#like shes everything. Literally everything. Shes got bass and everything

[silhouette-saloon]

IF YOU EVEN FUCKING CARE

[atereaste]

Sevika as a housewife

CW: Smut

AN: do you know how hard it is thinking of headcannons for this woman? I tried my ABSOLUTE hardest to make it as cannon to her character as possible and I made sure to make it lengthy as possible. Also this was based off this one fanart I found on here that I sadly can’t find.

She’s usually up at 6AM. Not because she wants to but because that is when Anaya wakes. No alarm needed. She’s already halfway out of bed before the fussing starts.

Makes real breakfast like eggs, toast, potatoes, and a ridiculous amount of bacon. Claims it’s “for the baby,” but we all know who eats six strips before you even get up.

Has your coffee ready like clockwork. Never smiles when she gives it to you. Just grunts, “Mornin’. Go kick ass.”

She's not the apron-wearing, Pinterest mom type. She Never wears the classic housewife look. It’s all muscle tanks, joggers, band tees, and sometimes that old leather jacket she refuses to throw out. Cigarette behind the ear, not lit (she tries to quit for her daughter, but old habits never die).

Has her hair tied back, scars on display, robotic arm gleaming under the kitchen lights.

She doesn’t call herself a “housewife” but acts like one every day. If someone else calls her that, like a friend or a family member She grunts, lights a cigarette, and mutters, “Yeah. So?”

She acts like she’s annoyed when you tease her about being a housewife, but she secretly loves it.

Sevika never saw herself settling down, but once she did, it hit her like a punch to the chest, this quiet, domestic life? She’d kill to protect it.

Handles all the heavy lifting around the house literally and emotionally. Leaky roof? She’s on it. Baby teething and screaming all night? She’s the one pacing the hallway with her tucked to her chest, whispering calm nonsense. but she still makes your coffee just the way you like it every morning.

Keeps the house spotless but not fussy. Everything is practical, efficient, and deeply hers. You tried to buy decorative pillows once she threw them like a discus into the hallway.

Baby-proofed the entire house herself. Installed corner guards, outlet covers, and baby gates that require two hands and a prayer to open.

Her name is Anaya, a soft name that Sevika picked out, surprising you both. (You can change it if you want)

Anaya got your eyes and Sevika’s scowl. Chubby cheeks, big curious eyes, always grabbing her mama’s metal fingers.

Her daughter is the only creature on the planet who makes Sevika melt. Big, soft cheeks, giggly snorts, and chubby hands reaching for her scarred face? Yeah. She’s a goner.

Sevika is not soft by nature, but you and the baby bring out a version of her that’s damn near unrecognizable to anyone who knew her back in Zaun. She's a "tough on the outside, but a absolute marshmallow for her girls" kind of wife.

I hope this is a safe space but Sevika 100% listens to jazz like deep, brooding stuff. She prefers instrumental tracks, trumpet, sax, stand-up bass. Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Chet Baker when she’s feeling tender.

Late at night, she plays old vinyl on a secondhand turntable she restored herself. The low hiss of the record starting is practically sacred.

She doesn’t explain her choices, but you’ve caught her pausing at certain solos like they say something she doesn’t know how to put into words.

It’s always on low volume in the background while she cooks or tidies the house.

Anaya’s lullaby is jazz. Sevika rocks her while humming along, sometimes adding her own quiet rhythm with her metal fingertips on the baby’s back.

In the early mornings, you’ll find her at the kitchen table with coffee, newspaper, and a Coltrane record playing gently. Hair still messy from sleep, house quiet except for saxophone and birdsong.

She has a hidden stash of photos of the baby on her communicator like hundreds. Pretends she doesn’t take them. You know better.

Wears a necklace you gave her with the baby’s initials on it under her shirt. Only touches it when she’s stressed or tired.

She slow dances with you in the kitchen while dinner simmers. No words, just the rise and fall of horns, her hands on your hips, chin resting on your shoulder.

If you’ve had a rough day, she’ll put on Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday, pull you into her lap, and let the music speak for her.

Once, you walked in and found her in the nursery rocking Anaya to “Naima” eyes closed, swaying in rhythm, completely at peace.

Surprisingly good at cooking. She doesn’t do fancy, but her food hits like, home. Lots of stews, grilled meats, and roasted vegetables. She seasons like a pro and uses that cybernetic arm to mash plantains like a boss

Savory over sweet. Her palate leans toward rich, bold flavors spices, sears, and anything cooked low and slow.

Heavy-handed. No measuring cups. It’s all instinct. She cooks with the confidence of a woman who knows she’s feeding people she loves.

“Trust me. If I’ve made it more than twice, it won’t kill you.”

Anaya strapped to her chest in a carrier while she stirs a pot.

She doesn’t always say she loves you. But she seasons your rice exactly how you like it. She cooks with one arm so she can hold the baby with the other. She leaves leftovers in the fridge labeled with your name.

Does all the errands while wearing the baby strapped to her chest like a living shield.

The grocery store staff are terrified of her. No one questions the tattooed woman grabbing eight jars of applesauce and staring down anyone who lingers too long in her aisle.

If anyone tries to say anything about her being a housewife, she dares them to say it again. Proud protector of her home, her woman, and her daughter.

NSFW

Sevika’s housewife vibe completely flips in the bedroom. All that restrained energy, all those controlled gestures unleashed.

She’s slow, intense, and hyper-focused. She watches your reactions like a hawk, cataloguing what breaks you.

Very much a giver. Obsessive about your pleasure. She doesn’t finish unless you do first , sometimes more than once.

Kitchen sex happened once after you teased her while she was cooking she bent you over the kitchen island with one hand still holding a spoon.

She didn’t even take her apron off. Just dragged your panties down, muttered “Should’ve behaved,” and wrecked you until your legs gave out. Afterwards, feeds you bites of whatever she was making, while you sit on the counter in just a shirt and nothing else.

She adores your body after having Anaya. Scar, stretch marks, softness she’s obsessed. She kisses your stomach like it’s holy ground. “You made her in here,” she murmurs against you Sevika’s housewife vibe completely flips in the bedroom. All that restrained energy, all those controlled gestures unleashed.

Some nights she gets overwhelmed by it goes down on you like it’s worship, mumbling thank yous between your thighs.

She doesn't need formal dom/sub labels, but there's power in how she touches you. In how you let her.

Sometimes she calls herself “Daddy” in a low growl especially when she’s fucking you from behind with your legs shaking and her hand around your throat.

But more often, she calls you “mama.” In reverence. In filth. Whispered against your skin as she takes you apart: “Let me make mama feel good. Let me take care of you.”

Quickies while Anaya naps. Always risky. Always worth it.

The dryer buzzer goes off? She ignores it. You’re already bent over the washing machine, her hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

When you come out flushed and trembling, Sevika smirks and goes, “Laundry’s done, babe.”

You say one thing about being tired or tense and she’s immediately kissing your neck, dragging you to bed, muttering “Let me help you unwind.”

That always leads to you face-down in pillows, ass up, her mouth on you like she’s starving, refusing to stop until your legs are shaking.

She loves holding you by the throat not rough, but firm. Controlling.

She’ll squeeze just enough to make you whimper, then lean down and whisper, “That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.” You melt. Every time.

Her other hand always finds your clit when she does it. She knows exactly what you need and exactly how slowly to give it to you.

Sevika lives to use the strap on you. She takes her time choosing it, watching you undress, making you ask for it. She prefers when you’re tied down for it spread open, blindfolded, dripping for her.

When she slides in, she mutters, “Miss this, didn’t you?” and absolutely rails you through the mattress until you’re begging her to stop and she’s smirking like the devil.

She always says “We’ll be quiet.” You never are. Baby monitor’s on. House is still. She promises to go slow, gentle, quiet. Five minutes later, you’re sobbing into the sheets while she pounds into you, teeth in your shoulder, sweat dripping down her neck.

“Told you we couldn’t be quiet,” she teases afterward, licking her fingers clean.

You’ve never experienced focus like Sevika’s mouth between your legs. She doesn’t just eat you out she commits.

Buries her face, groans into you, holds you down when you try to run.

You’ll come once and she’ll keep going. Twice? She’s just warming up. She gets off on how wrecked you get under her tongue.

She jerks off to the memory of it later. Usually in the shower. Often thinking about the exact sound you made the third time you broke.

Sevika loves fucking you in front of the mirror. It's not just visual it's about power. She wants you to watch yourself fall apart for her.

She stands behind you, hand around your throat or arm across your waist, whispering filth in your ear:

“Look at that face. You see how pretty you are when you beg?”

She makes you keep eye contact with your reflection. Every orgasm, every whimper—“Eyes up. Be a good girl.”

Sometimes she fingers you from behind while you sit in front of the vanity post-bath. Just a towel, her mouth on your neck, and your reflection wet and wrecked.

Sevika gets off on almost getting caught. Like when Anaya napping, and she bends you over the kitchen table with the baby monitor in full view.

“Keep your voice down,” she warns right before she slaps your ass and shoves two fingers in.

She loves fucking you in places you shouldn’t be: laundry room, balcony, the hallway, even the nursery rocker (when she’s feeling especially risky).

One time, she forgot the curtains were open. Now the neighbors won’t look you in the eye and Sevika? She smirks every time.

You already have Anaya but Sevika still talks about putting another baby in you like it’s her life’s mission.

She’ll say it in your ear while she’s fucking you, voice low and wrecked:

“Gonna fill you up again. Look so fuckin’ pretty knocked up.”

Even when she’s not using her strap, she fingers you through an orgasm while kissing your stomach, murmuring,

“Wanna see you round with my kid again. You’d carry it so well.”

The idea isn’t just sex it’s ownership, devotion, obsession. She wants every inch of you marked by her.

Early morning. Anaya’s still asleep. Sunlight through the curtains. You’re in her old t-shirt and nothing else. Sevika wakes up hard, sees the little wet patch on your shirt, and groans,

“Still leakin’ for me, mama?”

She wraps an arm around you, pulls your tit into her mouth, and suckles while fingering you slowly from behind.

You’re half-asleep and already moaning, legs trembling as she rubs slow circles over your clit and murmurs, “You’re so soft like this. So mine.”

She makes you come twice before breakfast. Her face never leaves your chest.

I’m gonna make a part two of this but of just basic Sevika headcannons cause I have so many written just let me know if you wanna be tagged in that Ⓒ atereaste

[jkwrites-m]

Tease

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: One night. One tight dress. One look that wrecked Jungkook’s entire fucking existence.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, cursing, drinking, bar/club setting, instant lust, obsession (?), no aftercare, explicit: praising, kissing, semi-public sex (bathroom), semi-public indecency, oral (m. receiving), breast play, wall sex, protected sex!, slight dom!jungkook, semi-rough sex,

A/N: here’s a small thank you for all the love 🫶 i literally stayed up bc i couldn’t sleep bc of all my feelings so i wrote this tiny lil one shot for you 🤗

♡ MASTERLIST

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The bass hit like a heartbeat, and I swear mine synced to it the second I walked through the door.

Lights flashed in purples and reds, casting sharp shadows on sweat-drenched skin, clinking glasses, bodies pressed close- movement everywhere. The club was alive and so was I. I was hungry for something I couldn’t name yet. Or maybe I just hadn’t seen her yet.

Then I did.

She was at the bar, sipping something deep red like blood and sweeter, probably. Black dress. Short. Skin glistening like it had been touched by starlight. I don’t even remember how I started walking. Just that I did.

“Fuck,” I muttered, loud enough for Taehyung and Hoseok to hear over the music as they followed me toward the lounge area.

They laughed.

“She got you crazy already?” Hoseok grinned, swirling the ice in his glass like it was all a game. “Bro, you’ve barely been here thirty minutes.”

“Go talk to her then,” Taehyung smirked, bumping my shoulder. “Confidence looks hot on you.”

I smirked. He wasn’t wrong. And tonight? I felt invincible.

I didn’t go straight up to her. No. I slid to the far end of the bar and caught the bartender’s attention first. His name was Eli. I’d seen him here a few times. I leaned in.

“Whatever she’s drinking,” I nodded toward her, “put her next one on me.”

She turned the moment he slid the fresh drink toward her. Her eyes scanned the bar, slow, catlike. Looking. Searching. And then- lock.

Fuck.

Those eyes? They ate me alive.

I raised my glass to her. She smirked. Raised hers back. And sipped.

Game on.

She didn’t walk over. She let me come to her.

Of course she did.

I walked slow, every step a choice. My shirt clung to me, open just enough to hint. My rings caught the light. The air between us tightened with every inch I closed.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said, voice low, warm as liquor. Her lips glistened.

“Couldn’t let you drink alone. That’d be a crime,” I said. Her smile deepened.

“You watching me?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

She looked me over, slow as hell. Her eyes dragged down my chest, my belt, then up again. And smiled.

“Touché.”

The way she said it made me want to touch everything.

“I’m Jungkook.”

She didn’t give me her name. Just leaned in and clinked her glass to mine.

“Cheers, Jungkook.”

That mouth? Fuck. I wanted it everywhere.

“Dance with me,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I did. Too much.

“Let’s finish this shot first,” I said, lifting a finger to the bartender. “Two tequilas.”

She nodded. “Salt or no salt?”

“I want to taste you more than the lime.”

Her breath caught. Barely. But I saw it.

When the glasses hit the counter, we both reached. She tipped hers back in one go- eyes never leaving mine. I followed. Fire burned down my throat, and I liked it.

“You coming?” she asked, already stepping away.

My eyes were on her ass in that dress as I moved. I was already hard.

And this night had just begun.

═══════

The dance floor swallowed us whole.

Her hand brushed mine, and for half a second, she let her fingers linger before pulling me deeper into the crowd. Bodies moved like waves, thick with heat and rhythm, and she was the storm I was walking straight into. Her hips found the beat like they owned it, and my hands itched- fuck, ached- to be on her.

She didn’t stop. She just turned, gave me a look that melted my bones, and pulled me closer until I could feel her against me.

Tight.

Hot.

Intentional.

She pressed her ass against my hips and rolled into me like she already knew what I’d feel like buried inside her.

My hands found her waist, gripped it. Fuck, her skin was soft- like silk heated from inside. I didn’t even try to hide it; I let my hands explore, slid them over the curve of her hips, thumbs tracing the line where that dress hugged her tight. Her head tilted back just slightly, brushing against my shoulder.

She was making a meal of the moment, and I was starving.

The lights stuttered in pink and violet. Bass dropped. She ground harder.

I pressed into her.

Her hands reached back, one sliding behind my neck, fingers threading into my hair, the other teasing the side of my thigh- god, she was driving me insane.

“You good back there?” she asked, breathless but smug.

“Keep moving like that and I’ll show you how good.”

She laughed- a wicked, breathy sound that made my blood pump hotter.

I trailed one hand down her thigh, just barely skimming where the hem of her dress ended. My fingers dipped under the fabric, not touching anything illegal. Yet. But enough to make her suck in air.

“Tease,” she said, low.

“Says the girl grinding me like it’s your job.”

“Maybe it is,” she whispered, then spun to face me.

Her body pressed to mine, chest to chest, heat to heat. My hands settled on her hips, fingers splaying, anchoring. Her lips were inches from mine.

“Say it,” I murmured.

“Say what?”

“That you want me.”

She leaned in, brushed her lips over my jaw, just above the corner of my mouth.

“I don’t think I need to,” she whispered.

Then she kissed me.

And nothing else existed.

Her mouth was hot, hungry. She kissed like she danced- confident, fearless, so fucking alive. I met her kiss with everything I had, fingers digging into her sides, pulling her tight against the need that’d been burning since I laid eyes on her.

Tongues clashed. Teeth grazed. Her fingers twisted into my hair, mine rode up her thighs again, shameless now.

People danced around us. Music pounded. We could’ve been in the middle of the damn street. Didn’t matter.

She broke the kiss, breathing hard, eyes dark with something filthy and shining.

“You wanna keep going?” I asked, lips brushing hers.

She bit mine.

“Lead the way.”

And just like that, my hand found hers again.

Next stop:

Somewhere private.

Somewhere dark.

Somewhere I could make her moan my name like I already knew it sounded in my head.

═══════

I didn’t ask. I didn’t wait.

I gripped her hand tight and pulled her through the maze of bodies, past the pulsing lights and music that seemed to scream in approval, straight toward the hallway marked with the glowing bathroom sign. No one stopped us. No one even noticed.

I slammed the door open with my shoulder, yanked her in, and let it crash shut behind us. My hand already on the lock.

Her back hit the tiled wall. Hard. A breath punched from her lungs and then she was smiling. Fucking smiling like this was exactly what she wanted.

And god, so did I.

I kissed her like I was trying to ruin her mouth.

Rough, wet, open. Her hands clawed at my shirt, tearing it from where it clung to my chest, dragging her nails across my abs.

She pulled at my necklace, wrapped it around her fingers and tugged, like she could own me right here, right now.

My thigh slid between hers, and she rolled her hips against it, desperate and raw. Her breath hitched, lips crashing into mine again like she couldn’t stand not kissing me for even a second.

I grabbed her thighs and lifted her effortlessly.

She wrapped around me. My hands slid up that dress, finally grabbing her ass with no shame, kneading, claiming.

“Tell me to stop,” I growled into her neck.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

That was all I needed.

I kissed down her throat, biting just enough to leave heat, to make her gasp. Her legs tightened around me. I slid one strap of her dress down. Then the other.

It fell.

No bra.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My breath caught. My mouth went dry. And then I was on her.

Lips at her collarbone, down her chest, over the soft curve of one breast. She arched into me, fingers in my hair, tugging like she wanted me to devour her.

So I did.

I took one nipple in my mouth, tongue swirling, sucking hard enough to hear her whimper. My hand rolled the other one, fingers pinching lightly before soothing it. She moaned. God, the sound-high, broken, ruined.

“You’re unreal,” I said into her skin. “Fucking perfect.”

“Keep going,” she begged. “More.”

I kissed across to the other breast, sucked until she shook. My name spilled from her lips, not sweet but- desperate.

My cock was straining against my jeans. I could feel the pulse of it. She felt it too, her hips ground down, slow and hungry.

I reached between us, my fingers brushing the damp lace of her panties, and she whimpered, her nails digging into my back as I teased her, my touch light, fleeting, before I ripped the fabric away, baring her to me.

She was wet, so wet, her arousal coating my fingers as I slid them through her folds, testing her readiness.

She was more than ready.

I looked up at her- hair wild, lips swollen, eyes dark with lust.

Then she slid down my body. Onto her knees.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

She didn’t break eye contact.

Her hands slid over my thighs, slow and firm. She undid my belt, popped the button, dragged my zipper down.

My cock sprang free, thick and aching, already leaking.

She licked her lips.

Then she wrapped one hand around the base and leaned in.

The first pass of her tongue up the underside made me choke on air. Her lips wrapped around the head, sucking just the tip, slow and tight.

“Shit- ”

She went deeper. Hollowed her cheeks. Moved her head, slow, then faster. My hand hit the wall behind her, trying to hold on to something.

She was fucking glorious. Messy. Wet. Perfect.

“Pretty- ” I warned, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna- ”

She pulled off with a pop. Licked her lips.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

Then stood.

I caught her hips, yanked her close, and kissed her like I needed her more than air. She kissed back with equal fire.

I fumbled in my back pocket. Condom. Always came prepared.

She watched me tear it open, eyes blazing.

I rolled it on. Gripped her thighs again.

“Hold on,” I said.

Then I lifted her.

Her back slammed the wall again. She gasped, arms flying around my neck, heels digging into my lower back. Her pussy slid along the tip of my cock- so hot, so wet- before I pushed in.

Her breath punched out.

And I lost my fucking mind.

═══════

She was tight. So fucking tight. Hotter than anything I’d ever felt. And wet- god, so wet, she slid around me like her body had been made for mine.

Her breath hitched, her head falling back against the wall as I filled her, inch by agonizing inch, until I was buried to the hilt, our bodies pressed together, skin to skin.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her hands clutching at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin. “You’re so big.”

I smirked, my lips brushing her jaw as I whispered, “You feel that? How deep I am?”

She nodded frantically, her lips trembling as she gasped, “Yes- yes, fuck- you’re so deep- I can’t- I- ”

“You can,” I growled, my voice a rough promise against her skin. “And you will.”

I pulled back, slow and deliberate, before slamming into her, the force of my thrust making her moan, her body bouncing against the wall.

I set a brutal pace, my hips snapping, my cock driving into her with relentless precision, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through us both.

She moaned- high and wild- and bit down on my shoulder, trying to muffle it.

I didn’t want her quiet. I wanted every damn sound.

“Let them hear you,” I growled, thrusting up into her hard. “Let them know who’s fucking you like this.”

Her breasts bounced with every movement, swollen and marked from my mouth earlier.I couldn’t look away, my gaze fixated on the way her nipples pebbled, the way her skin flushed under my touch.

I reached down, cupping one breast in my hand, squeezing gently as I thrust into her, my thumb brushing her nipple, sending shivers down her spine.

“Jungkook,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her thighs shook around my waist.

Her breath hitched, little gasps tumbling out of her mouth in time with my rhythm. She was close, so close, her body tensing as she teetered on the edge.

“Say my name,” I demanded, my voice a rough whisper against her neck. “Come for me. Say it while you fall apart.”

“Jungkook- oh my god- Jung-”

Her whole body tensed, her walls clenching around me as she screamed my name, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm.

She was wild, wrecked, her body trembling as she rode the waves of pleasure, her head falling back against the wall, her eyes shut, her mouth open in a silent cry.

She was so fucking beautiful.

I groaned, my control snapping as I thrust into her hard, once, twice, before I followed her over the edge, my orgasm crashing into me like a tidal wave. Heat exploded low in my stomach, white-hot and overwhelming, my head dropping against her shoulder as I came.

We stayed like that.

Pressed together. Sweaty. Shaking.

Her arms were still around my neck. My hands still under her thighs. Her forehead fell to mine, eyes fluttering open, lips swollen and red.

Neither of us said anything.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… full. Like something had been said in every moan, every thrust, every time she cried my name.

She was still wrapped around me.

Still dripping.

Still perfect.

And I was completely, dangerously, wrecked.

═══════

The stall was still spinning.

Her body slid down slowly, legs trembling as I eased her onto the tile. Her dress clung to her waist, twisted, soaked, wild- just like her hair. My hand found the back of her head as she steadied herself, brushing through strands that were sticking to her forehead.

She looked up at me. Smirked.

And fuck- my heart stopped.

That smirk? That look? It was lethal.

I was still sheathed inside the condom, still twitching from the aftershock. But she was already moving- tugging her dress back down over her thighs, adjusting the neckline, giving me a full view of those breasts one last time before she slid the straps back over her shoulders like nothing had just happened.

Like she didn’t just ruin me.

I tossed the condom, tied my belt, and stared as she fluffed her hair with a flip like she was prepping for a runway instead of walking out of a filthy bathroom stall where she’d just screamed my name.

She turned to me slowly.

“What?” she asked, catching me staring.

“You’re insane,” I muttered, chest still rising and falling.

She stepped forward, reached up, smoothed her thumb across the corner of my mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

I grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. She let me. Our eyes locked.

“I’m not done with you.”

She leaned in, one more time, and kissed me. Slower this time. Deeper. Her lips tasted like tequila, sweat, and sin.

Then she pulled back.

“Yeah, you are.”

I blinked. “What?”

She smirked again and reached into the side of her bra.

Pulled out her phone.

Typed for three seconds. Then held it out.

“Put your number in.”

I did.

She called it so I’d have hers. And then she stepped toward the door. Unlocked it.

Paused.

Looked back over her shoulder with that same wicked grin.

“You find me again,” she said, “maybe I’ll let you finish what we started.”

Then she disappeared.

The door clicked shut.

I stood there.

Chest bare. Necklace tangled. Mouth dry. Still hard.

I cleaned up in silence. Fixed my shirt. Ran a hand through my hair. Looked in the mirror and barely recognized the guy looking back at me.

That wasn’t a hookup.

That was a hurricane.

And I wanted to drown in it again.

═══════

I stepped out into the crowd. Music still pounded. Lights still flashed. My friends were still at the table, sipping drinks, talking shit.

Hoseok spotted me first.

He did a double take.

“No fucking way,” he said, pointing at me.

Taehyung turned, eyes widening.

“Kook… you were gone for, like, forty minutes- ”

I sat down.

Didn’t speak.

Just grabbed my whiskey, took a slow sip, and stared at the empty doorway.

“She gave you her number?” Hoseok asked.

I nodded.

Taehyung grinned. “So what now?”

I leaned back in the booth. Let out a breath.

“She’s all I can think about.”

They laughed.

I didn’t.

Because I already knew.

I was fucked.

I wasn’t going to forget her.

And I was absolutely, terrifyingly, dangerously in love.

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Post A/N: y’all idk why i set this up to be a series but this may (idk yet this fic wasn’t on my list originally) turn into a 2-shot.

♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 06/18/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @elithenium @asyr97 @heyinwluv85s @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @granataepfelchen

[cxvii666]

“SOME GIRL”

“searching for compatibility, looking for the one that's right for me”

more pre-relationship hanta sero x reader

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

.....

you’re late.

not fashionably. not even ironically. just... late-late. the kind where your friends have stopped texting where r u and have simply accepted your existence as a myth for the night.

you blame the eyeliner. and your hair. and the way your original top betrayed you at the last minute, sitting wrong across your chest and clinging in all the wrong places. you’d swapped it out with something safer, easier—black and slinky, a clean neckline, the kind of dress that lets you exist without tugging at seams. it hugs your waist in the right way, the kind that makes you feel good when you catch your reflection in windows you pass. your makeup’s holding up surprisingly well, save for the one side of your lip liner that always refuses to cooperate.

it’s warm tonight. the kind of summer warmth that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little too loud, a little too alive. you can hear the party before you even reach the door—bass-heavy music, the low buzz of overlapping voices, laughter that spills out into the street.

mina’s place looks like it’s glowing from the inside out. big windows lit up, bodies silhouetted behind gauzy curtains. someone’s perched on the porch steps in platform boots and a sequined bralette, puffing something that smells vaguely like artificial watermelon.

you duck past them with a nod, regretting your heels the moment your foot hits the hardwood.

"well, well," someone calls from your left, voice sharp with amusement. “look who finally showed up.”

you don’t have to look. you already know it’s hanta.

“yo, there she is—woman of the hour. thought you ghosted us, or, like, died.”

he’s got that shit-eating grin on. tall and easy in his stance, propped against the kitchen counter like that's what he was designed for. he’s wearing a beat-up band tee and ripped black jeans, the sleeves rolled up just enough so he can show off the small bit of nk on his forearm that looks decently ok before he let denki fuck up the rest on a dare. his hair’s pulled back tonight, tied low with a thin black tie, a few loose strands curling near his jaw, showing off the small studs in both ears, one of them sparkling slightly as he tilts his head at you, grin wide and just a little too pleased.

you glance at him, barely.

“hold this,” you mutter, shoving your phone into his free hand without breaking stride.

he blinks, confused. “huh?”

“flip the camera. selfie mode. c’mon, i need a mirror.”

his hand twitches. and he fumbles. literally fumbles. his fingers do a weird little twitch before he taps the screen

you lean in toward it, focusing. it’s hard to see clearly. the lighting in mina's kitchen sucks—yellow and low, like the bulbs are drunk, too soft to really help—but you make do, leaning in, biting your lip, elbow resting on the counter, then your mouth parts slightly as you drag the liner back into place.

you don’t notice the way hanta’s gone quiet. not until a beat passes. then another.

you blink, side-eyeing the screen he’s holding out for you, and glance over—just a flick of your eyes to the reflection—and catch the look on his face. the screen still frames the two of you—your practiced focus, and behind you, hanta, holding the phone. frozen. like someone’s unplugged him mid-sentence.

his mouth’s slightly open. eyes wide. there's a very faint flush creeping up from his collar, bleeding across his cheeks, painting him soft and shy in a way you don’t see very often.

“dude,” you frown, and squint as his eyes meet yours in the reflection. “what's up with you, hmm? you were superrr chatty a second ago.”

he blinks. swallows. “me? nothing. i’m good. i’m totally good.”

you take your phone back, lock the screen with a tap, “you’re acting weird.”

“i’m not—i mean, i am. maybe. whatever,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you, uh. you look really good tonight.”

you raise a brow, halfway into tucking your lipliner back into your bag.

“yeah?”

he shrugs, playing it off, but his smile’s softer now. not smirky. not cocky. just real.

“yeah.”

you grin without meaning to. soft, quiet, and totally unaware that you’ve just made his entire week.

"thanks, hanta," you say, already turning to scan the crowd, calling for mina, already two steps ahead.

he watches you go, head tilted, that stupid little smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

the night keeps dripping by. slower now. time syrupy, stuck between moments.

you and hanta are still curled up on the couch. the party’s faded into background noise. half the house is already passed out or gone. someone’s playing something chill through a phone speaker—maybe lo-fi, maybe an old r&b b-side you don’t quite recognize. the lights are low. everything feels soft at the edges.

you’ve tucked your legs up, knees pulled to your chest. hanta’s next to you, shoulder brushing yours, one arm slung behind you on the back of the couch. not touching you exactly, but close enough to feel the heat of him radiating through your shirt.

he smells like leftover cologne and weed smoke and something sweeter underneath. like boy warmth. like him.

"okay," he says, voice gravelly with tired, "but you have to admit—denki trying to show off with the lighter trick and lighting his fucking hoodie string on fire? top five dumbest things he’s done this semester alone."

you snort into your cup. "that shit was actually so dumb. and then he tried to stomp it out while still wearing the hoodie."

"he almost kicked me in the shin doing it," hanta mutters, faux bitter.

you giggle, letting your head fall back against the couch.

"he’s lucky he’s cute," you say, still laughing.

hanta hums. “lucky we let him live.”

the both of you dissolve into tired giggles. the kind that make your stomach clench and your face ache. but it fades quickly—everything's slower now, smoothed out by the hour.

and when it’s quiet again, you shift a little, stretching your legs out. hanta follows your lead, flopping deeper into the cushions with a groan.

he tilts his head toward you.

“your body’s warm,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret.

you glance down at him. “uh. thanks?”

he grins a little, sleepy. “no, like... good warm. you’re like. cozy.”

you roll your eyes but you're smiling too. “maybe you’re just drunk.”

“nah,” he breathes, and then, more quiet, “just tired.”

and he lays his head on your thigh.

just like that. soft. unthinking. natural.

your breath catches a little, but you don’t stop him.

you just blink down at him—hanta sero, ridiculous and sharp-tongued and always a little too loud—and now he’s quiet, and folded into your side, and resting the weight of his cheek on your thigh like you’re something safe.

he blinks up at you once. and then slowly, his eyes flutter shut.

your hand drifts into his hair without really thinking. it’s soft. just a little tangled. you comb your fingers through it gently, nails scratching against his scalp.

he exhales hard, like he’s been holding in all his tension until now.

“mmf,” he murmurs, voice fading, “that’s not fair…”

“what’s not?”

“you… doing that. i’m gonna fall asleep.”

you smile, real slow. your other hand reaches for your half-finished drink, careful not to jostle him.

“go to sleep, dummy.”

he mumbles something into your leg you don’t quite catch.

and then he’s quiet.

a minute passes. maybe three. your drink goes untouched in your lap. you keep playing with his hair, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slips into something deeper.

the house hums quietly around you. someone’s left the balcony door open, and the breeze slips through, cool on your neck. you shiver. but hanta’s still warm, curled against your thigh like a cat, like something gentle, and it anchors you.

.... end playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

prev track ▷ LOVE

next track ▷ MY GIRL

[cheftsunoda]

secrets are no fun (unless shared with everyone)

part three

lewis hamilton x !sister reader

hamilton reader x max verstappen

ayana hamilton, the younger sister of seven-time world champion lewis hamilton, has seemingly achieved everything she could ever desire— a successful career as a music producer and artist, been all around the world, has a supportive family and a loving husband—however, that’s a secret that no one, not even her brother, knows about—her husband is also an f1 driver. lewis has always made it his mission to prevent ayana from dating a driver— but is it technically considered dating if they are married? ;)

part one here:)

part two here:)

fc : tyla

warning : j*s verstappen mentioned.

a/n : hello loves! i stayed up a majority of the night to get this written for you bc i will be busy this weekend as i am attending the miami gp! i have part 4 already saved in my drafts as well and will have that posted whenever i can! thanks love bugs 🐞

hope you like <3

(side note : congratulations to max on becoming a girl dad!! so excited for him and kelly)

—

ayanaaa

netherlands 📍

liked by sza, kikagomes, lando & 7,254,478 others.

ayanaaa : ik wil nooit meer weg 🇳🇱❤️

translation : i never want to leave

sza : pls come back to me i miss you and your beautiful creative energy 💌💋

liked by author

ayanaaa : you need to come here and we can just hide away for years

sza : deal

username : ladies can we have the album and the tour first please?

liked by author and sza

sza : oh yeah I guess so

lando : speaking dutch, are we? aren’t you from stevenage?

ayanaaa: yes lando i am

lando : interesting…just vacationing? learned some lingo along the way?

ayanaaa : i will not be taking any further questions from the press at this time

liked by lando

username : what does lando know that we don’t

ayanaaa : not much, he is very uneducated

lando : lewis tell your sister to stop bullying

lewishamilton : she isn’t wrong mate

lando : smh

kikagomes : prettiest girl on the planet

liked by author

ayanaaa: that’s all you my love

username : hmmm there is a man…in the netherlands…who do we know?

username2 : stop reaching they don’t even follow each other

username5 : she said a while ago that her man is not famous

username : guys let me be delusional stop dragging me

username3 : I fully ship them so hard and will feed into all delusions

username10 : wasn’t k**ly just seen at a race with max?

username12 : she was invited by another brand and max barely acknowledged her

lewishamilton : Love and hugs from Roscoe and I! We miss you❤️

liked by author

ayanaaa : love and miss you both! see you soon

danielricciardo : where was my invite?😔

liked by author

ayanaaa : lost in the post maybe danny 😣

liked by danielricciardo

—

I didn’t expect the countryside to feel this much like breathing.

The drive out of Amsterdam had been quiet — Max’s hand on the gear shift, his other laced with mine. It wasn’t our first time here, but it was the first time I wasn’t pretending to be just a friend, just a guest, just a visitor. This time, I wasn’t here for a show or a weekend stopover. I was here as his wife — quietly, secretly, entirely.

And Max’s world was much quieter than mine.

Birdsong, not bass. Windmills instead of spotlights. Wildflowers growing along the roads that curved like something out of a painting.

When we pulled up to his mother’s house, I felt that flutter of nerves I only ever got before performing — that rush of adrenaline and ache, wondering if I’d be understood.

But Sophie greeted me with a warm hug and a “You’re finally back,” like I was returning home, not arriving for the first time as family.

I never had any interest in meeting Max’s father. He had threatened to expose our relationship to the media because he genuinely disapproved of us. He was unaware that we were married at the time. Max had made the decision to keep him as far away from me as possible. His mother on the other hand had been a godsend, she is quite literally sweet as pie. I could not have asked for a better mother in law.

I followed Max to the back bedroom as he lugged our suitcases down the hallway. I admired all the artwork and family moments his mom had hung on the wall, smiling when greeted by baby max’s face. Max swung the door open and set our luggage to the side. He reached for my hand and dramatically pulled us both down on the bed, I landed on top of him, our faces inches apart.

“Thank you.” He mumbled.

“For what?” I said giving him a questionable look.

“For being here. For making me fall for you. For letting me marry you. Just for you being you.” He said making my heart melt.

“Always, Maxie. You’re mine forever.” I muttered pressing my lips to his. His grip around my waist tightened and he deepened the kiss.

“I love you, schat.” He said as we pulled away.

“Love you more.” I said with a small smile.

—

Later, over mint tea and buttery apple cake Sophie had insisted on baking herself, I found myself laughing more than I expected.

“She was like this even when Max was a kid,” Victoria said, nodding toward her mother. “If you had a cough, you got tea and ten questions. If you had a secret, she already knew it.”

“Still do,” Sophie added, raising an eyebrow at both of us.

Max groaned from the other room. “Stop telling Ayana horror stories about me.”

“I’m not,” I said, teasing. “I like hearing about Max the Kid. Especially the one who used to name his Hot Wheels cars.”

Victoria cackled. “Don’t forget he used to cry when she beat him at Mario Kart.”

“I let her win,” Max called back.

“Sure you did,” Sophie and Victoria said in unison.

—

Later that night, when Victoria headed out to meet friends and Max had gone for a run, I found myself helping Sophie tidy up the garden. The sun was dipping low, all honey and gold.

“You know,” she said gently, snipping dead leaves from a potted basil, “he’s different with you.”

I froze for a second. “Different how?”

She smiled without looking at me. “Lighter. Not just happy —but a different kind of calm. That’s new for him.”

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, heart thudding. “He makes me feel safe. Even when everything else is loud.”

Sophie finally looked at me. “Then I’m glad you found each other. Even if it’s quiet. Especially because it’s quiet.”

“He has needed someone like you for quite sometime now. You bring out a side of my son that I have never really seen until now and for that I owe you everything.” She said with a smile. I felt my heart grow.

“I just do what he does for me. You raised one hell of a boy.” I said and she chuckled to herself.

“I am so glad to finally have another daughter. I wouldn’t have picked anyone else for him.” She scooted over and wrapped me in her arms.

“I missed being here with you guys. You all mean so much to me.” I muttered into her shoulder.

“And you mean the same to us, Liefde.”

—

F1gossipgirls posted!

25,289 likes.

F1gossipgirls: Max Verstappen was spotted by fans on a run around his home in the Netherlands!

username : wanna know who is also in the Netherlands? Ayana Hamilton.

liked by author

username2 : I really doubt they’d ever be a couple…let alone be able to keep it on the low this much

username5 : exactly..think about how famous they are and how hard it would be to keep that under wraps

username10 : say what you want yall I still believe it

username7 : absolutely no way lewis lets this happen

username : why else would she be there?

username11 : I believe there is some kind of music conference being held near by this week tbh

username : hush I don’t want to hear reason

—

That night, curled up in bed with Max, the windows cracked open to the breeze and distant crickets, I whispered, “Your mom’s incredible.”

He kissed my bare shoulder and said, “So are you.”

I smiled into the dark, fingers brushing over his arm where it curled around my waist. “You don’t think she suspects anything… do you?”

There was a beat — just the wind rustling through the trees outside and the soft exhale of his breath against my neck.

“She might,” he said honestly. “She knows me too well not to.”

“Is that bad?” I asked, quieter now.

“No,” Max murmured, pulling me just a little closer. “If she knows, it’s because she sees how different I am with you. And that’s not something I want to hide.”

I twisted slightly so I could see his face in the moonlight, silver edges tracing his jaw, his lashes soft against his cheeks. “Sometimes I forget how real this all is. Like it happened so fast, but somehow… it still feels right.”

“It is right,” he said, firm in the way only Max could be when he really meant something. “Even if we’re keeping it to ourselves. You and me — we don’t need a spotlight for it to matter.”

My heart clenched, full and warm. “I don’t need the world to know. Just you.”

He smiled, tired and tender, brushing his thumb along the curve of my hip beneath the blanket. “It’s funny. Everyone’s always watching us — timing laps, tracking stats, writing headlines. But the best part of my life… it’s this. This quiet. You.”

I buried my face into his chest then, letting the thud of his heartbeat ground me.

“I think your mom knew the second she saw the way I looked at you,” I whispered.

He laughed softly. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “I caught her watching me when you weren’t looking. Like she was piecing it together.”

“Well,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “if she did figure it out… she didn’t seem mad.”

“No,” I agreed, smiling into the dark. “She just seemed… proud.”

A comfortable silence settled between us again, the kind that only existed between two people who didn’t need to fill every space. Just being was enough.

And for the first time in a long time, the secrecy didn’t feel heavy.

It felt like something sacred.

—

The smell of fresh bread hit me before I even opened my eyes.

I stretched under the covers, blinking against the warm slant of morning sun cutting through the sheer curtains. From the kitchen below came the soft clatter of pans, the low hum of a radio playing some old Dutch jazz station, and Sophie’s humming — off-key and sweet.

Max was already up, of course. The spot beside me was empty but warm. My chest fluttered as I slipped out of bed, threw on his hoodie, and padded downstairs barefoot.

Sophie was at the stove, flipping something in a skillet. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard me.

“Goedemorgen, lieverd,” she said, smiling. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I replied, grinning. “It smells amazing.”

Max was already at the little breakfast table, barefoot in sweatpants, hair a mess. He looked over at me, and that soft kind of private smile passed between us — the one that made my knees a little weak even now.

I settled next to him, and he nudged a mug of coffee toward me. “Made it how you like it.”

“Thanks, husband,” I whispered, lips quirking.

He smirked.

Sophie turned with a plate of eggs, cheese, and rolls and set it down in front of us. “You two are whispering like teenagers.”

I froze just a beat too long. So did Max.

She noticed. Of course she did.

She arched a brow, hands on her hips. “Alright. What’s going on?”

Max glanced at me. I gave the smallest nod. My pulse thundered.

He reached for my hand under the table.

“Mam,” he started, steady but soft. “We’ve been meaning to tell you something. Something important.”

Sophie’s eyes flicked between us. She sat down slowly, like she already knew but was letting us get there.

“We got married,” I said, voice quiet but certain. “Last year. In Vegas. After the Grand Prix.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t speak.

“It was just us. No press. No big moment. Just… something that felt like ours,” Max added, eyes on his mother.

Sophie was quiet for a long moment, just watching us. Then, without a word, she reached out and placed her hand over both of ours.

“I knew there was something different,” she said finally, her voice thick. “But I didn’t want to assume. You two… you’ve always had a rhythm only you understand.”

I felt the lump rise in my throat.

She smiled then — watery and warm and full of so much love.

“I’m not upset. Just a little shocked. But I’m happy. Truly. If you make each other better — and I can see that you do — then that’s all I could ever ask for.”

Max squeezed my hand tightly, and I blinked fast, willing myself not to cry into my eggs.

Sophie stood and moved around the table, pulling me into a hug first, then Max. She kissed his cheek, then mine.

“When you’re ready to tell the rest of the world,” she said gently, “you’ll have me in your corner.”

And somehow, in that tiny kitchen filled with warm bread, mismatched mugs, and morning sunlight — it felt like a second kind of vow had been made.

—

We’d just finished hanging laundry on the line in the garden behind Sophie’s house. The sky was that pale, perfect Dutch blue, and the air smelled like basil and sunlight. Max had stolen another kiss while we folded bedsheets — laughing, relaxed, nothing but warmth between us.

Then we heard the car.

It wasn’t Sophie’s.

The rumble was too aggressive. Too familiar.

Max’s shoulders stiffened almost instantly. My smile faded as he turned toward the driveway, jaw clenching.

“Wait here,” he muttered, and before I could say anything, he was already striding toward the front of the house.

I followed anyway — heart thudding as I peeked around the corner.

Jos Verstappen was standing in the driveway, arms crossed, eyes already hard.

“Didn’t expect you to be here,” Max said flatly.

“Clearly,” Jos replied, glancing around. “You’ve been dodging my calls. Again.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With her?” Jos didn’t even try to lower his voice.

My stomach dropped as his eyes landed on me.

“That’s why you’re hiding out here? With Hamilton’s sister?” he scoffed, stepping forward. “You think this is what your focus should be on? This— whatever this is?”

Max moved so fast it made me jump — stepping in front of me like a shield, voice sharp.

“Watch your tone.”

Jos raised a brow. “I’m concerned. You’ve changed. You’re distracted. You don’t think people are talking?”

“I don’t care what people are talking about,” Max said coldly. “My life, my choices. You don’t get a say.”

“And her?” Jos gestured at me like I was something fragile. Dismissible. “This is serious now? You think this is the right match for someone in your position?”

That’s when I felt it — the shift in Max.

His spine straightened. His fists unclenched, not with calm, but with control.

And his voice dropped, low and deadly calm.

“We’re married.”

Jos froze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Max said, stepping even closer. “Vegas. Last year. No media. No drama. Just us.”

Jos’ mouth opened, but Max cut him off.

“You don’t have to approve. You don’t even have to like it. But what you will do is show her respect. Because she’s not going anywhere.”

I blinked fast, throat tight. Jos looked from Max to me — and for a second, something almost like disbelief cracked his face.

Then he scoffed. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“No,” Max said, his voice full of certainty. “For once, I found something real. And I’m not letting you ruin it.”

Silence fell — thick and loaded.

Jos shook his head, muttered something in Dutch under his breath, and walked back toward his car. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t look back.

When the engine finally disappeared down the road, I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath the whole time.

Max turned, immediately coming to me, his hands cupping my face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, brow creased. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“You didn’t either,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes — not from fear, but from the way he’d stood in front of me like the whole world could break and he’d still protect what we had.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re my wife. That means something to me — no matter who tries to question it.”

And in that moment, I knew nothing — not legacy, not headlines, not even blood — could shake the ground we’d built together.

—

The house was quiet again.

Max hadn’t let go of my hand since Jos left — not while we sat on the back steps, not while I leaned against his shoulder in silence, not even now as the hum of a car came up the drive again.

We both knew it was Sophie.

Her familiar old hatchback pulled up slowly, the back seat full of fresh produce and wildflowers she’d picked from the Saturday market. She climbed out, calling cheerfully toward the garden.

“Are you two hiding from the sun or plotting something?”

I tried to stand, but Max gently pulled me back down. “I’ve got it.”

He met her halfway, kissed her cheek, and helped unload the bags. But Sophie’s mom-radar was instant. The moment her eyes landed on him — on the tension around his jaw, on the way his shoulders were still tight — she paused.

“What happened?” she asked, quiet now.

Max glanced at me, then looked back at her.

“Jos came by.”

Sophie’s whole face shifted.

“And?”

“He saw Ayana.”

Sophie’s gaze flicked to me where I still sat on the steps. “And what exactly did he say to her?”

Max exhaled slowly, jaw clenching again. “Nothing I’m going to repeat. But I told him. About us. Everything.”

Sophie closed her eyes for a moment. Not dramatically — just like she was centering herself.

She placed the bag of tomatoes on the kitchen table, then walked outside toward me. I stood automatically, trying to hold it together.

“I’m fine,” I started to say, voice cracking slightly. “I just—”

She wrapped her arms around me before I could finish.

Not a polite hug. Not a casual gesture.

A mother’s hug.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “He’s not an easy man. He never was. But you don’t deserve to be made to feel small in this family. And I won’t let it happen again.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath into her shoulder. “I didn’t want to be the reason there’s tension.”

She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “You’re not. He is. And if he can’t see how good you are for my son — how happy he is with you — that’s his own blindness.”

Max came up behind me, resting a hand on my back, his other laced with mine again. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Sophie said firmly. Then she turned and walked back inside, already muttering, “Well, now we need something stronger than tea.”

Max laughed under his breath, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.

“She’s on our side,” he whispered.

And somehow, the weight of the day felt a little lighter with Sophie in the room. Family, after all, wasn’t always about blood. Sometimes, it was about who stayed when things got loud.

—

It was tucked away off a narrow country road — the kind of restaurant you’d miss if you weren’t looking. No sign, no streetlights. Just an iron gate, ivy-covered walls, and a menu you had to be invited to see.

Max had made the reservation days ago. Just the two of us. No press, no fans, no distractions. Just husband and wife.

He reached across the table, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “You look beautiful.”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “You’ve said that three times already.”

“And I meant it all three times.”

We ate under soft golden light, the windows cracked open to let in the summer breeze. The staff treated us like old friends — discreet, warm, and silent where it counted. The food was decadent: hand-rolled pasta, wine neither of us could pronounce, and a chocolate mousse I nearly cried over.

“It’s kind of perfect,” I whispered after the second glass of wine. “Almost too perfect.”

Max leaned in, eyes sparkling. “You waiting for the plot twist?”

I laughed. “Always.”

But the twist wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even loud.

It came in a quiet wave of nausea on the drive home.

I said nothing at first — just tightened my grip on the door handle, hoping it would pass.

By the time we stepped through the front door of Sophie’s house, the world was spinning just slightly. I kicked off my shoes too fast and stumbled toward the bathroom without saying a word.

“Yana?” Max called after me.

I closed the door gently behind me and gripped the sink, willing the dizziness to stop. My stomach flipped, sharp and fast.

Not food poisoning. Not nerves. Just… off.

I rinsed my face with cold water, trying to breathe.

Outside, Max hovered.

“I’m fine,” I called, not quite sure if it was true.

He was waiting when I opened the door, worry carved into every line of his face.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, half-laughing. “Probably just rich food and wine. You know I don’t eat like that often.”

Before he could argue, Sophie’s soft voice floated from the hallway.

“Everything alright?”

She was in her robe, arms crossed gently, not alarmed — but watching.

I nodded, pasting on a tired smile. “Just a little queasy. We had this insane truffle risotto—”

Sophie raised a brow, said nothing.

Max put an arm around my waist. “She just needs sleep.”

“I’ll make some mint tea,” Sophie said, already turning toward the kitchen. “It’ll help.”

But as she filled the kettle, her eyes drifted back toward the staircase. Her fingers paused just slightly on the stove dial.

She didn’t say it out loud.

Didn’t press.

Didn’t ask the question already blooming in the back of her mind.

But as Max helped me up to bed and kissed my forehead goodnight, Sophie stood quietly in the kitchen, tea steaming in her hand, a far-off look in her eyes.

It wasn’t the food.

She knew that.

It was something else.

Something beginning.

—

p3 complete! requests always open:)

tag list : tag list : @klauslovemepls , @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 , @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics

[badgerbl00d]

captain's girl

☆ characters: akagami no shanks

☆ up next: tbd

☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?

☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!

Shanks hadn’t slept in days. 

Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.

And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now.  A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient. 

Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians. 

Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.

“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head.  An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.

“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”

Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.” 

He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back. 

“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off. 

He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.

He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.

He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright. 

Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.

Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.

“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”

Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well. 

“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.

You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards. 

"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."

You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"

Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."

You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"

Benn laughed, "Definitely not."

“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”

You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message. 

“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?” 

Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."

"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."

Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.

“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”

They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”

“Just tell him!”

“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”

You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...  

Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath. 

You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance. 

“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”

You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.

Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never. 

“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped. 

“M-hm.”

“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”

You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.

He knew that was a lie.

You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love. 

“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned. 

“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.

“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”

 You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough. 

“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”

He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”

You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”

His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.

“I love you, too.”

You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks. 

His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.

“You’re mine,” he said. 

“Yours.”

He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."

You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.

"Shanks?"

His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."

You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."

He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.

A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.

After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

[httpknjoon]

the boy is mine! | myg

plot | that time when rumors about bassist!yoongi went around that popstar!yn cannot really stop herself from addressing it.

w.c | 1.1k

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist

note | slightly angsty, but enjoy!

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

DAY 283: MILAN, ITALY

There is this warmth forming in you, specifically in your face. You tried to ignore it, giving your attention to your phone while you waited for the rehearsals to start.

But in hindsight, you looked irritated, annoyed, and sulking in one corner of the stage. Your left hand is literally gripping on the device while you puffed every minute passes, Everyone around you can feel it, they just won't talk about it while you're still around. Cal, your assistant, has been on her phone since last night to talk with your tour publicist after the news that went around last night. Art stood in front of the band with his arms crossed.

The band members were already in their designated spaces. Akio had her lips pursed as she awkwardly looked back to the rest of the present members. Noah, Fred, and Akio joined in this wordless, eyes-only conversation. Fred shrugged his shoulders. The youngest scratched the back of her head, dumbfounded. Noah sighed, rolling his eyes.

Art spoke again as he pushed back his glasses up his nose, "Where is Yoongi?"

It was only day two after you arrived in Milan from your show in Barcelona when you learned about a piece of news through a fan who saw you while strolling around the city. You just came from a lunch with the other band members except Yoongi, who probably went solo touring around. He didn't really say anything about his itinerary.

"I just have to ask..." the fan who stopped you began after you took a couple of selfies. "Is the rumor true?"

Your eyebrows scrunched together before chuckling, "Hon, I need you to be more specific with the rumor. I have many of them."

The fan embarrassed, laughed before trying not to stutter with her next sentence, "Okay, of course, uhm... Is it true that Yoongi is leaving the tour?"

Your smile almost dropped. There was a brief pause as you still processed the unexpected rumor. But you tried to shield any reaction as you pushed the sunglasses that were covering your eyes.

"Well," you chuckled, more awkward this time as what you just heard was unexpected. "I didn't know that. I'm sure my bassist too. That rumor definitely came from the left field."

You said that sentence like an assurance to yourself even though you have not really talked with Yoongi about that. Hell, you two barely have any serious conversation again. But it didn't feel like he had plans of leaving your band despite being petty and childish around each other most of the time.

The fan went on, "Yoongi was literally seen in Verona yesterday with Kylie."

Every background noise faded for a second. Your throat suddenly felt dry and tight. You feel like clenching your teeth, but you don't want to give any reaction that a fan might notice.

Kylie? Like the pop star, you went head-to-head on for number one on Billboard 200 last year? The one you usually chat with during major music events? She's nice and kind. But why is he with her? In Italy? Are they-

"Girl, let's go."

Thankfully, Noah, who was watching everything happen from your table, got up and tapped on your shoulder. He didn't really hear anything because of the other members talking, but he noticed how your mood shifted. So he knew you need to go.

It was like you were snapped out of your thoughts. You tried to smile at the fan again, maybe too tight, before letting yourself be pulled away by your friend. Fred and Akio followed behind you and Noah, who had his arm clung to yours.

Should I ask Yoongi? Text him? Call him? Fuck, why do I even care? He's my fucking bassist, that's why!

Your brain was swimming in questions and thoughts as you walked on the streets of Milan. But, your head is flying to someone who you heard was in Verona with someone. Noah was obviously trying to distract you as he pulled you from one shop to another. He points to every display you see while talking about how glamorous they are, but you cannot comprehend anything.

"So, what do you think?"

You blinked. Suddenly, you are sitting in front of Noah, who's holding two metal-colored tops, in a boutique. Your eyebrows raised as he waited for you to say something like he asked you something. But you barely registered anything.

"Oh. Uhm... The silver one." you acted like you caught up. But Noah looked at you for a second and shook his head, laughing. Lines formed between your brows, "What?"

"I was asking where should we go after this." He hung the clothes back to the rack before sitting next to you. "What's going on?"

You sighed, looking away before pursing your lips. "Is Yoongi leaving the band?"

For someone who only goes running once a week, Yoongi is still pretty fast with the way he is picking up his pace to get to the stage. He can feel the sweat forming at the edge of his forehead while every staff member who has seen him ever since he arrived quietly stares at him. Their eyes feel heavy on him, but the only reason he can think of is him being extremely late for today's rehearsal.

Yoongi could hear that the rehearsals already started and it was obvious that there was something missing. His chest heaves as he stopped near the entrance to the main stage, where Art and Cal stood.

"Where the hell were you?!"

Unexpectedly, it was Cal who seemed to be more stressed out than her fiance who stood there and simply nodded his chin at him.

"Why were you not in the hotel?!" Cal asked again, more tensed this time.

"I was in another city." Yoongi shortly replied. "I'm really, really sorry. I wasn't able to text, I lost my phone last night when I was with my friend in Ve-"

"Friend? You mean, Kylie?" she cuts him off.

Yoongi, unaware of how your assistant knew, dumbfoundedly nodded his head. He was about to ask but Art finally spoke.

"Just fo inside. We can just talk later."

Yoongi nods, "Okay, thank you. I'm sorry again."

He turned his head down as he made his way inside the arena. It was easy to find you in the center of the stage, lazily dancing while singing. He assumed you were just saving energy for the show later, but when you turned around and saw him. You paused. Your eyes met like magnets and suddenly, it's hard to pull away.

The rehearsal lasted longer than usual due to two main reasons. The first is because of the new changes to your setlist. Second, although no one will say it, it's because of your bassist being an hour late for no reason at all.

When you saw Yoongi standing just below the stage, you automatically stopped. Like you had to make sure that he really came today. Your tensed shoulders dropped slowly as the tightness in your chest loosened. Fuck. It would have been really easy to be mad and confront him in front of everyone right now if only you weren't just so relieved to see him. And if only he hadn't looked hot and sweaty.

You were a bundle of emotions and you felt like a mess. And you didn't like that it's because of the same guy you literally had a fight over water bottles with. He's just standing there, probably dating one of your colleagues, and you're here, having mixed feelings upon seeing him.

"Oh, fuck."

As you are the center of the show, everyone noticed when you stopped moving and decided to stop as well. You were too lost to remember that you have an in-ear microphone just under your lips that caught you cursing very clearly. You gasped as you looked around.

"I-I'm sorry."

Yoongi's eyes widened after you cursed while literally staring at him like he was a ghost. He cannot tell if you were pissed or mad at him when he looked into your eyes, but one thing he can tell. Something switched in you while having quiet eye contact with him.

"Come on!" Noah whispered-shouted at him while Akio signaled him to come up and joined them.

Yoongi nodded and jogged up to the stage and immediately put on his guitar. The rehearsals went on. Yoongi watched you from behind as always, but you never looked at him again. When Yoongi's guitar had an issue, you simply signed with your hand without turning around to him. Avoiding him all over again. He still got to play for an hour before the rehearsals concluded.

"Where were you, man?" Fred was the first to ask while everyone began leaving. Yoongi sees you talk with Cal as you walk out, making his jaw clench as he can feel you actively avoiding him again.

He turned back to his co-members, "I toured around Verona with my old friend-"

"Oh, how long have you been friends with Kylie?" the drummer was quick to ask.

"Huh?" Yoongi's brows scrunched together. "I don't really know her. My old friend is her producer though, he introduced me to her before but we barely talked. Why is everyone asking me about her?"

Yoongi hears a collective gasp from the band. Akio had her hand over her open mouth. Fred looked confused. Noah was quick to recover, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You've literally been in a dating rumor with her since last night," he told him.

Yoongi blinked, confused, "What?"

"Where the hell is your phone? It's everywhere." Akio chimed in.

That's why everyone is staring at me?! There was a sudden realization in Yoongi's head. The weird stares from the staff and Cal's reaction makes more sense.

"I lost it somewhere last night," he replied, still in shock and confusion. And that's why you were avoiding him. "I'm sorry, I need to go talk with YN."

The others didn't even get a chance to respond properly since Yoongi was already running off stage to get to you. He really hates running, but he's been doing it a lot today. But he knows he has to explain himself as soon as possible. He then found you in front of your dressing room, talking with Art about your concerns about the stage. Art notices him quickly and can tell that Yoongi needs something from you, so he wordlessly nods his chin behind you before walking away with Cal.

"Can I help you with anything?"

You tried to act normal because that's what your head is telling you to do. But with all honesty, you felt like your stomach was doing cartwheels over and over again as he stood before you, catching his breath. You wondered why was he breathless.

"Can we talk?" he asked, gulping.

"About what?" you replied unbothered or that was trying to be perceived.

But Yoongi already knows what you are trying to do, so he just went straight to the point. "I am not dating anyone."

A second passed before your right brow raised, "And what do you want me to do about it? Congratulate you?"

Just like your mini, childish banter, you acted sarcastic and you expected Yoongi to maybe fight back. But instead, all you got is him looking at you or maybe your soul. Because you felt like he is reading through you again.

Yoongi knows that you're probably deflecting. You talked about this before, but he wondered if you think he already forgot about it.

"What would you say if I tell you I'm dating someone?" he asked, just out of curiosity, since he knows that you won't really talk seriously with him.

You didn't let his serious tone affect you. You shrugged your shoulders, "Congratulations, I guess."

"Okay." If that is how you want to play this game. Yoongi turned his back.

Getting that unexpected reply, you asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Turning around for the last time, Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, "Okay."

"How's everybody doing tonight?"

In contrast to your mood earlier today and the day before, you asked your fans full of energy and excitement. You were jumping around, dancing, and skipping on stage as you performed your songs along with the band and backup dancers. The fans matched your energy, screaming, even though that is what they have been doing the last hour. You took the time to sip some water and look around the audience and their homemade signs. Your eyes widened as you spotted a particular one.

You put down the water bottle at the edge of the stage before pointing your finger to the fan, "Can I have that?"

The fan excitedly nodded while the others cheered and helped her sign to get to you. One of the guards handed it to you. You immediately pressed the carton sign to your body to hide what was written on it.

"What's your name?" you asked the fan.

She was jumping, "Sammie!"

"Sammie, I think you just made the most relevant sign right now." you chuckled before turning the sign around.

YN PLS MAKE ME UR BASSIST IF YOONGI EVER LEAVES

You posed with it right in front of the camera, making sure that everyone in the arena would see it. Everyone laughed and cheered, including the band members. Yoongi, on the other hand, tries not to show much reaction. But when the camera lands on him, showing him on the big screens, he has a smug smirk on his lips while shaking his head. The arena was filled with cheers when you walked towards him.

"Well, what do you say? Any plans of leaving? Or even moving?" you asked, directly addressing the rumor that played with your emotions since yesterday.

Yoongi, who rarely speaks on stage, shook his head. He leaned closer to your mic, "Never even thought of it."

His voice was deep enough to make you shiver inside. You bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling too hard.

"That's your answer, Sammie. Sorry! Not looking for bassist right now. What's mine is mine, I guess."

note | thank you to the anons who requested this song! <3 this turned more angsty than what I expected haha

SERIES TAGLIST

kindly check out my taglist rules on my pinned post :)

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts @jalexad @ryryvna @kiki-zb

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

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[illbegottenfaith]

2001 - theo nott x reader

Honey, what you runnin' from? When you comin' back to bed? Toss and turnin' all night long with me instead Honey, what you runnin' from? Where the hell you headed to? Do you like the way I run after you?

or, theo doesn’t understand what’s holding you back from taking things further

a/n - I think I would classify this soft core smut at best? But adding an 18+ tag jic

tropes/warnings - 18+ MDNI, fluff

word count - 1.6k

“Fucking hell. Hide me.”

You shrunk yourself down the best that you could behind your best friend, Ivy, laser-focused on the boy at the other end of the hallway. Ivy rolled her eyes, making no effort to help.

“I can’t believe you still won’t tell me what happened that night. It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was,” you muttered, stupidly trying to get Ivy to cooperate. It was no easy task, especially on days like today when she was feeling particularly stubborn, which was a problem since the boy looked fully intent on approaching them.

“Will you relax? You look like an idiot. Like an even bigger idiot than usual. He probably doesn’t even remember whatever-“

“Ivy. Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party.”

Damn. You thought you had more time. Curse him and his unfairly long legs. Ivy did the grown-up thing, which was literally anything other than pretending she didn’t see him. “It’s alright, Theo. You can make it up to me next year.”

“How was it?”

“It was nice, actually. We got a discount on -“

Ivy was cut off by a gentle tug, revealing a hunched-over you. You straightened hastily, clearing your throat, refusing to meet his gaze.

“L/N.”

“Nott.”

“Planning on dropping by tonight?”

You put on a straight face, looking politely confused. “Hm?”

“The party. Tonight.”

“Oh. Where?”

Theo narrowed his eyes, and your face burned under the intensity of his gaze. It took everything you had to keep your features schooled while he shamelessly searched your face for what felt like far too long.

“The Slytherin common room,” he replied, finally tearing his eyes away from you. You relaxed, blinking hard and a little breathless, your palms a little clammy. “Can’t miss it. Just follow the stench of firewhiskey and bad ideas.”

Internally, you nearly passed out. Externally, you shrugged noncommittally. “Sure. Maybe.” Definitely not. You weren’t going to spend a second longer in Theo’s presence if you could help it. 

You and Ivy get to the party and, as expected, you’re abandoned the second she finds Ivan through the crowd. You wander around before you decide to join a group of Slytherins on the couches, next to Theo. You get handed a drink. It burns your throat and makes your eyes water. The loud bass starts to sound more tolerable. Another drink. Theo’s frowning at you. You wonder if anyone’s told him how good concern looks on his face. Everything is now ten times funnier. You press up against Theo, laughing yourself silly, leaning into his touch as he drapes an arm around you. Another drink. You’re more than lightly flushed. Theo places a hand on your thigh. You don’t move it away. 

Eventually, you end up pressed against the door of Theo’s room, your mouths a heady mess of heat, teeth and tongues, your bodies moulding to each other’s. Your eyes flutter shut, blissfully able to let go with your senses dulled by alcohol. You can’t tell if it’s the music or your pulse vibrating through your body, but you’re aching for his touch. He presses a knee against your core and you groan into his mouth, melting into a boneless mush in his arms.

“Theodore,” you sighed desperately, breath catching in your throat. It was enough to slow his ministrations on your neck which had been filling your head with the most delicious kind of static. You never used his first name despite your best friends being glued by the lips since sixth year, mostly because you never went beyond exchanging civil pleasantries. Occasionally, you’d have a chat that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, or you’d let your thoughts wander to his disarming blue eyes or wicked smile, but that was it. It never did, and it never could, go any further than that. You were too different. It would never work. You’d only be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Nothing good could come of entangling with the illustrious Theodore Nott, figuratively or otherwise.

And to use his first name was to acknowledge the existence of this softer, kinder Theo - a version worlds away from that Nott boy with the aloof face and the piercing eyes. He hummed against your neck, thumbs restlessly skimming the waistband of your skirt.

“We can’t - we shouldn’t,” you continued, once you were able to make sense of your fuzzy thoughts. You pushed him back gently, cool air rushing in to douse the heat of the moment. “Our friends have a whole thing. We’d only get in the way. It’s just a bad idea.”

His hands stilled on your hips. “I don’t understand. What about our thing?”

He looked so dazed and so adorably dishevelled that you almost felt sorry for him. It was late, Theo’s words sounded dangerously close to slurring, and if you were being honest, you should have left the party hours ago. You stroked his cheek absentmindedly before gingerly slipping out of his hold, recovering your shirt. You slipped it on, fumbling at rhe buttons with trembling fingers, and turned back to see Theo still watching you, uncomprehending, his swollen lips parted in confusion.

“Get some sleep, Nott. You’ll get what I mean in the morning.”

“Bye, Theo,” Ivy was saying now. “Give Ivan a kiss for me.”

“Should I feel him up while I’m at it?”

“It only seems right to give him the full experience.”

Ivy grinned as he walked off while you all but dragged her down the hall towards your next class.

“Aw, come on, Y/N, he’s not that bad.” She glanced at you, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You know, I always thought he has a thing for y-“

“Aren’t you late for Herbology?”

Ivy cursed as she fumbled at her wristwatch, hurrying down the corridor. In about a minute, she’d realise that she didn’t have Herbology today, but you decided to let her find that out herself.

Hours later, you were holed up in the library, desperately trying to plug your ears with all the ruckus going on floors below. Trying to focus was a losing battle.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Your head snapped up too see Theo leaning against one of the bookshelves. Busted. To be fair, she was nowhere near the world’s best liar, so it was doubtful whether he had even believed her in the first place.

“Nott,” you greeted, in a pleasant enough voice. “Is that the time? I hadn’t realised the party had already started.”

The music continued blasting, more than audible to the two of them. Theo arched an eyebrow, slowly walking over, and you had the decency to look embarrassed over your bald-faced lie.

“I was planning to drop by later.”

“Well, you should.”

“Maybe I will:”

“It’s almost as fun as that last party ages ago.”

You stiffened at the memory. “Ah. Yes.”

Theo leaned over you, broad-shouldered and hypnotising. He dragged his gaze across you inch by agonising inch, undressing you with his eyes. You were starting to feel uncomfortably warm in your uniform. He dropped his voice.

“First and last time I see you in my bed, hmm?”

You choked, failing to suppress the shiver prickling over your skin. “That’s - stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Talking like…that.” You felt your face heat up all over again, cursing yourself for your inability to even pretend to keep your cool in front of him. “Looking at me like that.”

His gaze flickered to your chest, so brief you’d have missed it if you blinked. “Like what?” 

You let out a frustrated, overwhelmed sigh, your brain becoming oddly fixated on the memory of his hands on your hips, travelling up your ribcage, at the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your waist -

“Go on. Use your words.”

His breath tickled the shell of your ear, the closest he’d been to you since that night. 

“Like…like you actually want me. Like I’m something special.”

“You are something special.”

You groaned and looked away. “I’m seeing someone,” you tried, half-heartedly. Theo snorted.

“What, that Davies guy? Yeah, like that’s going to last.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel all that indignant on Davies’ behalf. Not that you were going to let Theo know that. “I’ll have you know that Mac is a perfect gentleman.”

“My point is-“ Theo started, irritatedly. You took a perverse sort of pleasure in ruffling his feathers. “- why the fuck are we talking about Davies when you could be in my bed, doing far more interesting things with that mouth?”

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps you like having me run after you. Is that where you get off, hmm? The thrill of the chase? Being a tease?”

“I am not a -“ you began hotly, before you caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes. “You’re too cocky for your own good,” you muttered. 

“I thought you like me cocky,” he teased. His expression softened the next second and you watched him trace lazy circles on your wrist.

“Besides…I’ve never tried this hard to get into someone’s pants.”

You gave a shaky laugh. Theo bent down once more, this time to press a kiss to your lips, then another, and another, until you were lying on your back on the table, looking sinfully ravished, blouse long forgotten.

One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

[burningfudge]

i hope im not bothering you by any chance but i was wondering

do you perhaps have any winterwidow or romy fics recommendations?

I don’t read many romy fics but I shall direct you to @remysrogue for recs

as for winterwidow, oh baby. I have so many, and I went through my bookmarks for this.

literally anything by @missmorwen, @medeafive and pinklights. their fics back in 2016-2019 got me hooked onto buckynat for life

however, some favs by medeafive are Stone Cold Sober, I'm not the one who wants to hurt you, Say it ain't so, write our name in blood and in flowers of flame, We'll figure it out

and by missmorwen - Memory Lane (I cannot tell you how many times I've read this series over the years, it's one of my absolute favs), Burn With Me, And A Bed That’s Too Big (Because You’re Not in It), Rhapsody in Red, Oh Say Can You See, And Always Will Until the End, Morning after, A Tie That We Cannot Break

some favs of mine written by pinklights are - This Isn't A Roadtrip (buckynat + bucky and kate bishop road trip), A Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None (the americans au), The Best of the Best (And the Worst of the Worst), Homemade Dynamite, Let's Be Bad Together, buckynat cinematic universe, Your Life And Mine Are Parallel Lines, we're made of similar stuff

many many fics that taralkariel wrote - What Did You Think Would Happen?, Head Is Not My Home, Functional, Road to War

If Love Wants You by blessedharlot - post-CW reunion

You Could At Least Remember Me by tuesdaymidnight - post-CW memory crisis

Remembering What It Is To Be Human by tuesdaymidnight - natasha having messed up ideas about manipulation using sex due to the red room, and then goes into a crisis because she truly falls in love with bucky

You Were a Kindness When I Was a Stranger by napricot - murder road trip

someday somebody will come and find you by napricot - post-endgame memory crisis

and in which darkness by anomalocaris - this one is such a classic. one of my favs. cold war buckynat

Who The Hell Is Steve? by Lsusanna - this one is soooo good. an au where steve fell off the train and became the winter soldier and bucky crashed the plane, ending up in the 21st century.

One More Troubled Soul by sara_holmes - another one with the same premise but with stevetony along with buckynat.

this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name by Cinaed - natasha goes through a memory crisis

Some Of The Colors Have To Fade by impertinence - another murder road trip

a case of you by irnan - post-TWS fic

Suffocating by sammiewilson (softlyspiraling) - killingeve au!!

everything i've ever been, belonged to you the second you claimed it by indieheadmeltdown - post-CW reunion

the bass and the fading light by stars_inthe_sky - date night by beating up criminals

Paris, 1956 by Wikiaddicted723 - cold war paris fic

remember me to by steshka by andibeth82 - yet another buckynat murder roadtrip

Coffee Grounds by kingaofthewoods - bucky's time as the winter soldier has been permanently wiped, including his time in the red room with natasha

Soviets in Love - another red room/memory loss fic

Those Isles of Yours by snark - buckynat working for the soviet union during the vietnam war

Lady Lazarus by JonBonHovis - a natasha-centric fic of her life from the red room to SHIELD and the avengers

Love-Tricks by snark - flirty nat

You Give Love a Bad Name by NotEvenCloseToStraight - sexual tension obv because it's a mr and mrs smith au

Lived and Loved by bellagerantalii - red room/memory loss

Unbreakable by Serenity_V - mcu/616 fusion red room fic

a disaster in two acts by shewritesall - bucky meets widowfam as natasha's bf

Of Felines, Fiancées and Family Reunions by Green_Angst_And_Ham - black widow movie compliant. another bucky meets widowfam as natasha's bf. alpine and liho are present

you shine around me like a million suns by girl0nfire - buckynat wwII au

I Think We Need Each Other by nataliasromanoff - undercover as married, enemies to lovers

The Buck To The Future Trilogy by Ultra - bucky didn't fall from the train and was on the plane with steve

a falling star can't fall forever by Mizzy - international iron man/mr. and mrs. smith au

And All I See is White and Red by Sarma, TeyrianTimelord - ww1/russian revolution au

Paris Holds The Key (To Your Heart) by madxasahatter, xthemarchharex - post ww2 au. nat is a ballerina

[27spoons]

You should totally do a fic or smthn where it’s just nat making out w reader. Or maybe Lottie making out w reader. Honestly anything gay…which is everything. So..yea I love everything you do. -🤺

i realised how long this was sitting in my inbox for, then realised i could literally just make it a blurb. i am so sorry, 🤺. pls forgive me 😔😔😔

anyways......... what if i said............

lottienat making out with reader??

short/sweet. sfw but suggestive themes. <800 words

The party is loud, bodies pressed together in a haze of music and cigarette—honestly, probably also weed—smoke. The bass thrums through your body, rattling your bones in time with the pulse of the shitty strobe lights. Someone's spilled beer is sticky under your Converse, but you don't care. You're not really here for the party.

You're here for them.

Natalie's back is against the wall, her face impassive, and her dark eyeliner is smudged just enough to make her look effortlessly wrecked. (You, of course, know how long she spent fussing over it to ensure it looked just right.) A cigarette dangles between her fingers, barely an afterthought as she watches you with that sharp, knowing gaze. Lottie is beside her, practically glowing in the dim lighting—something ethereal in how her lip gloss catches the neon colours from the strobe lights. 

She's softer than Nat but no less intense, and that's evident in the way her left hand has started trailing up your arm while the other firmly clutches at a Red Solo Cup.

"Y'been teasing us all night," Nat murmurs, tapping her cigarette against a makeshift ashtray on the table beside her.

"I think we deserve an apology," Lottie chimes in, tilting her head with that dreamy, faraway look, but her hand tightens around your wrist, firm and possessive—a sharp contrast.

You barely get a word out before Nat pulls you in, tasting like smoke and whiskey, her lips rough and demanding. Your back hits the wall, and Lottie makes her presence more known. She strokes your arm as your kiss with Nat shifts into a battle for dominance. The music fades into the background, and it's just three of you that remain.

Lottie's fingers trail up your jaw, guiding your face toward her as Nat pulls back just enough to watch. Her lips are softer, slower, and teasing compared to the sharp bite of Nat's—it always gives you a bit of whiplash when being pulled between them, but you've never really minded.

When she deepens the kiss, you harbour no resistance, sighing into her mouth and grabbing the thin fabric of her dress.

Natalie makes a noise—low, amused, possessive.

"Y'two are so fuckin' pretty," she murmurs, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing lazy circles against your bare skin.

Lottie's lips linger against yours, just enough to leave you wanting more, but she's pulling back with a slight hum before you can have more. Her nails skim down your arm, teasingly contrasting how Nat's grip tightens at your waist. The rush you get from them is far more intoxicating than the buzz in your veins, more intoxicating than the whiskey on Nat's tongue, and a better high than the ditch weed you've been smoking all night.

You barely have time to register a shift happening before Nat tugs you back in, claiming your mouth like she's got something to prove. Her teeth catch your lower lip, just shy of too hard, and you whimper into her mouth. The sound earns you a quiet, satisfied chuckle from the blonde before she's diving back in, tasting your mouth and exploring the warmth that she's felt countless times before.

Lottie's fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head just enough that she can press a soft kiss against the curve of your jaw. You're sure she would let her kisses roam across your face like she usually does, but Nat seems very firm on keeping her mouth slotted against yours, so Lottie simply explores the line of your jaw and gradually up to your ear, lips lingering on that spot she loves to mark. When your whole body shudders at the feeling of her lips against that spot, you can feel the smirk pressed to your skin.

"I think…" she murmurs, voice the perfect picture of faux innocence, "we should take this somewhere else."

Nat grunts in agreement when she pulls back from your lips, her eyes blown (and not just from whatever she's been taking tonight). "Yeah. 'fore I decide I don't give a shit about an audience."

Her hand slips lower, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your jeans, and you find yourself nodding before you even have time to process the action.

Nat presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth as Lottie takes your hand and leads you out of the house party and back to her car. You'd be lying if you said you weren't looking forward to getting out of there all night.

Now, the real fun begins.

[errriiie]

Hookup Culture

shaunahat x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, poly relationships, shauna shipman, one-night-stand culture (just might be not for everyone), OOC extra tags: NO CRASH AU, dom!switch!shauna, switch!melissa, switch!you, fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, sharing is caring, dirty talk, no aftercare but reader can handle it, oral (r!receiving), fingering (melissa! receiving), angst in the end if you squint, jackie stop haunting the narrative

word count: 3.5k proofread At the urging of your friend Lottie, you finally give in and show up to Randy's party. You think it's your destiny to be single for the evening and part of the night while you kill your time and social battery, but your desire to hang out around the house leads you to Shauna and Melissa, who were clearly busy with each other. Correction. Now they're busy with you, too.

The bass from the speakers downstairs rattles the floorboards as you weave through the packed house, red Solo cup in hand. The air smells like cheap beer, sweat, and the faint chemical burn of someone’s vape cloud. You weren’t even supposed to be here—you only came because Lottie dragged you, insisting you needed to "live a little" before graduation.

You don’t really do parties. Not like this. Not the kind where the Yellowjackets’ inner circle holds court in the living room, where Jackie Taylor’s laugh cuts through the noise like she’s still the queen of everything. You’re just… there. A background player. A benchwarmer who shows up to practice, nods at the right people, and mostly keeps to yourself.

But Melissa? Melissa’s different.

You’ve swapped a few words with her in the locker room, shared a smirk over Jackie’s dramatics once or twice. She’s got this way of looking at you like she knows things—like she’s waiting for you to catch up.

So when you see her slip upstairs alone, curiosity gets the better of you. She wasn't exactly a big deal on the team either, but at least Melissa seemed like a nice girl to you. Considering you didn't have much going for you other than your tenuous friendship with Lottie, you figured you couldn't pass up this slippery opportunity to build your social connections and maybe—maybe—really live a little.

The hallway is quieter, the music muffled. The door to Randy’s parents’ room is slightly ajar. Then you hear it. A soft gasp. A low, breathy laugh. You push it open without thinking.

 The door clicks open under your hand, and—

Oh.

The room is dim, just the glow of a salt lamp on the dresser casting warm light over the bed. Shauna’s on top of Melissa, one knee between her thighs, fingers tangled in her hair. Melissa’s shirt is pushed up, Shauna’s mouth on her collarbone, and neither of them heard the door.

Melissa sees you first.

Her head tilts, lips curling into a slow, unbothered smile. "Well, hey there."

Shauna freezes.

She turns, eyes wide, breath catching. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. For a second, she looks like she might bolt—but Melissa’s hand slides up her thigh, keeping her in place.

Shauna whips around so fast she nearly falls off the bed. Her face goes pale, then red, then pale again. "Oh my God—"

Melissa just laughs, dragging her back down by the collar of her shirt. "Relax, Shauna. It’s not like she’s gonna tell Jackie."

Her eyes flick to you.

"Right?"

You freeze in place, but your hand still feebly fumbles for the doorknob, just to close it. The click seems so loud in the awkward silence that you can't help but close your eyes. Besides, maybe closing your eyes will help you unsee it all. Unfortunately or fortunately (you haven't decided yet), it doesn't help.

Melissa is putting you in a really dangerous position, there's literally no reason for you to be here. You've never been close to Shauna because she always kept to herself with Jackie Taylor and didn't seem to need other people to talk to or be friends with, and you've already thought about Melissa enough.

You had a million reasons to leave: you didn't belong in this room or this house, you didn't like the loud party and the bunch of drunken teenage idiots wasting their lives on pointless parties, the way you were left almost alone, and to top it off, you didn't even know if Shauna wanted you here.

So you ask.

"I...are you serious? I mean, I won't tell anyone. Of course not," it sounds like the truth, because it is. You weren't really sure about Jackie's involvement in all of this. Was there a point where she wasn't chasing the narrative? "But..." you bite your lip shyly, like the kind of girl who needs help opening up. Shauna hasn’t moved. She’s still half-pressed against Melissa, her fingers gripping the bedsheets like she’s deciding whether to bolt or stay. Her eyes dart between you and the door, wide and uncertain, and for the first time, you realize how young she looks. Not the quiet, composed Shauna from practice, but someone caught between panic and something raw.

Melissa, on the other hand, looks amused. She props herself up on her elbows, letting her shirt fall and hide that tempting view of bare skin, her smirk lazy and deliberate. "‘But’ what?" she drawls, tilting her head. "You gonna stand there all night, or are you actually gonna say what you’re thinking?"

You swallow hard. The scent of vanilla and sweat lingers in your nose, mixing with the faint musk of Randy’s parents’ detergent. The bed creaks as Shauna shifts, her breath hitching when Melissa’s hand slides up her thigh again—possessive. "I just..." Your voice wavers. "I don’t know why I’m here." It’s the closest you’ll get to admitting the truth: that you followed Melissa because you’ve watched her for months, because you’ve imagined her looking at you like this, because you’re terrified of what it means that she’s letting you see this.

Shauna exhales sharply, like she’s been holding her breath. "You shouldn’t be," she mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.

"She’s already seen us. Might as well make it worth her while."

Your stomach twists. The implication hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. 

Shauna’s jaw clenches. "Melissa—"

"What?" Melissa’s grin sharpens. "You don’t wanna share?"

The words hit you like a physical touch. Your face burns, your pulse thudding in your ears. This isn’t how you pictured your first time—if you ever pictured it—but the way Melissa’s looking at you, like she’s already won, makes something hot and reckless coil in your gut.

Shauna’s eyes flick to you again, searching. Then, slowly, she exhales. "...Just lock the door."

"Well, that's all settled." You can almost feel the relief in Melissa's voice. It might have been a little nerve wracking for her to remain cool and collected. "Come here." She beckons.

You obey immediately as your hand wraps around the lock, making sure you're in privacy. You take a few steps forward, but you're at the bed faster than you planned, looking so confused.

"What should I... what should I do?" It's so awkward.

Melissa’s smirk falters for just a second—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.  "You’re overthinking it," she says, but her voice isn’t as steady as before. She reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist, and tugs you closer. The bed dips under your weight as you settle beside them, close enough to feel the heat radiating off Shauna’s skin.

Shauna exhales sharply, her gaze flicking between you and Melissa. There’s something new in her expression—something hungry.

"You don’t have to do anything," she murmurs, her voice low. "Just let us take care of you."

Her hand finds your thigh, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath catch.

Melissa watches, lips parted, and for the first time, she looks nervous.

"Yeah," she says, softer now. "Just... relax."

You don’t.

Instead, you lean in and kiss her.

Melissa makes a startled noise, but she doesn’t pull away. Shauna’s grip tightens on your thigh, and when you finally break apart, her eyes are dark. It's not easy watching literally two girls kissing beneath her, whose names she'd been quietly mumbling while masturbating in her room, and holding herself back from joining in too soon.

"Good," she breathes. "Now me."

Melissa’s breath hitches when you turn to Shauna, your fingers tangling in the fabric of her shirt to pull her closer. The kiss is different this time—slower, more deliberate, like Shauna’s testing the waters, seeing how far you’ll let her take this. Her lips are warm, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"That’s it," she murmurs against your mouth, her hand sliding up your side. "Just like that."

Melissa watches, her earlier bravado slipping as she bites her lip. "Fuck," she breathes, shifting closer, her knee pressing against your thigh.

Shauna pulls back just enough to smirk at her. "Jealous?"

Melissa rolls her eyes, but the flush creeping up her neck gives her away. "Shut up."

Shauna laughs—low, throaty—before turning back to you. "Guess we’ll have to fix that."

Her fingers trace your jaw, tilting your face toward Melissa. "Go on," she says, voice rough. "Show her how it’s done."

Melissa’s breath is warm against your lips as you lean in again, this time with more confidence. Her hands find your waist, pulling you flush against her, and the way she melts into the kiss betrays how much she’s been wanting this. There’s a soft, needy sound in the back of her throat when you nip at her lower lip, and Shauna’s fingers tighten possessively on your hip.

"Look at you," Shauna murmurs, her voice thick with approval. Her other hand slides up Melissa’s thigh, unbuttoning Melissa's jeans with unnecessary force and pulling them down to her knees, and Melissa shivers. "Both of you— so pretty like this."

You can feel the shift in the air—the moment Melissa’s control cracks. Her fingers dig into your sides as Shauna’s touch grows bolder, and when you break the kiss to trail your mouth along her jaw, she lets out a shaky exhale. "God—okay, yeah, that’s—"

Shauna cuts her off with a sharp bite to her shoulder, and Melissa’s back arches off the bed. "Quit talking," Shauna orders, her voice dropping into something darker. Her eyes lock onto yours, and there’s no mistaking the challenge in them. "Unless you’d rather watch?" You suppress a smirk and the feeling of wetness pooling between your legs. You thought Melissa was in charge here, but apparently she's in charge until Shauna decides she needs to end this.

Melissa whines, but it’s half-hearted, her hips already rolling up into Shauna’s touch. You don’t give her the chance to answer.

Your hand slides between them, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of Melissa’s panties, and her whole body jerks. "Fuck—"

A sharp gasp escapes Melissa’s lips as your fingers press against her, the thin fabric of her panties doing little to hide how wet she is. Her hips jerk forward, seeking more contact, and you can feel the heat radiating from her even through the fabric.

Shauna watches with dark, hungry eyes, her fingers tightening in your hair as she pulls you closer. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Make her feel good.”

Melissa’s hands scramble for purchase on the sheets, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you tease her through the fabric. “Fuck—just—just take them off already,” she whines, her voice trembling with need.

Shauna chuckles, low and dark, her fingers tracing patterns along your spine. “You heard her,” she says, her voice thick with amusement. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Your fingers hook into the waistband of Melissa’s panties, pulling them down just enough to expose her to the cool air of the room. She shivers, her thighs tensing as you finally, finally touch her properly, your fingers sliding through her slick folds.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, her back arching off the bed as you circle her clit, slow and teasing. “Fuck, yes, just like that—”

Shauna’s hand tightens in your hair, her lips brushing against your neck. “Good girl,” she murmurs, her voice rough with approval. “Now make her come.”

You nod your head quickly. For some reason, you don't really want to disappoint Shauna. You see her eyes, which you can't read, and for some reason, more than anything, you're afraid that she'll regret ever allowing Melissa the liberty of voicing that your presence wouldn't hurt them.

You speed up the movements of your fingers, feeling and lingering on the spot that amplifies Melissa's body twitching a hundredfold, her wiggling under Shauna's body and next to you, the moans and sighs coming from her throat. You're a man of few words (for various reasons), but you have the courage to say, "Cum for us, Melissa." It sounds like a gentle request, in contrast to Shauna now. Melissa’s breath hitches at your words, her hips stuttering against your hand. There’s something almost vulnerable in the way she looks at you—like she wasn’t expecting the softness in your voice, like it unravels her more than any command ever could.

Shauna notices.

Her grip on your hair tightens, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Look at her," she murmurs, voice rough. "She’s falling apart just because you asked nicely."

Melissa whines, her thighs trembling as you curl your fingers inside her, your thumb pressing firm circles against her clit. "Shut—ah—shut up," she gasps, but there’s no bite to it, just raw, unfiltered want.

Shauna laughs low, her free hand sliding down to pinch Melissa’s nipple through her bra. "Make me."

Melissa’s back arches off the bed, a broken moan tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her. Her fingers scramble for your wrist, holding you there as she rides it out, her body pulsing around your fingers.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is Melissa’s ragged breathing.

Then Shauna’s pulling you back by your hair, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger. "Fuck," she breathes against your mouth. "You’re good at that."

Melissa lets out a weak laugh, still sprawled bonelessly across the bed. "No shit," she mumbles, dragging a hand over her face.

Shauna’s gaze flicks down to where your fingers are still slick with Melissa, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Now," she says, voice dropping to a whisper, "what do you want?"

Melissa props herself up on her elbows, her smirk lazy but her eyes interested. "Yeah," she echoes, voice still breathless. "What do you want?"

It seems like it really is your turn. But... you don't even know what you want. "I don't know," you say, perhaps feeling a little more emboldened and comfortable with the situation, "I'm a virgin. Any ideas?" Oh, it sounds like they're trying to decide on a topic for a school project. Stupid and awkward. Shauna freezes.

For a second, the room is utterly still—the only sound is the muffled bass of the party downstairs, the distant laughter of people who have no idea what’s happening up here. Then Melissa lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, propping herself up on her elbows. "Wait. Seriously?"

You nod, your face burning. It’s not like you meant to drop that bombshell so casually, but now that it’s out there, you can’t take it back. Shauna’s grip on your hair loosens, her fingers instead tracing a slow, thoughtful path down the back of your neck.

"Huh," she says, voice unreadable.

Melissa’s smirk returns, but it’s softer now—less teasing, more curious. "Well, shit," she murmurs, sitting up fully. "Guess we’ve got some options, then."

Shauna exhales sharply, her thumb brushing over your pulse point. You can feel her thinking, weighing something in her mind. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, rougher. "You trust us?"

The question catches you off guard. You’ve never been close to either of them, not really—but right now, with Shauna’s dark eyes locked onto yours and Melissa’s fingers idly tracing patterns on your knee, it’s hard to imagine saying no.

"Yeah," you admit. "I do."

Shauna’s lips quirk, just slightly. "Good."

Melissa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "Then let’s start simple," she murmurs. "How about you let Shauna kiss you again—properly this time—while I show you what my mouth can do?"

Your stomach flips. Shauna doesn’t wait for you to respond. She captures your lips in a kiss that’s slower than before, deeper, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl. Meanwhile, Melissa’s hands are already pushing your thighs apart, her nails dragging lightly over your skin as she settles between them.

"Relax," Shauna murmurs against your mouth, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Just feel it."

Then Melissa’s tongue drags over you, slow and deliberate, and your back arches off the bed with a gasp.

"Fuck—"

Melissa hums, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core. "Yeah," she says, pulling back just enough to smirk up at you. "That’s the idea."

It’s too much—the heat of Melissa’s mouth, the way Shauna’s thumb brushes over your cheek like you’re something precious, the dizzying realization that this is happening, that they’re choosing this, choosing you—

You whimper, your fingers tangling in the sheets.

Melissa’s tongue flicks over your clit, once, twice, and then she’s sucking lightly, her fingers pressing inside you in a slow, steady rhythm. Shauna’s kiss turns bruising, her teeth nipping at your lower lip as if to say, "I’ve got you."

You come with a choked-off moan, your thighs trembling around Melissa’s head.

Shauna pulls back just enough to watch you, her eyes dark with something you can’t name. "There you go," she murmurs, her voice impossibly soft. "Just like that."

Melissa sits up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her smirk smug but her eyes warm. "Not bad for your first time, huh?"

You’re too breathless to answer.

Shauna’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, her gaze flicking between you and Melissa. "Still don’t know what you want?" she asks, her voice teasing.

You swallow hard.

"I think," you manage, "I’m starting to figure it out."

Melissa laughs, low and throaty, as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Oh, you think?" She leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "Because from where I'm sitting, you looked pretty damn sure a second ago."

Shauna's fingers trail down your side, possessive yet strangely gentle. "We can stop here if you want," she murmurs, though the way her teeth graze your shoulder betrays how much she doesn't want to stop. "Or..." Her hand slips between your thighs again, fingertips brushing over oversensitive skin.

You jolt, a whimper catching in your throat. Melissa's watching with heavy-lidded eyes, her own fingers toying with the hem of Shauna's shirt.

"Or," Melissa continues where Shauna left off, "we could see how many times we can make you come before someone downstairs wonders where we went."

The challenge in her voice makes your stomach flip. Shauna's fingers press harder, circling in a way that has your hips jerking forward before you can stop yourself.

"Guess that answers that," Shauna says, her smirk audible. The bed creaks as Melissa moves closer, her knee nudging yours apart wider. ————

When you finish, there's no time for aftercare. The three of you frantically adjust your clothes, comb your hair in the mirror, and try to pretend nothing happened.

"Still..." you suddenly ask, deciding that you look pretty good, except for the huge hickey on your neck, but in the dim light of the house it won't be noticeable, "What's the story with Jackie?" oh, your nosy ass. The air in the room goes stiff. Shauna’s hands freeze mid-motion where she’s fixing the collar of her shirt, her expression shuttering instantly. Melissa, halfway through smoothing down her jeans, lets out a sharp exhale through her nose—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

"Jesus," Melissa mutters, shooting you a look that’s half-amused, half are you fucking serious right now?

Shauna’s jaw works silently for a second before she finally speaks, her voice carefully neutral. "What about her?"

You can feel it—the way the energy in the room shifts from sated and lazy to something sharper, more volatile. Shauna’s fingers tap once, twice against her thigh, a nervous habit she’s never been able to fully hide. Melissa, ever the deflector, rolls her eyes and fluffs her hair in the mirror.

"Look," she says, her tone light but edged with warning, "Jackie’s Jackie. She doesn’t need to know shit."

Shauna’s gaze flicks to the door, like she’s half-expecting Jackie to burst in any second. "It’s not—it’s not a thing," she says, but the way her voice cracks on the last word betrays her. "We’re just... having fun."

Melissa snorts. "Yeah. Fun." She meets your eyes in the mirror, her smirk not quite reaching them. "Don’t worry about it. Shauna’s got it handled."

The way she says it makes it clear that handled is a generous term.

You open your mouth—to push, to apologize, you’re not even sure—but Shauna cuts you off with a sharp shake of her head.

"Drop it," she says, and for the first time tonight, there’s no warmth in her voice. Just quiet, simmering dread. "Please."

Melissa sighs, straightening her top with a final tug. "Party’s still going. We should get back before people notice we’re gone." She pauses, then adds, quieter, "And maybe don’t stare at Jackie like you just fucked her best friend. Just a tip."

Shauna shoots her a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion.

The hallway feels too bright after the dim warmth of the bedroom, the music suddenly too loud. You follow them downstairs, your mind racing.

Jackie’s in the living room, holding court as usual, her laugh ringing out over the crowd. She doesn’t look your way.

Shauna’s shoulders tense as she steps into the light, her smile slipping into place like a mask. Melissa tosses her hair and saunters toward the kitchen like nothing’s wrong.

You hover awkwardly in the doorway, the hickey on your neck burning.

Yeah, you think, maybe don’t stare.

[chrissturnsfav]

fuckgirl!reader flirting with loser!matt, but she’s drunk so he’s just acting all nonchalant abt it

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt babysits drunk fuckgirl!reader

the bass thumps in your chest, the music a relentless pulse that matches the dizzying swirl of the room. everything’s fuzzy—lights blurring into streaks, voices overlapping into a symphony of noise. you don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s definitely more than you should’ve.

and then there’s matt. sweet, awkward matt.

"matt," you whine over the music that echoes in your ears, drawing out his name, your hand reaching for his sleeve. your fingers barely graze the fabric before you lose balance, tumbling halfway into his lap.

he catches you, because of course he does, his reflexes sharper than you’d expect. "careful," he says, voice dry but not unkind.

"i am careful," you insist, dragging yourself up and planting one hand on his chest for stability. it’s a nice chest—solid under your palm. "you’re just in my way."

"can we go upstairs?" you say feigning sweetness with a crooked smirk, your breath warm against his neck.

"nah." he leans back and manspreads on the couch, cool as ever, like he’s immune to your charms. it’s sickening.

"why not?" you pout, tugging at his arm. your dress rides up as you move, not that you care—matt’s the only one looking, and isn’t that the point?

"because you’re drunk kid," he says simply, tilting his head like he’s assessing whether you’re about to topple over again.

"so?" you challenge, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "you’re supposed to take care of me, aren’t you? that’s what guys do at parties, right? fuck pretty girls?"

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go when you wrap your arms around his neck. "m'not fucking you kid," he snickers.

you groan, a little too loud, and press your forehead against his. "you’re no fun, matt. chris would fuck me. he would probably die for the chance."

"yeah, but i’m not chris," he says, gently disentangling your arms from his neck.

"clearly," you mutter, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic heap. you look up at him, your eyes hooded and pleading. "don’t you think i’m pretty, though?"

he snorts, shaking his head. "nice try."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand, half-offended, half-sickened by how unaffected he is.

"it means you’re wasted, and you’re not gonna trick me into saying something stupid," he says, leaning down to pull a blanket off the back of the couch. he drapes it over your legs, ignoring your protests.

"you’re boring," you declare, crossing your arms with a drunken frown.

"and you’re a fucking mess," he counters, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "but don’t worry. i’ve got you."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect—soft and steady, but somehow leaving a mark. it makes your chest tighten, your thighs hot, and your stomach flip.

you know he’s just being responsible matt, always the boring one, always the one making sure things don’t spiral out of control. but the way his eyes linger on yours, the hint of warmth behind the teasing, makes you need him even more.

you grab his hand, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "matt," you say again, but this time it’s quieter, your voice dipping into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"what now?" he asks, half-laughing, though his hand doesn’t pull away.

"just one little kiss, at least. please?" you say, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading.

he laughs, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. "not happening."

"you're the fucking worst," you whine, ripping your hand from his and sinking into the couch again.

"sleep it off kid," he says, his voice softer now. "you’ll thank me later."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the way i literally was writing this without even seeing this anon! i was abt to publish it and then checked my inbox and i was like :o that's perfect. so i copy and pasted the draft here.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[bratbby333]

I got some thoughts 👀 can I request a little something? like reader finds herself in a situation where a guy is disrespectful to her and Geto steps in to defend her... she would be so relieved like 'thank you so much tall and beautiful stranger' 😍🥰 and he's probably like 'don't worry about it, it's whatever' but in the end he offers to walk her home and he fucks her against the wall things happen 😳😳

`⭐︎ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ YOUR GUARDIAN STRANGER ! — feat. suguru geto

word count. 3.6k content warnings. characters are 21+, fem!reader x suguru, mentions of blood, allusions to violence, reader gets hit on and grabbed in the club, alcohol consumption, p in v, unprotected sex, use of pet names, dirty talk, thigh-riding, sugu fucks hard, one night stand, the pull-out method, non-curse!au author notes. thank you for ur ingenious request my sweet nonnie...i hope you enjoy xx not beta read !!

nsfw 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 mdni

A skin-tight dress. Four inch heels. Dark lip liner with a clear gloss on top. A few spritzes of Chanel No. 5, and you are out the door and heading to the club.

Everything is great; good vibes, strong drinks, pounding 808s reverberating off the walls. The liquor warms your stomach as your hips sway to the music, your over-worked body relaxing with every bump of the heavy bass. You take in the scene around you; drunk couples making out in the corner, a few underage kids getting thrown out, a group of friends arguing over god knows what– it’s all very entertaining. You laugh to yourself, your eyes scanning the room once more before your vision settles on the one thing you were trying to avoid. Shit. Your heart drops. Really? Did he not catch the hint the last two times? You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes as you prepare yourself for the inevitable. Not this again.

Because, of course, all good things must come to an end. 

You're used to being hit on. But tonight, there is one guy in particular, unrelenting in his attempts to get close to you. He's shorter than average, the two of you being the same height when you're in heels. He reeks of liquor, cigarettes, and BO. His fringe clings to his forehead as he approaches you for the third time this evening, a disgusting smirk plastered across his face. He seems to have mistaken your accidental eye contact as an invitation to test his luck once more. With tense shoulders and an apprehensive tone, you offer him polite conversation. Not that you want to, but god forbid you reject him in just the right way to make him snap. You don't want to end up being a headline. Your eyes dart elsewhere, knowing damn well that if you look at him for too long you might gag. He is truly disgusting, rambling on and on about his podcast and his most recent bouts of buying and trading crypto. 

It's a tough situation to navigate. You're out alone. Granted, you are at a club that you're comfortable in; you're familiar with the layout, you're friends with a few of the waitresses and bartenders. The DJ knows you by name. But, you're still riding solo in a loud, rambunctious environment. Even though there is a level of comfort here, it's still a club filled with drunkards at the end of the day. 

With a fake smile and a couple nods of your head, you try to ignore the part of the conversation where he referred to himself as an “alpha male” as you accept the drink he presents to you, kindly excusing yourself before disappearing into the crowd once more.

A shudder runs down your spine, your body quite literally trying to shake away that awful conversation. God, he’s the worst. On your way to the dance floor, you pour the contents of the cup into the soil of a potted plant. He doesn't think you're stupid, does he? There is no way in hell you're drinking that shit.

You're dancing alone, enjoying the house mix that's bumping through the giant speakers, the colorful spotlights that bounce around your face as you feel yourself begin to relax once more. Finally, some much needed alone time. All you want is to let loose after an arduous week of working. Can't a girl have some peace?

"C'mon...just give me a chance." You don't even have to turn around to see who it is, you can smell him. Your nose scrunches up before you turn to face him, another fake smile pulling at your cheeks as you speak to him for the fourth time tonight. 

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not looking for anythin'...I'm just tryna have fun," you say politely, before beginning to walk away. If you just keep moving through the crowd, he won't be able to find you again. But this guy is annoyingly determined and obnoxiously entitled, because after one step away from him, his hand grabs at your wrist, "We can have fun! C'mon...seriously?! I bought you a drink and this is how you treat me?"

As soon as the contact is made, your blood boils. Rage runs through your body as you spin around to chew him out for A, assuming some smelly asshole like him has a chance with you; B, for even thinking he could touch you, and C, the absolute nerve of this man to actually follow through with it. 

But when you turn, you realize you can't see him anymore. Your eye line is obstructed by a broad, muscular back. Utterly confused, you step to the side in order to fully see what the hell is going on. The sweaty hand that was once wrapped around your forearm is now gripped by a large fist. Your eyes trail up to your savior, a damningly handsome man with jet-black hair. 

"Do we have a problem?" a stern voice addresses the musty, shorter guy. 

"Yeah, this chick's been flirting with me all night...I'm tryna get what I'm owed," he spits back, attempting to pull his wrist away, "Dude, let go...stop bein' a cockblock." The mystery man's face twists at the other's bold choice in words. You're shocked that he doesn't feel intimidated at all. 

"What you're owed?" A deep chuckle emerges from the unknown’s chest as he stares down at him. "I dunno...it seems like she wants nothing to do with you," he muses, tightening his grip around the other’s arm. 

He turns to address you, and you finally get to take a good look at him. His side-profile is god-like, but looking at him straight on is a whole different realm of attractiveness. The man's fucking gorgeous. You're too busy ogling him that you miss his question all together. 

"S-sorry...what did you say?" You shake your head a bit, adrenaline pumping through your ears from this entire ordeal, the expensive scent of his cologne mixing with the pounding bass of the club; it's all making your head spin. 

He laughs and leans down to your level, his head hovering just next to your ear. "You want me to get rid of him for ya?" he repeats, his breath brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He pulls back, looking down at you with his grip still tight around the other guy's arm. The pathetic man is squirming as the two of you share quite the intimate eye contact. You nod, your mouth dropping open as he drags him out of the club immediately. 

You let out a deep sigh before making your way to the bathroom. You lather up your hands with soap and do your best to scrub away the feeling of that man's skin on yours. Leaning up against the sink, you take a few deep breaths before fixing your hair and reapplying your lipgloss. That man is vile, but you're not going to let that gross interaction ruin your night. 

You make your way to the bar, keeping your head on a swivel in hopes to see your handsome rescuer once more, wanting to thank him for handling that for you. You pout a bit as you fail to see him on your trek, sighing as you place your order with the bartender. 

You take a few sips before turning to walk back toward the dance floor, when you literally run straight into someone. "Fuck! I am so sorry, I-" but then you smell it, the same entrancing cologne as before. You look up and are met with a devious grin on the most angelic face you've ever seen. You smile, pushing your hair from your eyes, "I was looking for you." You sound relieved as the two of you stare at one another. 

"Were you now?" he asks coyly, shifting his weight as he smirks down at you. You nod shyly, "Mhm...I-I wanted to thank you for earlier," you take another sip of your cocktail, hoping it will calm your nerves a bit, "I appreciate you stepping in, that guy couldn't catcha fuckin' hint," you laugh, looking away. 

"Don't mention it. It's the least I could do," he responds. "I'm Suguru, by the way."

Turning to face him once more, you tell him your name with a kind smile. As the two of you make small talk, you notice his chest is heaving a bit, and with a quirk of your brow, you run your eyes down his body, realizing that his knuckles are bruised and slightly bloody.

"Oh...oh my god. Are you alright?" you ask, grabbing his hand. You bring his fist up to inspect it, the dim lights of the club not offering you much assistance. "Oh, yeah," he laughs, rotating his wrist so you can examine it further, "the blood's not mine," he grins. A laugh escapes you as you gaze up at him, still holding his hand in yours. 

"Damn...you really did a number on him, huh?" Suguru laughs at this.

"Absolutely, he deserved it. Dude was a prick. I'm really sorry that happened to you," he sympathizes, watching as you grab napkins and a shot of vodka from the bar to wipe off the dried blood from his knuckles. 

"It's alright, I'm used to it by now, but having someone step in and save me was definitely a first." He releases a jagged exhale as you pour the liquor over the small abrasions on his hand, "Sorry...gotta disinfect you. That dude was gross...I had to go scrub my arm off after he touched me," you giggle. He watches intently as you finish cleaning him up, his heart skipping a beat as you smile up at him triumphantly. You are quite the woman, cunning and confident. He likes that. 

"There ya go," you chirp, before tossing the reddened napkins into the garbage can located nearby. His eyes run across your face and up and down your body, taking in every part of you. Poor thing. Though you seem so unbothered by that whole situation, there is a telling look behind your eyes, and Suguru notes that you are still a little shaken up. He would be crazy to let you wander back out there alone. 

"Do you want to come hang with my friends? I promise they won't pester you like that dude did," he offers. He nods toward the booths that line the wall. "That's them over there; Shoko and Satoru." You follow his eye line, seeing a brunette woman accompanied by a blue-eyed man. They seem to be about your age, and you love meeting new people. You smile and agree, thanking him once more as the two of you make your way over to the table. 

The rest of your night is spent laughing and dancing with the three of them. You learn that they all work for the high school across town, and that Shoko can really handle her liquor; Satoru cannot. You and Suguru are in your own world, chatting about everything and nothing, taking breaks to dance together when a good song comes on. His hands rest on your waist as you move your hips against him, your bodies fitting like you are made for one another. Suguru, being the gentleman he is, never pushes any further than that, allowing you to initiate the contact. 

It's 2 AM when the four of you stumble out of the club, the tall blond leaning on his smaller friend's shoulders as she guides him toward the taxi. It's quite the amusing sight. 

You stop short of the curb, wishing Satoru and Shoko a good night, before turning to Suguru. "Thank you again…for everything," you say, your voice raspier than usual from all the shouting you did inside the loud club. 

"Of course. I'm just glad we got to spend some more time together," he says with a smile, ushering you toward the taxi. He's confused when you shake your head. 

"I live like three blocks from here, I'm just gonna walk," you state. "It was really nice meeting you, you were great company," you smirk, heading down the road, your heels clacking against the pavement with every step. 

A few unintelligible words are exchanged between Suguru and the taxi driver, followed by a car door slamming shut, before the sound of someone jogging catches up to you. 

"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone," he retorts, pushing you toward the inside of the sidewalk as he walks closest to the cars that pass by. 

"You're quite the gentleman, aren't you," you tease, pushing your shoulder into his. He chuckles, "Can you blame me? I see a beautiful woman in distress, I have to jump in." You blush at his compliment.

"My knight in...," you pause as you run your eyes down his body, "...jeans and a black tee," you giggle. After sharing a few laughs, silence settles between the two of you as the cool air swirls around you. The occasional car passes by, but other than that, it's a quiet evening. 

You glance at Suguru through your peripherals, enjoying the way his layered hair bounces with every step he takes. His cologne, though more subtle now, still wafts toward your nose. He really is beautiful. You wonder if it'd be too bold to see if he wants to continue your evening. 

You walk toward the door to your apartment, turning to face him. It's now or never. 

"You comin'?" You ask with a raise of your brow. He chuckles as he climbs the stairs, joining you by your side, "Thought you'd never ask."

You have never been into one night stands, but something about Suguru is irresistible. Whether it's because he saved you from that creep or because he is super fucking sexy, you know you need him. Now. The two of you barely made it through the doorway as you’re pushing him up against the wall of your foyer, your lips immediately finding his.

He's taken aback by your boldness, taking a second to register his surroundings before quickly flipping the two of you around, his hands cupping either side of your face as his knee wedges between your legs. His muscular thigh is pressed directly onto your core, the pressure sending waves through your body.

“Couldn’t even make it to the bed, huh?” he husks into your ear, placing a wet kiss on the sensitive skin below, nipping and sucking at it. Soft moans echo through the hallway as Suguru finds your lips once more, your tongues battling one another. You thrust your hips, rubbing your warmth against his leg. “Eager, are we?” he teases, lifting his leg more. 

“Mmm…mhm,” you gasp as the contact intensifies. You’re already addicted to him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you. You grind your hips harder, pressing your drenched cunt firmly against his clothed thigh, certain that he can feel your pussy throbbing against him, the tightness in your stomach intensifying. Your cheeks fluster at how quickly he’s getting you to your breaking point without even having to do anything.

He breaks the kiss, watching intently as your hips gyrate against him. “Shit…are you gonna cum?” The tone of his voice is taunting, yet laced with desire. The sight of you using him to get off has him rock hard. You blush immediately, tilting your head away from him. You nod shyly, though your hips continue their pattern. “So fuckin’ hot,” his hand wraps around your throat, your head tilting to rest against the wall. “Uh uh, don’t get shy now…look at me.” Through low lids, you meet his gaze. His lower lip is between his teeth as he glances between your face and your cunt rubbing against his thigh. With a desperate whimper, you pick up the pace. “C’mon…that’s it–cum for me,” he growls, entranced by the fluid motion of your body. You come undone just a few minutes later with a whine and a few moans of his name. Your cum soaks through your panties and a guttural moan breaks through his chest as he watches you finish. “Fuckin’ drenchin’ me already, huh?” You blush profusely, your eyes screwed tight as embarrassment courses through you.

You yelp as he flips you around, your chest now pressed against the wall, your legs parallel with your shoulders. “All that cum ‘n I wasn’t even inside you yet…” He unbuckles his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his throbbing erection, “...can’t wait to see how much you cream on my cock.” You whimper at the filthy words that shamelessly fall from Suguru’s lips as he pulls your dress up and drags your panties down your legs. You aren’t much help, small pants leaving your chest as your body recovers from your unexpectedly intense orgasm.  His lips part as he teases his thick tip along your slit, lubing himself with your cum. “You ready, doll?” His head shallowly dips in and out of your needy cunt, already loving the way you stretch for him. You hum, nodding profusely as you look over your shoulder. “Mm. Mhm…p-please fuck me,” you beg. Your words feel foreign to you as you say them, unsure of where all this submissiveness was coming from. But Suguru’s effortlessly domineering aura makes you want to bend to his every whim, to please him in any way that you can. 

Inch by inch, he’s delving into you. The warmth of your dribbling cunt sucking him, the squelching sounds ricocheting through his head, the sinful moans that break through your throat–it drives him wild. He growls as your back arches, pushing him even deeper. Your ass flush against his lower abdomen, your eyes blowing wide at the damning stretch of his full length nestled deep inside you.

He stays still for a moment, allowing you time to accommodate as your gushy walls flutter around him. The pace starts slow, but Suguru’s patience wears thin, and after a few strokes he’s ramming into you, one hand wrapped around the front of your throat, the other pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he bounces you on his cock. The scratches that should be left on the tanned flesh of his toned back are being dragged down your beige walls, your breasts rubbing against the cold plaster with every rough thrust of his hips, the sensation stimulating your budding nipples. 

Every bump of his hips pushes his head into your sweet spot, his length caressing every part of you with ease. “Takin’ me so well,” he grunts as he rams into your furthest wall. You can’t suppress the cock-drunk whines that spill from you, your eyes welling with tears while delirious pleasure claws its way through your body, your tummy tightening as you clench around him. Your shoulders tense as your perch on your tiptoes, opening yourself up to take more of him–if that is even possible–praying he finds refuge within your womb. “Shit–” he hisses, his words nearly incoherent as the sound of skin against skin echoes through the hallway, “fuckin’ milkin’ me, doll.”

He releases your throat, the same hand trailing down your spine before his arm snakes around you, his nimble fingers strumming delicious circles against your throbbing clit. You cry out, eyes screwing shut as your legs shake. “Fuck…oh fuuuck–ahh! Gonna…’m gonna…” Your voice trails off, any semblance of a coherent thought cast to the wayside as a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. Suguru leans down, kissing behind your ear before biting at your lobe. “I know,” he muses, his fingers work even faster against you, “Squeezin’ me s’tight…”, his hips shifting to push himself even deeper, “...C’mon. Make a mess ‘f me.” You reach your breaking point once more, lips parting as squirt spills out around his cock and dribbles down your thighs. 

His release follows suit with a few raspy swears and sultry mumbles of your name. He pulls out, working his fist around his cock, his hot seed shooting onto your ass and lower back. Suguru places soft pecks along your neck and shoulders, working to regain his breath. He catches you as he untangles his body from yours, chuckling at the evident exhaustion of your body while your knees buckle, unable to support your own body weight as you lean against the wall. 

After tucking himself away and a speedy rebuckle of his belt, he scoops you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style to your bed, setting you down on your plush duvet. 

“Bathroom?” he asks. Your brows furrow before you comprehend his question, still dazed from the spell he cast on you. With a weak flick of your wrist, you gesture toward the closed door to your left. You watch with tired eyes as he returns with a damp rag, his soft touches along your weary body juxtaposing the meanness of his strokes as he mindfully cleans you up. With a quick kiss on your cheek and a soft mumble of “you were wonderful” into your ear, he smiles down at you before beginning to exit the bedroom. It’s crazy–insane, even–how much you want him around. You must be out of your mind…this near stranger—the fact that you even let him in your house is wild, let alone asking him to stay the night? But you want him to, so bad. There’s just something about him.

You sit upright, ignoring the ache in your lower back and the morality of your choices, your question flying from your lips before your brain can stop it. “Wait…can you stay?” Your words are soft as they drift through the air. He stops just short of the door, before turning and offering you a knowing smile, “I thought you’d never ask.”

author notes. certified sugu glazer…what can i say. i just cannot get enough of him ugh.

i’m still workin thru all my requests, i appreciate yalls patience w me 🤍

my reqs are closed atm, but thirsts + chats are welcome! come say hello ☺️

tag list: @admirxation @sadmonke @the-weeb-of-the-uchiha @call-memissbrightside (lmk if u want to be removed from tags🤍)

©bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[inf3ct3dd]

ellie headcanons pt.3,,,!!

warnings: mentions of boobs, ass (lmao) , mild sexual content, use of the d-slur (jokingly)

content: loser!ellie x reader :3 my pookieeee

authors note: these r actually my favorite things to write ever like im so glad yall like them :333

pt. 2. taglist!!! masterlist!!!!

☆ REALLY likes beef jerky. she’ll just sit there and chew…

- her hands r just constantly freezing. like DEAD PERSON COLD ITS SCARYYYY!!! she definitely uses ur boobs as handwarmers and its JARRING because her hands are actually so cold 😞😞!!!

- HER FEET TOO!!! she has some sort of circulation issues bc you’ll be in bed together and she’ll put her feet on you and you’ll just turn into a cartoon ice cube 😕😕

- the SECOND u have some sort of drama she is seated. like she is so MESSY she will talk shit abt someone she knows absolutely nothing abt just bc u don’t like them. anyone you hate she hates 💪🏽💪🏽

- speaking of she is literally so sassy 😞😞 like she will literally full body turn away from you and look at the window while you drive if she’s mad at you.

- every time you say something even remotely sexual she’s looking at you like 🤨 and trying not to laugh. if you texted her “im coming” she’d burst out laughing and write back like “geez we’re just going to the zoo…didn’t know u were THAT excited”

- has the humor of a middle school boy. she has an actual problem w deez nuts jokes 😞😞 she thinks its SOOOO FUNNY to give u fake backshots whenever you bend over around her. fake moans and everything 💔💔

- a pharb AND a barb. she definitely knows all of super bass by heart, and she knows how to play savior complex on the guitar. duality of women!!!

- every time you say something nice to her she’s like “ew thats gay” and then she gets upset when u get upset for it 😞 so RUDE actually!!!

- really likes doing facemasks with you because you always put them on for her, and because you look really stupid with them on.

- this video. js this whole video like!!! she definitely has that dinosaur hand sanitizer AND that backpack!!

- likes rings cuz she thinks they make her look cool, but she literally cannot keep them for more than a month. they get lost SO EASILY!!!

- knows a concerning amount of things about the roman empire.

- definitely saw the barbie movie with you, and got so embarrassed at the ken guitar scene ☹️ “do i do that??” and you had to hold back laughter and tell her no

- if you have little siblings, they LOVE HER. she is so good with kids its insane. she would definitely do the griddy w ur little brother and you would NEVER let her live it down

- if you take her to a family gathering, she’s either talking with your uncles or hanging out with your younger cousins. she’s scared of your cousins your age bc they’re “cool like you”

- definitely bought you lego flowers at one point and sat on the floor and built them with you

- has those glow-in-the-dark stars on her bedroom ceiling

- would absolutely lick your salt lamp “for science”

- one time you put her hair in pigtails and she wore it the whole day, and refused to let her friends make fun of it cuz her “wife” did them

- talks about you like a 40 year old man talks about his wife. “gotta get home to the wife” definitely has “happy wife happy life!” on a tshirt

- built the two of you a house on minecraft and put your beds next to each otherrrr :((

- carved your name on her skateboard and guitar

- had an AWFUL emo phase in middle school. terrible. was absolutely an avid tumblr user

- such a nerd about vinyls. would take u on dates to her favorite vinyl store, and buy you a new vinyl player because “yours damages your vinyls, and the audio quality is shit” (you randomly bought it on amazon)

- just knows so many facts…about things…. like she’s always talking to you like “oh my god babe did you know that-“

- would get “jealous” of your pets whenever you’d pet them or hold them in front of her. just going up to your cat like “she likes me more than you”

- made herself one of those “i love my girlfriend” tshirts with your face on it

- your dad definitely loves her because they have so much in common. grilling, fishing,camping, she’s like the ultimate dad-dyke

- can fall asleep ANYWHERE. like the second she’s tired she’s just 😴😴 and she’s definitely using you as a pillow

- one time the two of you went to a family party and you found her asleep on two folded chairs

- you’re her wallpaper on all her devices.

- every time you ask her what she’s doing and she’s playing guitar shes like “just fingering my guitar”. she thinks its SOOOO HILARIOUS

- definitely says white ppl shit all the time on accident . one time she said “lets rock and roll” when you two were going somewhere and she literally didn’t talk for 5 minutes cuz you could not stop laughing

- LOVES burts bees !!! her lips always taste like their strawberry chapstick and its wonderful

- has a pair of lightning mcqueen crocs

- LOVESSSS when you paint her nails and do her makeup (she just likes you sitting on her lap)

- definitely one of those girls thats like. obsessed w doctor pepper. its a serious problem 😞😞!!!

- has a little shoe box full of receipts, polaroids of you, and little souvenirs from your dates. :((

- literally melts when you scratch her back

- very into horror games/analog horror. definitely binge watched markipliers “faith” gameplay and talked about it nonstop

- miles morales is def her fave superhero. has so many of his comics and LOVES the spiderverse movies. calls you her gwen 😞😞

taglist!!! if ur name is crossed i cant tag u :((

@syrenada @dinaissoprettyoml @kingofmylastkiss @as2rid @greencacty @melissabarrerass @bratydoll @lov3lylotus @forelliesposts @echostinn @f3r4lfr0gg3r @r3wbeef @leatheredhearts @mousymaven @mina-281 @princessguardian444 @calystas-morning-tea @horror-whoree @slutshies @bearieio @mag-mfm @bubs-world @paran0id0blivi0n @sawaagyapong @bbygrlshelbs @gayh0rr0r @pl9ys @ellieslilslvvt @dollietes @elliesmellsbadd @ibloom4u @ddreabea @beestar120 @brunettedolls-blog @girlwonderchloe @elliesgflol @maris-koffin @emonopolyman @iloveeyousblog @fr3sh-tragedies @ilovaffles @certifedcrybunny @elleatethat @baldph0bic @clouded-whispers @4rt3m1ss @saggykneecaps @swtsuna @ell1esslutt @minixmel @yuyans-stuff @owmoiralover @thecowardwrites @lunascerebro @elliestrwbrry @iwantsoda @teeveegirl @dinasmoon @urnewghostfriend

[lun9tic]

-MEAN

| pairing: Ian x photographer!reader

| warnings: angsttt

| summary: you over hear Ian talking about you after his show

| A/N : HIII I’m back?? It’s been a long time I’m sorryyy I’m trying to write more and better. send requests:)) love u all

“She be settin’ up the shots, thinkin’ she the one, But i just laugh, sayin’, “she don’t got a chance.” Tryna drop hints, but im dodgin’ ‘em quick, Bitch, I’d rather disappear than give you a pick.”

The bass ripped through the venue, you felt it in your chest like a heartbeat. The crowd cheered, their energy through the roof. But you barely heard their screams. You barely even felt the camera in your hands. Because all you could hear was him.

Ian’s voice rapping the lyric like it was nothing. Like it was just another rhyme in the setlist. But the words landed like a punch to the face.

You weren’t stupid you knew what that line was about, because it’s exactly the situation you’re in.

Your grip tightened around your camera, fingers shake as you adjusted the lens. You forced yourself to keep taking pictures, keep doing your job, like your heart wasn’t breaking.

All the late nights helping him create his posts, all the moments spent hyping up his work, making sure he always looked his best in front of the world, was this what you got in return? You’ve been nothing but kind to him… of course you thought the feelings were mutual, he would flirt all the time. The late nights in the studio together where he would say the sweetest words to you, making you feel like the only girl in the world.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping a straight face. Maybe you were overreacting? Maybe it wasn’t about you. You saw ian look right at you after saying the lyrics, his dj staring wide eyed at him. You turned your back to both of them and continued taking crowd shots. This is really what you get in return for everything?

you had been there through everything, when he was begging for opening slots at small venues, his excitement when he first had a pop up. You had been the one behind the camera, behind the screen, behind him. But now, you were nothing more than a joke in his lyrics.

The show ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Ian smiled, taking in the moment. You lowered your camera with a sigh and left the front to go to the back room bathroom.

You felt like you were over reacting, but who else would he be talking about? And you’ve never heard this song before, you hear every song he makes before anyone else.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door from Ian “Yo, you good?” Ian’s voice spoke through the noise outside before he knocked again.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, gripping the sink. You clenched your jaw, stomach twisting. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe the song wasn’t about you. But literally who else could it be?

“Open up, y/n. What’s wrong?” Ian’s voice was low and somewhat worried.

You sighed and unlocked the door. Ian was standing there, still happy from his performance, sweat all over him, chain glinting under the lights.

“what the fuck is your deal?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Ian blinked, caught off guard. “My deal? You tell me. You dipped the second the show ended.”

You scoffed. “cause you just dropped a whole verse clowning me in front of thousands of people?”

Ian smirked. “Wait, you think that was about you?”

You look at him annoyed . “Who else would it be about, Ian? Who else is always around, taking your pictures, dealing with your fucking ego? And funny, I don’t remember you ever letting a song drop without showing it me first.”

His smirk dropped for a second. “Man, you’re taking this too personal. It’s just music.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Right. Just music. Just you putting me on blast like I’m someone desperate for you. Like I’ve been chasing you.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “If it’s not true, why you so pressed?”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Because it’s rude as fuck! I’ve been here since day one, working my ass off to make you look good, and you go and basically make fun of me? For what?”

Ian’s jaw tightened. “Bro, chill. You act like I owe you something.”

You shook your head, and stepped back. “You don’t owe me shit.“

You could still hear the screams of his fans, people calling Ian’s name, but of course, he didn’t have an anything to say back. He just stared at you.

Finally, you scoffed and shook your head. “Of course. I’ll send you the pictures I took tonight but that’s it. Enjoy the rest of what ever it is you’re doing, Ian.” “Bruh come on y/n”

Then you walked out, leaving him standing at the doorway.

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ star¡ reader && loser¡rafe cameron

I'LL DO LITERALLY ANYTHING SHE WANTS.

Rafe’s been plotting for weeks.

It started the first time he saw you at the skate park, sitting on the grassy edge with your book, legs tucked to your chest, sipping from a pastel pink drink. You weren’t even watching the ramps or paying attention to the noise or the boys showing off. But Rafe saw you. And that was enough. He’s been trying to figure out how to talk to you ever since. But every time he gets close, he forgets how to function. His brain short-circuits. His vocabulary vanishes. He ends up doing a kickflip too close or trying to land a rail just to get your attention, and it never works. You don’t even flinch. You just keep reading.

The house party is already buzzing when you arrive, porch lights glowing, music thumping through the walls, kids spilling into the yard with red cups and wild stories. The air smells like beer and weed and expensive cologne, and somewhere inside, Rafe Cameron is practically vibrating. He's dragging Topper by the sleeve through the living room, weaving past tipsy girls and dudes in snapbacks, eyes darting like he's on a mission. Because he is. He saw your name on the party list days ago and has been spiralling ever since. Plotting. Rehearsing. Sweating through his shirt just imagining it.

❝Okay, okay—dude, listen,❞ Rafe says, practically bouncing in his sneakers. ❝Go up to her. Say I’m a...fucking’ DJ or something. Say I opened for Metro Boomin. Say I got invited to Coachella.❞ Topper gives him a flat look. ❝You got banned from Coachella.❞ ❝Details, bro. She doesn’t need to know that. Just say I’m, like, mysterious. Say I was a child prodigy.❞ ❝You dropped out sophomore year.❞ Rafe grabs his shoulders. ❝Bro. I am BEGGING you. Please. Just tell her I think she’s really pretty and cool and I’d, like...literally do anything. Like, anything she wants. I’ll get into astrology. I’ll stop vaping. I’ll buy her one of those pink Hydro Flasks.❞

Topper rolls his eyes but trudges toward you, muttering under his breath. Rafe ducks behind a support beam near the kitchen, peeking out like a cartoon villain. He’s so obvious it’s painful. You’re posted up near the drink table, sipping something too sweet and too strong, already clocking Rafe from across the room. Hoodie half-on, backwards hat crooked, knee bandaged from a failed skate trick, Monster can sticking out of his hoodie pocket. He’s nervously adjusting his chains and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt like it's betraying his confidence. His eyes are big and bright and locked entirely on you.

The music’s loud bass thudding through the floor, coloured lights flickering against glittered walls, everything tasting like cheap vodka and summer sweat. You’re pressed near the kitchen doorway, plastic cup in hand, when Topper appears out of nowhere. He looks like he’s been sent on a mission he didn’t sign up for – conflicted, mildly annoyed, and mildly amused. ❝Okay, so, weird one,❞ he starts, scratching his neck. ❝My buddy over there—you know, the one pacing behind that fake palm tree like a Sims character? Yeah, him—he, uh, thinks you’re cute. Like, really cute. And sweet. Like, ‘makes-my-stomach-hurt’ sweet.❞

You blink, thrown off. ❝Rafe?❞ Topper nods and sighs, then continues, clearly reciting. ❝He says he’s a professional skater. That’s a lie. He says he’s chill. That’s another lie. But he’s, uh… enthusiastic. He’s been planning this for—❞ He pauses, glances over his shoulder at Rafe, who is actively doing the opposite of playing it cool. He’s bouncing. Literally bouncing in place. Hat askew, hoodie half-off, knuckles bruised from something stupid. He looks like a boy who got told Santa was real again.

❝—for weeks, actually. You, uh, waved at him once.❞ ❝Once?❞ ❝on the beach because he was staring the whole time, and you probably thought it would make him go away. He wrote, like, a marriage monologue about it. I’ve read it. It’s concerning. But endearing, I guess.❞ You glance past Topper again. Rafe spots you looking and trips over his own foot trying to look casual. It doesn’t work. He straightens his hoodie, then messes with his hair like it’ll fix the fact that he’s practically vibrating with hope. You glance past Topper. He is beaming now. Like, full teeth, twitchy grin, bouncing on his heels like a golden retriever who just spotted a tennis ball.

His outfit is chaos—black hoodie with safety pins holding a tear together, cargo pants with grass stains, rings clinking against the can he crushes nervously in one hand. He’s stuffed gym muscle and a chaotic heart into a boy-shaped blender and hit purée. And somehow, it works. Topper rubs the bridge of his nose. ❝Anyway. He begged me to talk to you. Said, and I quote, he’d do ‘literally anything’ if you just gave him a chance. Like, he was making deals with the universe on the way over here. It was dramatic.❞

You purse your lips, trying not to smile too obviously, your gaze flicking between Topper and Rafe. ❝But he’s not coming over here himself?❞ ❝If he did, he’d combust.❞ You glance back toward Rafe, and he’s still behind that fake tree, eyes wide, mouth moving frantically like he’s asking, ❝Is it working?!❞ It’s… kind of cute. Ridiculous, but cute. The way he’s fidgeting, nervously adjusting his hat, trying to stay cool but failing spectacularly. Your smile softens.

❝Tell him… yeah, okay. Tell him yes.❞ Topper nods. Topper groans and trudges back through the crowd. ❝She said, Yeah, Rafe.❞ Rafe jumps. A full-body, feet-off-the-ground, giddy little leap like he can’t help it. Then he claps Topper on the back with so much force he nearly knocks the boy over. He mouths a stunned little ❝She said yes?!❞ and Topper just nods, already over it.

Rafe beams. Practically explodes. He tries to fix his hat, fails, then flattens his palms over his shirt like it’ll calm his heart down. It doesn’t. He leans back against the wall, grinning into the air like the world just shifted beneath his feet. You catch yourself giggling, shaking your head. You’re still a little confused—he’s so tall and serious-looking from afar, but seeing him all flustered like that? It’s throwing you off in the best way. Maybe it’s not what you expected, but it’s sweet.

Topper, now on his way back toward you, pauses and holds out Rafe's phone. ❝He forgot to get your number. I’ll put it in.❞ You blink, amused. ❝He sent you to get that too?❞ ❝Yep. I hate it here.❞

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : umm hey angels . . . do we like. this one’s probably not smut, i just can’t see it that way. it feels a little different for me but loser!rafe still begs, don’t worry. hope it does okay even if it’s soft instead of filthy lol

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner @delicatelyquiet @rafeysbrat @amelialovesrafe

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025