. The roughness of his skin against the softness of your skin feels euphoric. But he stops the motion all too soon, one his hands clasping over each of your wrists. In front of you, your past self is already mounting your boyfriend, his hands eager to expose your breasts from the bikini you were wearing. 

Loud, lewd sounds fill the room, echoing off the TV and bathing the both of you in a symphony of your own moans. You can feel Lewis’ breath against your neck, his hands still holding your wrists. You watch as his hand slipped over your core, pads of his fingers finding the perfect spot to send you over the edge. The sight of it makes you hotter, your skin starting to feel clammy and stomach somersaulting. Instinctively, you lean further back into Lewis, trying to instinctually rut yourself against him for some kind of relief. 

But he’s not taking any of it. Just tightens his grip on your wrists and moves so you can’t roll your hips back against him. 

The sounds on the TV get loud. You can hear the sound of your bodies meeting amongst the huffs and moans. It doesn’t matter how much you beg, how pathetically you mewl at Lewis to let you do something. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t even really let you look at him. At best you can get is the cocky smirk and devious gleam in his eyes before he’s gathering both your wrists in one hand and fixing your gaze ahead by your chin. 

Your heart feels like its beating out of your chest. Your skin is sticking to your clothes, working up a sweat from how hot you feel underneath your clothes. Lewis makes you watch the whole thing like that. Forced to watch both orgasms he gave you. Forced to listen to the defeated sigh of satisfaction Lewis gives as you pulled yourself off of him. Forced to watch the glistening trail of yourselves that even the shitty security camera could pick up sliding down your leg.

You don’t even have to move to tell how wet you are once the TV finally turns off. Looking (and feeling) like you’re in a trance, Lewis chuckles proudly and presses a kiss to your hair. 

“Now, go upstairs. Take all your clothes off. And wait for me.” He says, pressing one more kiss to your temple. He pulls away just a touch so he can look you in the eyes. “But do not touch yourself.” He taps his pointer finger to the tip of your nose and pats your ass as your single to get moving. 

You do as you're told and head upstairs. Meanwhile, Lewis gets working on some drinks for the pair of you. He only gets as far as pulling his mock-Tequilas from the cabinet before he hears what at first sounds like your phone going off. But the buzzing he hears through the upstairs floor doesn’t stop. He freezes in place to listen. The buzzing keeps going, far longer than any ringtone would. 

As soon as he realises what you’re doing, he drops what he’s doing and makes a break for the stairs. You can hear him calling your name through the bedroom door as he takes them to at a time to get to you.

[doublekanble]

hunting

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic (a bit more romantic if you squint)

word count: 4.1k

mention of roaches, "thats my boy" was used once but it's not a real gender indication. fic can be sums up to 1. bugs 2. throwing a body in a lake.

You’re an odd admirer of bugs, always have been. Even when quite a number of them creeps you out to no end with their lanky legs and weird autonomy, you still admires them with all your heart. The spiders in the corner of your ceiling always get let out when it overstep. The centipede dropped by the corner and thrown out the back door. Killing them is almost always the last and final option for you. And yet, out of the bunch, there’s always one thing you can never bring yourself to ever see in any remotely positive light.

Roaches. Those disgusting creepy little things.

Your friends and family finds it absolutely hilarious (and useful) how you react at the mere mention of a roach being spotted, much to your dismay. Having time and time again and again encountering the thing in circumstances less than ideal—in your own kitchen for example, you have a habit of throwing yourself at the chance to immediately get it out of your sight, hopefully dead and crushed once it does; even if it’s at the cost of your beloved ivory handkerchief. But now, as you sat completely still on the sofa with dirty hand and unfocused eyes, you spotted something from the peripherals of your vision.

There’s a roach on the floor.

It’s a long-standing problem, considering how the lodge itself is placed neatly near the edge of a bayou, one that won’t be touch tonight, he remarked before you two step foot into the place. Otherwise, there’s only so much one man can do to keep his place clean; he reassures you that it’ll be gone soon, as soon as you’re done with this. Waving his hand and smiling, he head off to the kitchen to look for something. Your eyes followed him out of the room, before turning to the roach. It’s antennae shifting up and down, examining and searching for food as it crawl up and down the area. At least it seems like there’s no interest in you.

Once he returns, Alastor would teasingly chide you for not helping him as he turn his back on you, vest and what else now on the other end of the sofa, beginning his work. It’s ok, you’re new to this, you’ll get used to it soon; he said kindly. You don’t want to dwell on the thought of it.

From behind, you listen to his humming, a new tune he played some days ago on his broadcast. It would’ve been so endearing, but you can’t feel your legs and your thoughts are drifting too far away for you to really get a hold of. The only thing in your eyes now is the roach that’s crawling by the severed left thigh. Always a bad habit of yours that he insisted was sincerely charming to him, how easily rile up you are by the small and tiny woes of life. The little play dates and meet-ups you dreaded going despite promising a friend to, an awkward conversation. They’re all things that anyone can withstand with ease, but you do so while stumbling on your feet like a fawn. Utterly charming and adorable, he’d insisted.

(because then he can always be there for you, he once said. if you ever find yourself in a tough spot, your dear old Alastor will always take you by the hand and lead you from your troubles)

You don’t tend to think a lot about what he love to say around you, or even at all. In all honesty, maybe you could’ve seen the sign a bit earlier; in the way his smile is all teeth and wide, but never reaching his eyes, to anyone except you. In the manner in which he always take a hold of your hand and lead you through the empty street of New Orleans, diving into speakeasy after speakeasy in the middle of an on-going depression out of his own pockets and always seated you where you can always see him even if he’s on the other side of the place, always seated you somewhere he can keep an eye on you. Maybe in the way he sometimes would hold you in his arms for a bit too long for normal friends and your arm would accidentally brush by something a bit off and out of shape, at the side of his right torso and hidden behind 3 layer of clothing.

You could’ve acknowledged the sign way earlier, but you’ve never had a friend like Alastor. And it was so fun watching him live his life while letting you stand by his side, you could even forget about the serial killer roaming the street at night, the one he would have news about every noon and would exclusively deliver them just to you in the hope of keeping you safe.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, he might as well be doing it just to keep you by his side for longer, knowing how your interest wane at a single mistake. But for your dear old friend, Alastor? Who’s charm and laughter is always uniquely his, who always care so much and always try to keep you safe, who walked you back to your house at the early morning hours and who always place a gentle kiss on the hand he held securely and tightly in his.

Painfully and hopelessly, all you can ever do is to trust him. Until one day you can’t. And it took everything in you to walk away that time.

(you told him once, before all of this nonsense that for him, you will go to the end of the world. and he smiles. you would’ve never known that, ever since then, ‘end of the world’ means end of your world.)

A sudden movement from his end have you jump in your seat. He only turns around and gives you a sheepish grin, with his eyes crinkled in a way that he only preserved for you and his mother.

“Apologies for startling you, dear. It was getting on my nerves.”

You look to where the cleaver was just a second ago. On the floor, right by his knee on the tarp covered floor—now with a tear, red bleeding below and seeping into the wooden board, staining it—sat a hand chopped squarely in two, and a roach, stick-like limbs still twitching. Subconsciously, you inched yourself to the end of the sofa, not minding the thought of your hair touching his vest as much.

He smiles again, although this time, it’s as if he’s looking at a dumb pet backing into its cage. If you bring it up, he’ll probably laugh. So, you look ahead instead and try to focus on the deer head hanging atop the fireplace, it’s beady eyes the same color as the thing Alastor’s dissecting in the middle of the lodge’s sitting room.

“Y’know,” he started with a small laugh, voice light and airy, in that same way, he talked about poetry and music to you, “I wasn’t sure whether you would tell anyone.” It was pleasant then, but now it’s like you’re back at the local meat shop with its owner still alive, still intact. The disgusting metallic stench combine with the damp air and his brutish voice, so much harder to listen to compared to Alastor’s, almost made it seems like a funeral of your own. You’ve never felt safe in that meat shop, but now you’re somewhat torn on the thought.

“You looked so horrified; I was sure that would’ve been the last I ever see you. It would’ve broken my heart, and I wouldn’t have blame you for it, too.” He’s the most vindictive person anyone will ever know. “You’re such a charming little thing after all! Always with that benign heart of yours… And if you were to stop coming around, my mother’s heart would simply break into two!”

He pauses, as if reminiscent, you wish he stay like that for a bit longer, but the sounds of bones breaking and snapping under cleaver returns as he diligently work away. There’s a saw somewhere in the lodge, you’ve seen it once before- while searching through his tools for a screwdriver. A decently sized one, as long as your arms with blade just as jagged as it was new, but Alastor would never keep anything that’s not useful. Somehow, you’re sure he’s using the cleaver to prolonged this. The fact might be horrible on its own. But then again, you’re not too keen on knowing the noise a saw made going through actual bones. His good intentions carry itself through for once.

“She can take care of herself, yes, I know. God knows nothing on this round earth can knock her off her feet. But having you around to talk with-“ his mother is such a kind woman. A gentle and warm person, you can see how some of his doting nature came directly from her. But by God, how did she ever give birth to such a devil? “you know how she always praises you when you’re around? Why you should’ve seen how she is when you’re not! I’m beginning to think I’m not her favorite child anymore!”

(his mother is lovely, but his voice’s is getting so, so very annoying. Like a bug. Like a-)

“I would never dream of hurting you, too.”

It tears you apart, how he said it with such conviction. As if he would never take the chance once you give it to him. And there’s no mistaking the genuine happiness in his tone as he looked at you for the final time, sending you a beaming smile when your eyes accidentally met.

“I’m so happy you called me, mon Chéri.”

He sounds so, so sincere. Word as sweet as the praises he sings about his mother, as kind as his eyes. It doesn’t alleviate the distinct gnawing of something sharp and horribly choking lodging firmly in your throat. You can’t find it in your heart to reply to such a loving gesture right now, and you hope you will never again. And you know he doesn’t need you to, either. The fact you’re here is enough confirmation for himself.

So yet again, with ease, he gleefully chatted away at you while walking back and forth to prepared for something, wanting to give you a book from an author you loved but having trouble finding their work, he hoped you won’t mind waiting for a bit longer. All while you’re having trouble concentrating, that screeching, inconsolable cries—like a screeching pig—replaying over and over in your mind. You were never a believer, but still, you pray he didn’t blame you for his death on the way down to hell. You didn’t even know a person can looked so utterly unlike one, no wonder the roaches loves the death.

(you know that it’s beyond useless to even pray, you might as well having dragged him to the underworld by hand yourself. but with how the wetness on your hand already solidify into a disgusting layer of crust and the image of a dead man hanging behind your eyelid, it’s all you can do to pray this night away)

Briefly, the sight of the vermin flashes through your weathered mind, and you feel sick for thinking about how easy it would’ve been to have let the thing crawled into the man’s ears.

----

“Ugh-!”

“Do you need a hand over there dearie?”

You didn’t bother to respond to his coy inquiry, choosing to adjust your grip awkwardly around the sack in your arms. It was somewhat an inner debate on whether you should’ve thrown it over the shoulder or just carry like normal despite its shape. But the thought of getting any speck of blood on your back somehow grossed you out more. That and the possibility of the rocks he puts in there leaving a bruise if you throw it too harshly.

“Oh, what am I saying. You got more than enough to help yourself! And a few extra limbs too!”

“I wouldn’t have needed anything if you didn’t throw in those damn- What do you even need them for?!”

“Come now, you kiss my mother with that tongue!”

He laughs, hunting riffles over his shoulder as he does. But he still takes the time to walk back a bit and wait just in case you fell over. After assuring himself that you won’t going to trip, he slapped your back all good-nature like—nearly sending you on your knees—with an enthusiastic “That’s my boy!” and strutted ahead again, steps now noticeably slower than before. You try not to think about why he’s doing all of it.

Walking through this specific forest, even with a dead body in your hand, brings back memories. One you would’ve love to keep safe from him despite everything, but nothing was ever up to you.

Alastor brought you here from time to time on his hunting trip to try and get you used to his hobby and the idea of tracking prey. Under the excuses of you being his favorite little person to bring anywhere. Initially, you were extremely reluctant to even come out of the city, but he won you over anyway, all but begged you to and dramatically claiming he’ll die soon if you don’t.

After that, it’s him taking the time out of his busy life to set up little test and lessons for you that he—very proudly and enthusiastically—would declared much better than what he have to go through as a kid. Even going so far as letting you, a beginner, to take a hold of his prized Remington that he otherwise never uses except for “big games” he boasted about in broad details, but never enough for an accurate guess. You would even think he’d caught a mystical beast by how little details there was.

(“Ah, but this one, this is a sly one~. It slipped from my hand multiple times that night, running to and fro without a care in the world. I nearly lost my life to it!”

Wriggling his fingers while presenting a story about how he chased down a prey through the woods that kept running despite the shots and wounds he gave it. you laugh without a thought about what the game was to be that resilient, long giving up on guessing.

“What? Did the thing knock you off your feet and ran off? Well deserved, honestly!”

He smiles.

“It wished it did darling~.”)

Alastor loves to laugh at how you failed every single test he put you up to, your hands was always just a bit too shaky and the noise just a bit too loud for you to ever get used to, especially with how spaced out the lessons are, giving you time to completely forget what it feels like to hold something that can kill you both in a heartbeat. By your fourth session, his jokes start to turn a bit personal. Never anything outright mean, if you don’t know him well enough. The type of thing that would’ve been normal to hear, but was said in a specific tone, with a specific look.

(“At this rate, if anything bother to come by, you’ll be deader than a doornail, love!”)

As if he’s disappointed in you; as if he was hoping you can pick this up faster for any other reason than to have a hunting buddy alongside him. You never understand that part. His social circle was—and always will be—big enough that you’re willing to bet your left leg on the fact at least two of them can handle a gun better than you can hold a pencil. But it has to be you, he all but insisted.

One day, you said something that have him stood frozen next to the five cans he placed in a neat row, with only one lying pathetically on the floor. You still can’t get a read on whatever the expression on his face was, having only caught it by a single tick of a second before he laughs a laugh from the bottom of his chest and deemed you unbefitting to ever hold onto a weapon.

(“If anything were to come by!” you’re all-but whining at this point, playing up your annoyance and trying to cover up the slight hurt at his tone. you can tell he’s getting irritated, and it only serves for you to be more annoying because goddammit you’re the one sitting on the wet grass with a hand nursing your poor, poor ears after hours of practice at his behest. the rifle sitting silently in your lap, in your hand, it’s utterly useless.

“You’re supposed to protect me! Throw yourself in front of the bullet for me! I would do the same for you, y’know!”)

Ever since, he would keep you out of it. Both from his prized rifle, the forest, and the lodge. You wished he keep it that way forever.

As he lead you through the unfamiliar forest and onto a trail you’re much more acquainted to, you feel cold sweat running down your back, making the burning heat inside of you all the more uncomfortable. You begged from the bottom of your heart for this one thing to at least remained intact. But the trees parted in a circle and the trail end. And in a single night, what’s left of the blissful and blind days you have of Alastor shatters and dissipate.

(it was nothing more than meaningless jest on your end, a norm for you both. something for him to call you weak over and you two can just laugh and put this off for some other day when your hands isn’t shaking and you can barely hear yourself over the howl of your heart. but when no retort came, you look up, searching for him.)

“There we are! Sorry for the long walk, but I want tonight to be an absolutely unforgettable night for years to come, mon Chéri! And what better way to make sure of it-“ you begged him to not turn around, to please don’t look at you in the eye, please stop breaking everything and leaving you to the dogs, “then to celebrate your first successful hunt here!” but you can’t say a word. And Alastor is the most selfish man you know.

“Utterly breathtaking of a sight tonight too. We should go here more on our outings, really. And- Dear?”

“Why…?”

You realized you’re already on your knees in the grass and dirt when he stalked back, towering over you and the remains of something you can’t mustered the will to remember the name of — stuffed enough rocks and what-else to keep it still below the water surface for however long it takes once people took noticed of yet another disappearance. Your hands unsteady as you try to crawl backwards inch by inch. There’s an electric current running through the back of your head and for a moment, you realized you’re shaking. It slipped from your mind the moment he sigh.

(You pretend not to noticed it, at that time)

“Through your nose, darling. I would love to carry you back home, but I think you wouldn't be too appreciative of that idea right now.”

Immediately exhaling, you’re rooted in your spot on the ground as he dropped down and leans into you, brushing hair from your face with a tenderness that makes you want to burst into tears.

“I was sure you would’ve come around to this by now, mon Chéri. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I never wanted this.”

You must’ve looked like it too. Enough for him to try and console you, but with his facade off, he sounded so horribly callous. So incredibly heartless despite holding your shoulder and offering you his.

“And yet you told me his name.”

(but you did)

“But I never wanted you to-“

“You could’ve called out to me to stop too. You know I would’ve.”

You’ve always detested his idea of consolidation when it’s related to what he would, or have, done. Once it came down to it, it was always about convincing you.

“You’re so selfish…” and you’re so tired, so worn out and so, very spent. Two long week and multiple letters and phone calls to your home from day to night, with that man following your every step and standing outside your window at night. Facing terror with no end in sight and not a person to trust after begging for help time after time. Except from the worst person you’ve ever known. “You’re so, so selfish…”

“Call me anything you fancy, darling. But I’d be dammed if I let these worthless vermin think for a second more they can play around with you.”

His words are so incredibly selfish, but despite it all, you can’t help but letting yourself fall into him with all of your hagged self. Because in spite of it all, he's the only person who would hold you close and place his head on top of yours so tenderly. In those two miserable weeks, you've done everything someone in your position could ever do. Every number on the telephone was called before his. Every person asked. Friends and family all contacted and not a single person can or will do a single thing to help you. The irony of the situation follows even now.

And even despite everything. You can't help but to sigh as you grip on him just a tad bit tighter.

“The lake…”

He perks up a bit at that. Even when you can’t see his face, you know he’s arching an eyebrow.

“How many…”

“Oh? So that was what you’re so fussy about?” he let out a light laugh, as if caught off guard. It wasn’t everything, but Alastor pushes on, “Why, this would be the first one! I want this to be special, since the lake itself also have quite a special spot in my heart. Although your reception was a bit…less, than what I was hoping for. But oh well! Always next time!”

As he stand up with you in his arms, you want to put your foot down for once and said that there’s not a next time, there won’t ever be a next time. You’ll catch a train by morning with only a name to your pocket and the clothes on your back and leave for the other end of the world. You honestly would’ve, but the way he murdered that man comes right to mind. And even with everything he told you, you don’t think you can ever make it out of that train alive if you leave him.

“Now what do you say with finishing this up for the night and go back to rest, mon Chéri?”

Left with no option, you took one end of the sack and he took the other. While he all but dragging the thing by himself, you’re left to wondered how your life will be from now on. At the edge of the lake and at the end of your normalcy, he counted down to three and you both let go at the height of the swing and watch the sack dance in the air for a brief moment before plunging down.

The moment it hit the water, the muddy mirror reflecting moon’s light taking a hold of it and drags it down to the bottom of the lake with not a lick of hesitation. And as you stands over the water’s edge, staring down at your own reflection, you think about how this is like a wedding ceremony, with all the anxiety and none of the love. A mockery in the making. And as he takes your hand in his, appearing next to you in the depth with a gentle and disgustingly familiar grin, you finally realized that you are going to hell with him, the worst man in your life and the only person who will ever hold his hand out to you. And it was all you could do to not laugh at this misery.

(glee, absolute and utter glee. as if it was a confirmation to a question he never ask. since that day, he seek you out with much more fervor, and in turns, you always wait for him. you hoped that maybe one day, when his interest wane and attention grow spares, whatever you said that day that put you so deep into this and earn you so much of his favour would be enough for him to keep you alive)

[violet-butterflies]

❥︎ yandere! Villain Headcanons

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ stalking, violence, gore, angst ☞︎︎︎ A/N If you recognized this character then you probably read my work from Quotev. Or I might be wrong and my story might be more generic and/or similar to another author's work than I thought lmao. ( male yandere! oc x gn reader )

❥︎ yandere! Villain who disguises as a hero he killed earlier that week. He purposely caused a huge chaos in town where he can come in and pretend to help! After that, he can always go into the hero's circle and infiltrate the hero's defense systems and take the hero's powers all for himself!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who is betrayed as a child by the very heroes that are supposed to protect him and his small village. Now, equipped with shadow powers that allow him to absorb and transform into the heroes he's killed, he is gonna hunt for the most powerful hero in town!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who meets the hero's overworked sidekick. No matter, you won't be a problem in his master plan at all.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who is frustrated about how the hero barely shows up to most of the chaos he and his minions have caused. For god's sake, he made sure to cause trouble for the whole week so he could pretend to be friends with the hero and gain more intel! Why are you the one showing up to deal with all this?!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who has to change his plans due to how much the hero was not showing up. Maybe he can use you to hunt the hero down! After all you are his sidekick and, he must say, your company is not half bad!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who spends a lot of time with you to gain your trust; hoping that is he gets close enough you'd take him to the hero's hideout! But wait, why are you actually interesting?

❥︎ yandere! Villain who finds out you were betrayed by the heroes too. He can't help but sympathize with you but he just doesn't get how you still want to join forces with them. In fact, it only pushes you to protect the people even more! Not only that, he even found out that the hero barely does anything to help you if the crime is not big enough to take any significant credit! He can't help but feel a big need to protect you from people that are clearly taking advantage of you. This also makes him want to tear the hero down even more for taking advantage of your undeserved kindness.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who finds a lot of things in common with you and eventually hangs out with you for no reason on top of a building somewhere when nothing is happening. You were so sweet and kind! He wants to stop disguising himself because he feels bad fooling you. He's sure you'd fall in love care for who he really is anyways because it's his personality you've been hanging out with this whole time!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who finds out your real identity and where your family lives. Apparently, they live far away from the big city. Perfect! Now he has a way to get you out of the city for his master plan. You won't be there to help the hero. and you will be safe in case anything goes wrong.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who is pretending to feel sympathy for your mom who apparently got harassed by a thug and needed to be hospitalized. Oh you needed to go home for a few weeks to take care of your mom? Don't worry about it, he'll make sure to keep the city safe! tell your mom that he's sorry for beating her up

❥︎ yandere! Villain who summons a murderous demon to massacre the city! Now that you aren't here to help the hero, he's free to let loose and do as much damage he can to draw the hero out and kill him! He doesn't even have to do a thing! All he has to do is to be a vessel for the demon and he can watch under his subconscious!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who is in a panic since instead of the hero, you were the one that showed up. What were you doing here?! You're supposed to be with your mom! No no! You can't handle this yourself! Y/N GET OUT OF HERE YOU'LL DIE! PLEASE GET OUT OF HERE I DON'T WANT TO HURT THE PERSON I LOVE!

❥︎ yandere! Villain who gains back control when it is too late. Lying on the concrete streets is the broken and bruised body of his beloved sidekick. You are covered in bruises and blood. Multiple stab wounds covered your body and you were missing a whole arm. On top of that, crimson blood oozed out of you and you were losing heat quick. He doesn't even bother to hide his true identity since he wants you to see who he actually was at least once.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who is crying while he apologizes to your unconscious body. His whole body is shaking as he tries his hardest to find any solution to fix the problem he caused.

❥︎ "Please y/n wake up! I'm so sorry! Please don't leave me alone! You've barely even met me! The real me! So please open your beautiful eyes and tell me that everything is going to be ok!"

❥︎ yandere! Villain who shoots a sharp glare to the hero and lets out a string of profanities when the hero showed up late, witnessing the villain hug the body of his sidekick; he himself can't help but stare, feeling mortified and remorse.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who takes you to his hideout where he keeps you hooked up on all sorts of machines to keep your body alive until he can fully bring your soul back from the other side.

❥︎ yandere! Villain who swears on vengeance to the hero and promised himself to properly protect you from everything including himself from then on.

❥︎ "I promise y/n. I'll save you and we'll get to know each other properly this time. When the time comes, I'll let you punish me for hurting you and I'll keep you safe from everything including me."

[simplyreveries]

hii hru? i hope your doing good! you dont have to do this request if you dont want to idm. anyway maybe an au with Jade, Vil, and Rook where the reader is a thief and their a detective. and they have trouble catching them while the reader makes fun of them??

just ignore this if you dont want it. have a great day. :)

im good thank you! ty for the request, it's cool!!!

jade leech

jade actually seems to enjoy how much of an effort you have to make him do, that he has a chase. its entertaining to him to say at the very least. he seems to be quite confident in himself and his own abilities to catch you- in fact there are times where he could so easily get you but he kinda lets you slip away so he can continue hehe.

anytime you make some snark or playful comment towards him he always manages to have the same energy back only in a more playful (sometimes they're unnerving because its JADE) but he likes this. he grins as he muses how much he banters back- it's different from what he is used to, and he loves it. he usually chuckles to himself when he hears you poke fun at him.

genuinely has and does try to outsmart and trick you in some ways as his plans to successfully capture you. he views this all as some game to him, that he is absolutely loving.

vil schoenheit

he isnt the most impressed with your games and playful demeanor about the whole situation, he scoffs and thinks it's a childish waste of time. vil is someone that does not want to be caught in an endless cat and mouse chase... is what he thought until he kind of started to like the retorts and comments you two have against each other. he finds it interesting and different, like jade.

vil is almost upset because he does hold himself up to a standard, seemingly prideful that he is good at his job and what he does for his line of work. the fact that he has such trouble catching you frustrates him at times.

being stubborn as ever will only continue again and again to make every attempt to successfully get you. sometimes you'll find him having his proud moments where he is able to stun and just barely able to get you- only for you to quip and tease him as you're able to escape once again.

rook hunt

oh lord, he may even be enjoying and loving this more than jade. he finds the chase so exhilarating- he doesn't always want it to be so easy for him. he gets to exercise his talent in hunting down and chasing and he will gladly do that. seems to find the thrill and joy of doing it even more.

he might even compliment your skills while he is after you, giving you an amused smile amazed that you've actually made it as far as you had. trying to get away from him was no easy feat for others like you in the past. he is pleasantly surprised and is excited for anytime he finds you. "ah, so close! ill get you soon enough, trickster." he'll usually say chuckling in defeat.

there are so, so many times with him where it'll be such close calls with him getting you- still you manage to slip away from him. he'll admit you're clearly no amateur, you know what you're doing. and he loves it.