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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, I hope you're having a lovely day. If it's okay, could I please request a Spencer reid x reader where the reader (who is Reid's work colleague) has gos on a date but gets stood up. Spencer happens to be going to the same restaurant and sees that the reader has been stood up to he pretends to be their date, and then the reader and Spencer confess their feelings for each other.

Please of course feel free to ignore, have a lovely day.

stood up — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being hungry a/n: thank you for your request !! i hope you like this <3 ( i won't lie i giggled and kicked my legs a couple of times while writing this )

You drummed your fingers against the smooth surface of the table, the rhythmic tapping the only thing grounding you as the lump in your throat grew tighter. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the sting of tears that threatened to spill.

Crying over this wasn’t worth it—you were an FBI agent, for god’s sake. You had seen and dealt with worse. But somehow, sitting here alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show, felt like a different kind of cruelty.

Your day off was rare, something you didn’t take for granted. You had been looking forward to this—good food, good company.

Instead, you were left picking at the corner of the menu with nothing but a half-full glass of water in front of you.

A waitress passed by, offering you a small, knowing smile, the kind that made your chest ache even more.

You hated that look—the one that said, Oh, sweetheart, I’ve seen this happen before. You could almost hear her inner monologue: Poor thing, all dressed up, waiting for someone who clearly wasn't about to show up.

Your stomach growled, reminding you that despite your sour mood, you were still human. You had planned to indulge, to enjoy yourself, but now the thought of eating alone made your appetite vanish.

The door chimed as someone entered, and you glanced up out of instinct, heart foolishly clinging to hope. But it wasn’t your date. Just another happy couple, the kind of people who didn’t have to wonder if they were worth showing up for.

Five minutes later, the door opened again, but this time, you didn’t bother looking. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab your wallet. At the very least, you needed to pay for the water and leave a tip—the waitress had been kind, even though you had done nothing but take up space.

Then, you heard it.

A voice—one you knew as well as your own heartbeat.

“Hey.”

You froze.

Slowly, you lifted your head, and there he was.

Dr. Spencer Reid stood beside your table, his gaze soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding or rescuing you from an evening gone wrong.

“Hi,” you said, your voice small. It felt like the only appropriate response, though you weren’t sure what else to say.

Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight slightly as he glanced between you and the half-finished glass of water on the table. His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from you, the one that had remained untouched all evening. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, a telltale sign of nervousness.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

It was a ridiculous question, really. He was a profiler—of course, he could tell you weren’t okay. He had likely picked up on the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers fidgeted with the napkin on your lap, the disappointment etched in your expression. But still, he asked.

You exhaled, looking down at the table, at the small water rings left behind by your glass. “Honestly? No.”

Your voice was quieter now, tinged with frustration and hurt. You swallowed hard before forcing the words out.

“I got stood up.”

The moment you said it, you regretted it. Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. More humiliating.

Spencer’s first thought was How?

How could anyone stand you up? Someone as incredible as you? His mind immediately went into overdrive, analyzing every possible explanation. Maybe your date had an emergency. Maybe it was a terrible reason—one he wouldn’t accept regardless. But in the end, none of it mattered, because the fact remained: someone had willingly passed up the chance to spend time with you.

And that was incomprehensible to him.

If it were him? He would have been here fifteen minutes early. He would have memorized the menu ahead of time, making sure to pick something he thought you’d like so he could suggest it in conversation. He would have done everything in his power to make sure you knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to be here.

But it wasn’t him.

And as he stood there, trying to suppress the irrational wave of frustration at a person he didn’t even know, you were thinking something else entirely—how mortifying this was.

It was bad enough to be stood up. But to be seen by him—the one person you had been trying so hard to get out of your head? That was almost unbearable.

You had told yourself that going on a date would be good for you, that it would help get your mind off of him. The wonderful, brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who you worked beside every day, who you admired more than you cared to admit.

And yet, here he was.

Seeing you at your lowest.

“You…” Spencer started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat before trying again. “You don’t deserve that.”

The sheer sincerity in his voice made you look up at him, surprised. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t quite grasp them.

You forced out a weak chuckle. “Well, apparently my date thought otherwise.”

“It's still wrong.”

His voice was firm this time, leaving no room for argument.

Your heart stumbled over itself at the conviction in his tone.

Spencer shifted again, glancing at the chair across from you before meeting your eyes. “Can I… sit?”

Your breath caught for a split second.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding.

He pulled the chair out and sat down, setting his bag on the floor beside him. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, more tentative this time.

“Have you eaten yet?” Spencer asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You shook your head, still feeling a little awkward about the whole situation.

“Do you want to order something?” he asked shyly, his fingers toying with the edge of the menu. “They have this great pasta dish here.” He opened the menu and turned it toward you, pointing at one of the options.

You glanced at the menu, then back at him. “You’ve been here before?”

Spencer gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I, uh… yeah. I like coming here from time to time,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s close by, and they have good food.” He looked back down at the menu, as if trying to downplay the fact that he had just revealed something personal.

You found yourself smiling, the initial embarrassment of him seeing you alone fading into something warmer. It was such a Spencer thing—to have a go-to spot, a little place he frequented in the city’s chaos.

Before you could say anything else, the waitress returned, her expression noticeably brighter now that you were no longer sitting alone.

“Can I take your order?” she asked, her eyes flickering between the two of you.

Spencer hesitated, waiting for you to speak first. He wasn’t going to order if you weren’t.

“I’d like this pasta dish,” you said, pointing at the menu.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the way Spencer’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile—like he was pleased with your choice.

“I’ll take the same thing, thank you.” he said.

The waitress jotted it down, then collected the menus. Just before turning to leave, she shot Spencer a look.

“You shouldn’t make people wait like that,” she said before disappearing into the kitchen.

Your eyes widened slightly, and Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion before realization dawned on him.

“Oh—no, I wasn’t—” he started, turning to you quickly, his expression flustered. “She thinks I was the one who stood you up.”

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time that night. The sound was warm, genuine, and it made Spencer smile almost instinctively. He didn’t even realize he was doing it; it was just a reflex, like hearing something familiar and comforting.

You glanced at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. He didn’t have to do this—he didn’t have to walk in, sit with you, turn what had been an awful night into something… bearable. Maybe even good.

“Thank you,” you said softly, tapping your fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm. “You know… for sitting with me.”

Spencer’s gaze was already on you, observing you in that way only he could—like he was memorizing every detail. You met his eyes, feeling a little shy under the weight of his attention.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “I like spending time with you.”

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, pushing past the leftover humiliation of being stood up and settling into something warmer, something that made your breath catch.

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Because you liked spending time with him too. More than you probably should.

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, placing your plates in front of you with a satisfied nod. “Enjoy,” she said before heading off to another table.

Spencer adjusted his napkin, giving you a small, expectant look. “You know,” he said, “statistically speaking about 20% of first dates end in one person being stood up.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He hesitated, then winced slightly. “I… thought it might?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Spencer, you really have a way with words.”

Spencer grinned, nudging his plate slightly closer. “Maybe, but… if you think about it, those statistics also mean that 80% of the time, the date actually happens. So, technically, the odds are in your favor for the future.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “That’s if I decide to go on another date.”

Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second before composing himself. “You might,” he said carefully. “If the right person asked.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken.

You glanced up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “You’re not trying to set me up with someone, are you?”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it, looking slightly flustered. “No! No, I— I wouldn’t, um…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I just meant… someone better will ask. Someone who won’t stand you up.”

“Is this your way of asking me on a date, Dr. Reid?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you looked at him.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed completely thrown off. His fingers twitched near his napkin, and he suddenly found the salt shaker incredibly interesting. “I mean—uhm—I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat as he stared anywhere but at you.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Watching Spencer Reid—genius, profiler, and one of the most brilliant minds you knew—struggle to form a coherent sentence was both endearing and adorable.

Then, after a long pause, he finally looked up at you, his nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“…Aren’t we kind of on a date right now?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The biggest grin formed on your face, one you couldn’t hide even if you tried.

“I guess so,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling shy.

The butterflies in your stomach screamed, your nerves a tangled mess of excitement and disbelief.

A pause. Then, he shifted in his seat, his fingers pressing together as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind.

Finally, he did.

“I… I like you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I have for a while.”

Your breath hitched.

You had spent so much time trying to push your feelings for him away, convincing yourself they were one-sided. But now, hearing the words from his mouth—it was almost overwhelming.

“You do?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer nodded, eyes flickering between yours, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “I do.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I think I’ve liked you from the moment we met. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.”

You could’ve laughed at how ridiculous that sounded, at how blind he had been.

Instead, you reached across the table, hesitantly resting your hand over his. His fingers tensed for a brief second before relaxing under your touch.

“Spencer,” you murmured, looking at him with nothing but affection, “I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had momentarily stunned him. Then, a breathy chuckle left him, one of pure, unfiltered relief. “You have?”

You squeezed his hand gently. “I have.”

Spencer licked his lips, nodding to himself as if processing everything before smiling—really smiling. “Well, that’s… that’s good.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once more before pulling back, the warmth still lingering between you.

“Yeah,” you agreed, picking up your fork at last. “It really is.”

And just like that, the night that had started as a disaster became something else entirely—something perfect.

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whowrotethenote · 2 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any media posted. Credit to their respective owners.

I do not consent to any portion of my writing to be reproduced or used in any manner without expressed written permission of myself, with the exception for the use of brief quotations.

This story is completely fictional. With the exception of OCs, I do not own any characters in this story. The pictures posted are for the intention of face claims and imaginative purposes. The ideas, stories, scenarios, and characters you are about to read about are a mixture of my imagination, and inspiration from real life whether it be loosely based on people I know or public figures. By no means should you take anything a character thinks, says, or does, as my way of expressing my own interpersonal beliefs and thoughts. The characters are themselves and I am me. Two completely separate entities. I am not trying to promote any lifestyle, ideas, or agendas throughout the book. I am simply telling a story. If you cannot grasp that concept, do not read any further.

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building.

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see.

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music.

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop.

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me?

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state.

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent.

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber.

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison.

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time.

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer.

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks.

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running.

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short.

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him.

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me.

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position.

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move.

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited.

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening.

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him.

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy.

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose.

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi.

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake.

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out.

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him.

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!”

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower.

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about.

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response.

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands.

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking.

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath.

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short.

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass.

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove.

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again.

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently.

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop.

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear.

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move. Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips.

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening.

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him.

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air.

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me descend to.

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip.

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin.

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand.

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe.

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all.

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious.

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be.

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name.

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many.

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again.

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

banner credit: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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chancloud8 · 15 hours ago

Text

PART 12.

<< previous chapter || next chapter >>

series masterlist.

series summary: you and chan get matched up on a forum for people who suffer with insomnia and spent most of your sleepless nights texting each other. neither of you expected to fall in love..

pairing: bang chan x reader

tags: smau, written part, first time facetiming, FLUFF

a/n: it's a little short, about 0.9k, but its a smau after all ;) I hope you like it my darlings <3

The screen of your iPhone lits up as you wait for the outgoing facetime request to go through. The camera automatically turns on, showing you your flushed face and wild hair.

'Fuck,' you mutter, quickly dragging your fingers through your hair in attempt to fix it.

This is really happening.

Chris is about to see your face, hear your voice and you're about to see him.

You frown at your own reflection as you wait for him to accept the video call, wondering if you should have put on some make up or brushed your hair.

The screen goes black for a moment and all thoughts leave your mind when Chris comes into view.

'Holy shit,' you blurt out before you can help yourself. 'You’re not real.'

Chan blinks once, twice, and then he doubles over and laughs. It's a beautiful sound, even better than hearing it in all the skz code video's you watched, and you can't help but giggle along with him.

'I'm sorry, but you just look way to beautiful for a sleep deprived person,' you tell him when you finally stop giggling.

Chan smiles and shakes his head, his ears turning red. 'Says you.'

'Mhm, I did,' you nod, grinning at him.

The next five seconds are silent as you just take a moment to look at each other. Chan is dressed in a white tank top and a black sweater vest that's sliding off of his broad shoulder. His hair is messy, but cute and his face is bare of any make up and just as pretty as all the pictures you've secretly saved on your phone.

Chan giggles again and hides his face behind his hands, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles yourself.

'Look at us,' you laugh. 'We can't even look at each other without giggling. What are we? School girls?'

'I blame sleep deprivation,' Chan smiles, shrugging his shoulders.

'Don't we always?'

‘Maybe, but it's easy.’

You laugh again and nod in agreement.

‘I was wrong about you though,’ Chan says, tilting his head as he watches you. ‘You’re not just gorgeous, you're beautiful, absolutely stunning.’

��Chan!’ You yell, ducking your head as your cheeks heat up. ‘Stop that.’

‘Why? It's the truth,’ he giggles, petting his red cheeks with his hands. ‘You deserve to know the truth.’

Your entire body feels warm by his compliment and you just know that your red cheeks match Chris'.

‘You’re on to talk,’ you say, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. ‘You’re the most beautiful man I've ever had the pleasure to talk to.’

Chris sputters and hides his face again.

‘I am not!’

‘Yes you are, have you seen you?’

‘I have, so I know it's not true. Do you see this nose?’ Chris frowns pointing at his face.

‘Yeah?’ You raise your eyebrows at him. ‘It's a very pretty nose.’

Chan groans and shakes his head, clearly not agreeing with you.

‘I have a million Stays who will back me up on this,’ you laugh. ‘You better start believing it.’

Chan pouts and it's so cute that you can't help but giggle again.

‘You’re way cuter than I am,’ he says, a smile already back on your face.

‘Nu-uh, we're not going to do this back and forth thing, cause we'll be here forever and it's too sappy.’

Chan’s about to reply when someone seems to walk into his room. His head snaps to the side and he frowns, shaking his head. A male voice is speaking rapidly in Korean and when Chan stands up and leaves the screen, all you can do is wait and wonder.

There's yelling, the slam of a door and then Chan is back into view. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.

‘What was that all about?’ You ask him curiously. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Uhm, yeah, that was just my roommate being nosy.’

His roommate, meaning Yang Jeongin.

‘That was Jeongin?’ You grin. ‘Why did it sound like you kicked him out of your room?’

Chan clears his throat and rubs his neck again, his lips puckering like he's debating what to tell you.

‘You did, didn't you?’ You chuckle. ‘Scared I'll ask for his number next?’

Chan rolls his eyes and drops his hand into his lap. ‘No, I'm just–’ he falls quiet and bites his lip. ‘I just want to keep you to myself for a bit.’

Your eyes widen and your jaw nearly drops open and his confession.

‘I mean, just until we've had our date,’ Chan continues before you can speak up, his ears turning red. ‘I just got you back, I don't want them to scare you off again.’

‘Okay,’ you smile gently at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Chan lets out a breath of relief and smiles back.

‘I can't believe THE Christopher Bangh is being selfish right now,’ you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him. ‘All because of me.’

‘All because of you,’ Chan agrees, letting out another giggle. ‘Hasn’t everyone been telling me to be more selfish? I guess all it took was for me to meet you.’

‘I’m flattered,’ you smile, placing your hand on your heart to show him how much you mean those words. ‘Seems like we can be thankful for our insomnia after all.’

Chan makes a face and the both of you laugh again.

The sound of both of your giggles does something to you, it makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and you just know that you will never get enough of whatever it is that Chan is making you feel.

a/n: Ugghh they're so cute!! I hope you liked it! <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

#skz smau #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan smau #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #bang chan fluff #skz fake texts #stray kids imagines #bang chan fake texts #skz x reader #bangchan fic #skz texts #chancloud8 writes

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tucsonhorse · 2 days ago

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I expect it comes from consumers. Have you heard of BetterHealth? (I think that's the right name) It's a text based "therapy app" which consumers pay for themselves but is much less costly than traditional therapy and the sort of thing people are more able/willing to carve out of their tight budgets to pay for.

Similarly there are places like Minute Clinics that are chains or independent clinics that do things like charge a flat fee of $50 for an office visit and take walk-ins but have much more limited services than a standard clinic and don't accept insurance, it's all out of pocket. Many of those offer options like $100 a month for unlimited visits, which for many people is far more affordable than health insurance

I suspect corporations want to essentially combine these two ideas. Create something like "pay $50 to talk to an AI 'doctor' over an app and get an antibiotic prescription in minutes". It's cheaper than a real doctor visit and since it's AI they can theoretically talk to as many patients as they want at a time so people don't have to wait for an appointment or find time to get across town to the clinic/hope the doctor will do a virtual visit. If they don't take insurance and don't need a physical location, or to pay actual human doctors competitively, that cuts out a lot of the overhead costs and could make significant profits.

We’re balling? It’s about to be the golden age of prescription drug abuse.

#I used to work in insurance billing for a healthcare company #it's horrifying how much money medical providers end up wasting to convince insurance companies to pay #one of the reasons I support single payer healthcare/medicare for all is because of how much less money providers will need to spend on #just plain trying to get paid

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deesseshesca · 1 day ago

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PAC: What’s the key energy I need to channel to make my dreams a reality? (18+)

My name is Bella ... Bella Hadid

PERSONAL READING (SALE) (LINK)

FIRE TO THE MOON

FUTURE LOVE + SEX DOUALA = 40$ (2for1)

DOWN TO MY CORE

CHARACTER UPDAPTE + LORE DUMP = 40$ (2for1)

PILE 1

Your spirit guides have a message for you … are u ready ? Is something huge … ‘’KEEP THEM IN THE MOTHERFUCKING PAST’’. Damm babe, I know violence aint it but I think it is time for you to keep the door of your past closed. You must have repeatedly opened them for all your spiritual team to be this enraged.

Mind of matter. Lol … Repeat after me: MIND OVER MATTER. MIND OVER MATTER. MIND OVER MATTER. You need to stop letting your emotions get the best of you and nah I am not only talking to the crash out girly. Yeah … you also cinnamon girls, yeah you are bolting up everything acting like you are mysterious but really you are this calm in public because you are planning the downfall of your 5th grade enemies the whole time Miss is about to graduate uni. Now crash out, I did not forget about (I mean how can I forget about y’all …). Out here complain about not being able to work with fake ass bitches … well news flash the world is fake and that's for sure not stopping me from getting paid. The reality is that professionalism needs to win no matter what. Yeah even when the person is bluntly racist, homophobic or rude. I could spit you the ‘’ yeah they don't like themselves that's why they hate so much’’ but in reality who gives a damm. Bitch you wanna be paid or nah. Yeah being disrespected is hard but being broke is HARDER. So pick one, QUICK ! Don't get me wrong I’m not telling y’all to let them walk all over u or becoming people pleaser but it is time for you to learn how to clock someone tea with class. The cooperation world is not the baddies show, it is all about being able to check someone like a real housewives. You go ahead and learn because you have too much potential to let these hating ass hoes take the best of you. Now back to my no emotion/avoidant/claim to be numb but care more than anybody in the world, you need to let go. What you fail to understand is when you don't let go and old grudges you are bringing this disgusting energy everywhere. In the spiritual world there's door you will never enter because you are obsess about bring that fucking baggage with you. I know you, you know, they don't care. That does not mean you are going to forget but ain't you embarrassed to spend so much time plotting on someone you dislike that much. You be claiming you have opp and people praying on your downfall whole time you are the one obsessed with someone from your fucking childhood. Now who's the real loser. Hey babe, (I am holding your hand through the screen), believe me, I believe you. That person deserve the worst and nothing good for the fuck up shit they did to you. I am only worried about your purpose being wasted holding grudges on someone that's definitely not worth it.

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PILE 2

Go ahead … nah that’s literally your message … GO AHEAD. You are on tumblr scrolling for messages like your spiritual team ain't give a million signs. Like you did not do a vision board in January, like you ain't confident on what you can manifest and what you deserve but yet here you are waiting for someone to tell you ‘’go’’. Here I am, in all my glory and ultimate power given by the divine : GO AHEAD. Show the world everything that you have in you. You know the plan, you already went over it. It has been years that you were working in the betterment of yourself in private. You did a social media detox, cut all the toxic people, fix your alimentation and work on your mental health. Bravo Babe ! Now go ahead and pop your shit and anybody that tries you, you better make them regret. You did not go through hell and back for a random Karen to take your spark away. You better defend this beautiful person that you became like the past version of you (or inner child) was supposed to be protected. You got this babe. GO SHINE SUPERSTAR !

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PILE 3

FEEL. You are someone who used to be very talented in maybe drawing or playing an instrument. You are sitting complaining about how unoriginal you are. Reminiscing about a time where everyone applauded your creative genius. Now you have more skills and knowledge yet you can't achieve the same amount of success. Some of y’all are architecture students, you always dream of doing it. You love it , yet it does not feel fulfilling. Now babe you are grown and you have been jaded by life or you killed your inner child trying to be an adult. Don't worry it all happens to the best of us. Good news I have the perfect medicine, let your heart speak in your art/work. You are on the right path, you are just not connected to it in a spiritual sense that's it. Which makes the whole journey a burden instead of an adventure which translates in your art/work showing that is good but never great enough. Because every touch you make as a creator seems like you accomplish a task instead of diving into your passion.

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PILE 4

You good pile 4. You found the key (the lessons) and went through the door ( you are in the process of receiving your manifestation). There's a reality you have to accept in life which is you can’t jump levels. This reality does not please you but good news is not going to last forever. One day this moment is going to be a memory of the past. Instead of hating, let's enjoy what you have ahead of you. While having 100% faith, that in a way or another, your dream reality is happening is just a matter of when.

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PAC AUDIO : WHAT KIND OF LOVER ARE U BECOMING ?

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lunaswicked · 2 days ago

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Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—

Click. Thud.

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.

Roman Reigns.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.

“He left.”

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.

“Up. Now.”

A command. Not a request.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.

Then, he stopped behind you.

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear.

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching—as your body reacted to his every move.

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.

“Damn right, sweetheart.”

#smut #fanfic #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #tribal chief #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction

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mixingandmelting · 1 day ago

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If it's not a bother for you, can you please write batfam (including Bruce) and superfam getting jealous when reader subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Thank you!!!

A/N: Hello Anon! Sorry that this was sitting in my drafts for so long... 😔 I wasn't sure if you were meaning literally everyone in both families (batboys, batgirls, Jace Fox, supergirls, superboys, etc.) which would've made this post even longer and taken more time... If there are characters not written here you specifically would like, let me know

BATFAM FEAT:

Bruce:

Everything he does is subtle. The stiffness in his muscles, the tick in his jaw. All you did was mention how the way he readjusted his Rolex around his wrist reminded you of your ex. But since when did the things he did remind you of the other guy?

“Must be a thing.” He chuckles, the grip around on his mug tightening as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Bits and pieces of his control over his emotions continue to chip off. There’s irritation building up from sensing nostalgia in your voice when he casually asks about your ex. Under the pretext of curiosity, of course. A scowl set on his face hidden behind a newspaper without him knowing he’s making one. It’s to the point where he fails to school his expression on time when you push down the newspaper. For a moment you stare at him, shock and awe meeting cold and stormy.

“Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne… is jealous?”

His eyes widen for a second. To think he was that jealous to where he couldn’t keep up a facade…

He frowns when your lips curl up into a grin. Let’s just say the two of you made up real quickly afterwards when he suddenly pulls your wrist towards him.

Jason:

Sure, people can be reminded of their ex but come on. He reminded you of yours over how he shakes his hair out after taking off his helmet? That’s way too oddly specific.

“From what? Riding a street bike?” He snorts, placing his helmet on the bench next to him with a thud from restrained strength.

His mind knows there’s nothing to think too hard about; your ex is an ex and he’s currently yours. But clearly his heart doesn’t, churning and coiling with awful emotions he’s all too familiar with. He goes to grab a rag and wrench for “extra maintenance” when it’s actually him finding it hard to keep himself cool-headed if he doesn’t keep himself busy.

“Jason? Jason. Look at me. It’s not what you’re thinking of.” The only indication that he’s listening is the glance he tosses over his shoulder, still unamused and an eyebrow raised.

“I-,” The eyebrow raises higher from your sigh, “You just do it so naturally and still manage to make it attractive, okay? My ex had to try, forcing a Justin Bieber’s hair flip. That’s all.”

He gets you to break into laughter when he grabs you by the waist and cuddles you, grumbling how you should’ve said so from the start.

Tim:

His fingers hover over the keys for a second. Then he goes back typing. Nothing is amiss albeit the sounds of the mouse and keyboard clicking a tiny bit louder. He’s not bothered. Nope. Even if it was over how he cracked open his can of energy drink with a single hand, he’s not overthinking it whatsoever.

“Yeah?”

His voice stays steady, masking his questions as curiosity while in a small corner of the monitor, he’s pulling up and scrolling through the file on your ex. Net worth? Minimal. Job? Mediocre. There’s nothing about your ex sharing this habit or any other habits with him. But he considers that his fault, having brushed the other as unnoteworthy (which he does with anyone who breaks your heart). He can feel annoyance bubbling inside of him from your reminiscence with the other and his inability to pass it off as a simple talk about exes. Wait. Was this why? Because of the one time he mentioned about his past relationships?

“...Tim? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? No.”

He flushes when he catches your unimpressed expression on the reflection of the screen. Instantly, he’s turned around, surprised to comforted when you start showering him with affection. Later on, he gives in and quit trying to get back at your ex for hurting you.

Minkhoa Khan/"Ghost-Maker":

Many had purposely brought up their exes to him before, trying to poke him for attention or gauge for a reaction. And most often he’d smirk and indulge them, finding the action as “cute”.

But right now, his lips are set into a straight line. Constantly swirling the champagne in his flute rather than drinking it down.

“Oh, I reminded you of your ex?”

Lacking the feeling for empathy or fear, he’s never had found himself feeling jealous especially over an old flame of his partner. Right now? His mind is filled with irrationality and possessiveness. More than peeved for such a small thing to trigger an unneeded memory.

He’s not one to usually filter or hold back on his opinion. However, currently, there’s twice as much sass and bluntness as he shares his thoughts on the other in response to how fond you sounded when talking about your ex’s shared habit with him where your eyes widen from how out of character he was behaving.

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous!”

He refuses to give you the satisfaction, choosing to stay quiet and finish his glass. But when you don’t stop gloating, his hand slowly makes its way towards your shoulder to have you stop in a more… efficient way.

SUPERFAM FEAT:

Clark Kent:

“O-oh, really? I didn’t know your ex wore glasses…”

It’s bothering him so much. He doesn’t like it that your ex does the same thing as him with the whole pushing up glasses if they were to slide down ever so slightly. It goes from him clasping his hands in his lap to resting them on his thighs in fists. More from him trying to stop said habit than anything else.

Frustration and restlessness is how he gets, shuffling every few seconds so he’d at least feel comfortable on the bench he shares with you. His smile more awkward and his voice more strained. He wants to be the good boyfriend that would support you in every way: emotionally, mentally, and physically. So he tries to stay empathetic but his response stays as half-hearted caused by the ugly emotion coursing in his heart and brain.

“Clark…? You’re not possibly jealous, are you?”

Instantly flusters, cheeks matching his Superman suit while he denies that he is.

“No! I’m not jealous whatsoever!” He tries to endure your stare, only to sigh and wave the white flag. “Yeah…. I actually am.”

He lets out a grunt when you wrap your arms around him, finally breaking into a smile when you call him a silly man and that you’re stuck to him with superglue.

Conner Kent:

He stops and turns towards you, an eyebrow cocked up.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. This?” He flicks up the collar of his leather jacket in front you. “Is a Superboy signature move originating from yours truly.”

So obviously your ex was copying him. Not similar or “doing the same thing”. But apparently, you beg to differ. He keeps brushing his hair back and fiddle with his shades, trying to suppress his irk of you continuing to push that he is similar to the other. Huffing at every point you make and rolling his eyes.

He just doesn’t get it. Why he’s feeling this way and why he can’t act like normal. It’s not his first time hearing something like this from others, taking it in stride and joking how he’s that amazing that everyone wants to be him. But That’s not what’s happening right now. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, toying with a can near his foot.

“You’re jealous.”

“No???”

Jealous? Him? No. No way. He’s Superboy, why would he be jealous? Despite his denial, his face starts to resemble his pants as you accurately guess what was running through his mind. At least part of his dignity gets restored when you kiss his cheek, calling him cute to which he cheekily replies with a duh.

Kong Kenan:

The baseball lands into his hand with a satisfying plot while he’s looking at you with a confused gaze.

“Me tossing baseballs… reminds you of your ex…” He’s careful and slowly enunciating each word, making sure he didn’t (more like he hopes) misheard you.

He goes back tossing the baseball with pursed lips and blowing air through his nose. It’s only concern. Worry. There’s nothing that he and your ex share in common. So he’d think you wouldn’t stretch it that far about getting reminded over something mundane as tossing a baseball.

His tosses get harder, his eyes straining from keeping them trained on the ball. He makes an effort to at least voice out that he gets it, quite literally saying exactly that as he proceeds to explain why you’re wrong E.g., he’s smarter. He’s skilled. He’s Superman-

“Kenan, you know you’re jealous. Right?”

He startles, snapping his head towards you.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying-”

Trust for it to happen as soon as he takes his eyes off, the baseball would come falling on his head. Coiling over, he yelps then scowls with tinted cheeks. At least you comfort him in the midst of your laughter, rubbing circles on his back which releases the tension in him as you promise you have no intentions of leaving him.

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weirdblkgrl · 2 days ago

Text

MODERN AU! SEVIKA HEADCANONS

cw: none i think. just fluff

an: please forgive me if this is trash, this is my first post. also this is barely proofread sorry :p. also here's my modern!sevika moodboard

modern!sevika who’s love language is physical touch. she’s not great with her words like… at all. she loves to wrap her strong arms around your waist and bury her face in her neck while you’re cooking or cling onto you while she's sleeping. she won’t tell you she loves you, but she’ll tell you in other ways.

soft giggles escape your lips. “what are you doing?” you question, as sevika holds you down on the couch. she peppers slow, soft, wet kisses in a trail from your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck. “what, i’m not allowed to kiss my girl anymore?” she replies, a cheeky smile on her face.

modern!sevika who loves to watch cheesy rom-coms with her girl. whether it’s a k-drama or an old movie, she’s pretty much down to watch anything. not only does she watch it, but she’s invested in it. she’s definitely slammed her cup on the coffee table too hard, and a bit too many times. she can’t help it, how else is she supposed to react to such a riveting plot?

sevika watches the tv screen intently, eyebrows furrowed. “wait. the head nurse is her mom? and her mom killed his mom?! what the hell?!” you can’t help but laugh and feel amused seeing her so into the show.

(any its okay not to be okay fans? :p)

modern!sevika who is actually super sweet, but only extends that curtesy to her girlfriend. i mean, let’s be real, she has the meanest rbf you have ever seen and she’s the most romantic person, to say the least. but if there’s anything she knows how to do, is take care of what’s hers.

you can’t help but plop onto your bed and let out an exasperated sigh after the day you’ve had. long meetings, a heap ton of work, and constantly complaining bosses has finally taken its toll on you. you curl up on your bed, stray tears falling from your watery eyes and soft sniffles escaping you. you were so lost in your thoughts, that you didn’t even notice sevika had arrived home. it wasn’t until you felt a dip in the bed behind you, that your cries had paused.

“what’s wrong?” you hear behind you, in a low gravelly voice as the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood settle in the air. “just…work.” you respond weakly. she hums as she wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you closer. she leaves a gentle kiss on your shoulder. "need something?"

she’ll do whatever you need her to do. she’ll go out and get food, or cook your favorite meal. she cuddle you on the couch, and let you put whatever you want on the tv. all that matters is that her girl feels better, and when she finally gets a smile out of you, she can’t help but emulate it, tooth gap and all.

modern!sevika who can speak fluent hindi. she doesn’t speak it often, but she might mumble something under breath subconsciously since it was her first language. she finds it absolutely adorable when you try to repeat after her and totally butcher the pronunciation. she appreciates the effort. you’ve also picked up a couple phrases she says often, responding in english to whatever it is she said.

not only do you try to speak her language, but she’ll try to speak any other language you do, too. despite her confident demeanor though, she gets shy, so she'll just respond in english as well.

“tengo hambre,” you groan. she scoffs, though it’s more like a laugh. “go make yourself something to eat then.” a childish pout quickly forms on your face as give her a mean side eye. sevika rolls her eyes, knowing you’re too lazy to go cook yourself a proper meal. she’ll give in, not wanting you to be hungry. “next time you’re doing this yourself,” she’ll grumble.

(obviously if not spanish whatever other language you speak)

modern!sevika who's undeniably and astonishingly good with people. it makes sense, since she is a corporate manager for a large finance company. when your friends first meet her, everyone was, understandably, intimidated. but they were surprised to find she’s actually… charming. it's easy to have a conversation with her, but only if she wants to have one. she'll make it known if she doesn't.

a small smile finds its way onto your face as you leave your friend's event. "what?" sevika asks, confused, but amused nonetheless. "nothing... just... that went better than expected." she raises an eyebrow. "what? what'd you think was gonna happen?" she asks, skeptically. "to be honest, i'm not sure, but i didn't know you were so... personable." you give her a suspicious look, "have you been hiding this skill from me?" she rolls her eyes. "dont be an idiot. how'd you think i got you head over heels for me?" she says, as she smiles cockily.

ahh she's my fave i hope you liked it :D

#arcane #sevika x reader #sevika #arcane season 2 #league of legends #x reader

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7-deadly-cats · 3 days ago

Text

killing me softly (part one)

part two (soon)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, very indirect subtle mention of sexual activities (no actual scenes), mention of drug usage (no actual scene)

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him.

word count: 2144

a/n: i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt like it now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any smut in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. and kelce's last name is statter bc apparently it was never mentioned in the show. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be little freaks) <3

*****

Fuck my life.

That was the only thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week art project. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him. You didn’t even know why he'd chosen this class. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA. Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe Cameron made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/N, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice. You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, like he was waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Okay, then let’s meet after the fifth period." Before you could ask where you should meet him, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach.

You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant—he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statton was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that was what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to know why he was the way he was.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him. But he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems at right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

----

The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe Cameron? Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out—only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious meeting place, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong, freshly showered—boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining why you were standing there if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t. Great.

When Rafe saw you, something flickered in his gaze that you didn’t want to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you—with Kelce and Topper right behind him.

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "I didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

Blushing, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Right," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment. G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though. The faster we get this project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/N Y/L/N, right? Your mom owns Y/L/N Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just laughed.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t blush. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a pretty model."

Your cheeks warmed, and either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to comment on it.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You allowed yourself a small smirk.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a tired smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate? It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The cafeteria has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny? Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who… uh…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„No, no, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave. You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, warm, which somehow made it worse because it only made you more nervous.

„No, no, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „I guess I need to work out more if I’m giving off ‘fries guy’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming—in the best way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

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heeikeuu · 1 day ago

Text

── .✦ ENHYPEN DRABBLE; When You Play Love&DeepSpace

۶ৎ featuring – enha x fem!reader

۶ৎ genre – fluff, romance, slice of life

note: hai people, I'm new to writing fanfics, but I hope you enjoy this <3

HEESEUNG ᝰ.ᐟ

You were lying in bed giggling at your phone while your boyfriend was gaming. "Nightly Rendezvous" banner teasers just dropped, and u were watching them with the volume a little too high that heeseung heard and got curious. He sneakily decided to check out the commotion. His eyes were wide, and jaw dropped. "Baby, what are you doing?" He asked, making u flinch in surprise, "Jesus christ, seungie, you scared my soul off my body." Upon seeing how red your face got your boyfriend smirked, suddenly you're trapped in the bed with his hands on either side of your head. Looking up at him like a deer caught in headlight, "I didn't know u were into stuff like this?" The question really was rhetorical but you just sheepishly smiled at him and grabbed your phone, "he reminds me of u a lot" you showed him Rafayel, your boyfriend is taken aback at first but soon shakes his head and giggles at you. "At least now I know what you do when you miss me." You lightly slapped his arm before giving him a peck on the lips, not really disagreeing with his statement.

JUNGWON ᝰ.ᐟ

Jungwon was lying beside you in bed. Both of you on your phones and just enjoying each other's presence after a long hectic day at work. You were busy trying to pull for Xavier's limited myth after saving up for a long time that you didn't realize your boyfriend got bored of his phone eventually and was watching you instead. Suddenly, your boyfriend spoke, "Which cards you aiming for?" Looking up from your phone, you notice his eyes on you and smile softly, "I want to get Xavier's limited myth, Lumiere is so hot" your boyfriend blinked at you for a few seconds before giggling, "not more than me though, right?" He asked teasingly while poking your arm, but you definitely caught on to the double meaning. "Of course not, wonie, nobody is hotter than you, silly." You stated as a matter of fact while looking at him through your lashes, "y-yeah" stumbling on his words a little he smiles sheepishly and pulls you closer with his head on your shoulders, landing a small kiss there, "don't mind me."

JAY ᝰ.ᐟ

Jay was in his office. It was break time, and he opened his phone to see what his fiance was doing. He noticed her newest post update saying she really wanted to collect new outfits for her mc, shaking his head lightly and smiling. Being the gentleman he is, he sent her money to buy that outfit and more, whatever her heart pleased. He loved spoiling her rotten, and he was well aware of that and didn't mind. You heard your phone ding while doing your makeup, you eyes widened seeing what your boyfriend texted, "I noticed you wanted new outfits for your mc so here's some money to get whatever you want, darling ❤️" with $500 sent to your account. You quickly texted him back, thanking him and saying he really didn't have to. A call interrupted your thoughts. It was your fiance, picking it up quickly. "Hi darling, just wanted to let you know that I will be heading home a little late today due to an emergency meeting so please make sure to eat well and don't stay up too late waiting for me." You hummed in agreement, "I need words, darling" blushing at his words, "okay, I promise." "Good, also make sure to show me your cute mc outfits later." Smiling to yourself at his thoughtfulness, you agreed, and the call ended. Kicking your feet and rolling in bed like a maniac, you thanked your lucky stars for giving you a real life Zayne.

JAKE ᝰ.ᐟ

Jake just came home from practice, hearing your fast footsteps after yelling, "Baby, I'm home." He smiled warmly, seeing you run into his arms. "I miss you, baby, and I have so much to talk to you about!" You exclaimed excited. Holding you up with one arm, he smiled back at you. You were his little fluff ball of energy. He already knew you were going to talk his ear off about Sylus later, but he didn't mind at all because he loved seeing how you got all nerdy about your interests. After taking a shower and eating dinner together, he sat on the couch with her in his arms as she started explaining the whole lore to him with a PowerPoint ready on her ipad. Giggling at how cute she is being. She let out a sigh "jakey are you listening? This is super important!" You stressed, and your boyfriend looked at you sweetly, "I'm listening, baby. Please continue. What happened next?" He always matched your energy, and you loved this about him. No matter how tired he was, he was never too tired to listen to his girl yap about whatever for hours.

SUNGHOON ᝰ.ᐟ

You were scrolling through tiktok during your break until you stumbled upon an edit of zayne with enha's song. Letting out a gasp, you excitedly sent the link to your husband while giggling. The familiar sound of your notifications filled the quiet office room. Already knowing its sunghoon, you smiled and opened the chat. "I see you're having fun, but I'm here suffering missing my pretty girl," you mentally face palmed at his cute antics. Deciding to tease him a bit, you responded, "Can't a girl have two husbands?" And the next lines of texts of him went like "oh my god. My wife hates me. She wants me to die. Goodbye, world." Chucking at his dramatic behavior, you decided to call him. He picked up almost immediately, "Hi Zaynie~" you chimed in a teasing tone, you heard your husband sigh, "hello to you too wifey, now would you please mind finishing your work early because your husband is going to die waiting for you at home." You always loved how dramatic and cute sunghoon was, people often thought he was cold at first but to you he was a grade S soap opera actor, and you wouldn't trade the world for him. You always told him that and whenever he asked, "What about Zayne then?" You jokingly told him,"know your limits." But deep down, you were grateful your man always supported your interests despite acting sulky at times.

SUNOO ᝰ.ᐟ

You were laser focused on trying to win kitty cards against Caleb that you didn't notice your boyfriend was calling for you from the bathroom. It was nighttime, and usually time for your skin care routine together. "Princess, can you hear me?" He asked worriedly. He came into view with a face mask and his arms crossed. "What's so important it has your mind preoccupied like this?" He questioned, but you quickly brushed him off saying "wait I'm trying to beat caleb in kitty cards, and he's driving me crazy!! He keeps freezing me and stealing my points!" Your frustrated tone made sunoo chuckle before coming closer and taking your phone away, gasping you look up, "sunoo please baby just this one round," "You said that like 2 rounds ago, baby, come on, it's time to take your makeup off. I promise after we can beat him up together." Puffing your cheeks, you agreed. "Okay, but since you're better at kitty cards, you better win all!" You pointed your finger at your boyfriend who took your hand and kissed it softly, humming in agreement. Smiling at him while you both went to finish your night routine.

RIKI ᝰ.ᐟ

Sitting on riki's lap, you let out sighs making sure your boyfriend could hear you. Riki glanced down at you from the TV, "what's wrong, you big baby?" You were having a hard time passing the open orbit battles and started getting extra frustrated. "Ki, I can't seem to pass this level no matter what I do!" You expressed, "here, let me try, angel." He sweetly offered, and you let him help. You watch him intently choose the cards and weapons, and start the battle. Your heartbeat spiking as you watched the timer count to 10, and the wanderer's HP was like 3 hits away from victory, which is where you kept failing. "Fucking bitch" you heard your boyfriend mutter under his breath and you closed your eyes dramatically scared of losing, "LET'S GOOO" you suddenly heard him say, opening your eyes, you saw the screen flash "victory" and you jumps his bones while thanking him all giddy, "fear not baby, no matter how hard the boss battle is, nishimura will always prevail" he says proudly making u giggle at his silliness, "of course, baby" you kiss his cheek and returned to your game but noticed through your peripheral vision him blushing with a smile he failed to hide.

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lizard-ratt · 1 day ago

Text

NOTE: this is all steam of consciousness, minimal editing and proof reading, not to be taken seriously. Cool, thanks, enjoy.

WC: 2,288

Steve, in all honesty, should have seen this coming. Really, it was staring him right in the face, if he was just brave enough or smart enough to figure it out.

Eddie Munson was his soulmate.

Since he was young, his parents held a particular distaste for his soulmates. Soulmates, plural. Having read every last word scrawled across his skin, they decided the two people he was bound to for eternity were everything they stood against.

For years, they told him that he was to avoid his soulmates at all costs. “They’re just not right for you,” they said. “We’re just looking out for you.” Then they had nothing to say about them at all, too busy with their business trips to France, Germany, Costa Rica, and wherever else they went to.

Steve decided everything they taught him was bullshit anyway.

He met his first soulmate on accident. Robin Buckley. Assigned to a group project with her in Mrs. Click’s class, he couldn’t get a single word out before she just started to talk. He recognized the words immediately. Could’ve recited them in his sleep.

He glanced down at his watch and waited.

Eventually she petered out and the finished the essay tattooed across his chest. He glanced down at his watch again, ran the numbers and spoke.

“Three minutes and forty-two seconds. Impressive.”

Robin’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “No. No way.”

“I’m sorry, do you need more proof. Perhaps the three page thesis you tattooed across my chest?” Snark came naturally. Probably for the best that he wasn’t on his best behavior. Cause then he’d be lying to his soulmate. Robin needed to know her soulmate was a bitch. Cause he was a bitch.

Robin snorted, but it came out a bit forced. “Thesis, big word for you.”

“You’re avoiding the point,” he prodded.

“I need to process.” Steve could understand that. He accepted it with grace and they moved on to their assignment.

Robin, as Steve found out quickly, was fun. Bitchy in the way Steve was bitchy. They traded barbs and poked and prodded at each other like they’d been doing it their whole lives. Neither of them mentioned the whole soulmate thing.

By Robin’s request, they kept their friendship quiet, for the most part. He was well known and brought a lot of attention wherever he went, and Carol and Tommy probably wouldn’t take too kindly to Steve hanging out with a Band Nerd. That was fine with him. In his opinion, they weren’t good enough for Robin anyway.

One month into their friendship, Robin told Steve that she wasn’t ever going to be interested in him romantically. Told him about Tammy Thompson.

It didn’t shock him as much as it probably should have. It wasn’t like he knew, but it just felt right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Robin wasn’t meant to be his romantic with him. Platonic Soulmates.

“Tammy Thompson’s great and all but she’s a total dud,” he told her.

“She is not!”

“She is! She wants to be a singer. She wants to move to Nashville and shit.”

“She has dreams!”

“She can’t even hold a tune!”

The relief is pouring off of Robin in waves, thick in the air, practically a physical sensation. Robin had looked so scared, like Steve could ever not want Robin in his life.

Later, after they sang Total Eclipse of the Heart together, Robin told him about her other soulmate. Said that she had another one. A simple two words scrawled on her wrist. Robin, right?

“I’ll show you my other soul mark later,” he promised her, in response. “I don’t really feel like taking off my shirt right now.”

About two months into their friendship, Steve showed Robin his other soumark. Lounging in his backyard, he took of his shirt and showed her. First, the giant block of text across his front, her words etched permanently on his skin. Then, he turned around and showed her his back, the other three page thesis tattooed to his body permanently.

“…. Oh. Oh no.”

Steve appreciated the real effort she put into not laughing. It lasted a whole ten seconds before the dam burst and she was in tears.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.”

“You are so unlucky!” She got in between wheezes of laughter. “You don’t have any torso left!”

“You think I don’t know this?”

She quieted down, before the laughter started up again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just imagined little baby Steve covered front to back with his soulmates’ first words to him.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a picture of myself somewhere…” he trailed off, forcing his grin off his face.

She zeroed in on Steve, like a shark smelling blood in the water. “I have to see it.”

“What’ll you give me for it?” He asked.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” she offered.

“You’re terrible at baking. Try again.”

“I’ll get my mom to make you a cake.” He considered it. Her mother was a fantastic baker.

“Better, but still no.”

“I’ll get Mom to bake you her secret brownies.” That one almost broke him. Those brownies had to have cocaine in them or something, because they were the best thing he’d ever placed on his tongue, but he knew he could still get something better from her.

“Better….”

“I’ll give you my family’s brownie recipe.”

“Sold!” He put on his best impression of an Auctioneer. “You bring me your mother’s Brownie recipe and I will hand over not one but two photos of me as a baby with my Soul Tattoos on display.”

They sealed it with a handshake.

For a few years after that, he didn’t think about soulmates.

He started to date Nancy Wheeler, despite not being each others’ soulmates. They worked, in Steve’s opinion. Then Barb vanished from his house, and he found out that Jonathan Byers took photos not only if the party but of Nancy getting undressed.

He probably should’ve felt guiltier about breaking his camera, but he just didn’t. He told Robin about it, though. She agreed with him that it was creepy, so it eased some of his concern.

Then later, he found Nancy and Jonathan in her bedroom and felt his heart plummet. He ran to Robin as quickly as possible and spent a little bit too long eating ice cream and listening to sad music while crying about how unfair life was, content to break up with Nancy and move on.

Tommy and Carol saw that as the coward’s way out and took it upon themselves to publicly shame Nancy Wheeler.

He ended up in a fist fight with Tommy (got his ass beat) and spent about thirty minutes cleaning off the spray paint from the Movie theater’s Marquee with Robin shouting encouragement.

They later went to apologize for Tommy and Carol’s behavior and all Hell broke loose. He and Robin, he decided, made a pretty good monster hunting team

Things kinda sped up after that.

He and Robin got all their information from Nancy and Jonathan who were, surprise, surprise, soulmates! (They swore up and down the wall that they didn’t do anything and planned to tell Steve, which he believed). They explained the alternate dimension and the monsters inside. A little girl with superpowers who sacrificed herself to kill the Demogorgon.

Steve and Robin went back to his house, laid down, and stayed there for a long time.

For a year, it was just those four. Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan. He didn’t talk to Tommy and Carol, and let his social standing slip away from him. The four of them fit together. They were jumpy and anxious and any flicker of the lights made them all stiffen, waiting for something Other to crawl from the walls.

It never did.

A year passed in a blur of anxiety and paranoia. He and Robin spent most of their time in each other’s back pockets, never too far from each other. Too worried that it wasn’t as over as everyone claimed.

Then, Jonathan and Nancy vanished with no warning. They had been shifty for a little bit prior to their sudden departure. Going quiet when certain topics came up, giving each other meaningful looks.

He and Robin went to the Wheeler house already positive they weren’t there.

They ran into Dustin Henderson instead.

If asked, later, what happened, exactly, he wouldn’t be able to tell you any specific details. Robin would be his go to whenever he had questions about everything, as she seemed to remember everything in high definition. What he did know is that he threw himself in front of a whole bunch of middle schoolers (and Robin) not once, not twice, but three times. In the process he got himself concussed and nearly mauled by a bunch of Demodogs, while wrapping himself around little Dustin Henderson.

After that, Dustin attached himself to Steve’s side like a barnacle and brought his friends (Lucas, Will, Mike, Max, and El) with him. Steve was okay with that.

He helped Dustin with his hair and gave him a ride to the Snow Ball. He gave the kids rides everywhere and hosted sleepovers and filled the silence with their noise. It settled something that Steve wasn’t even aware needed settling.

He graduated and when his parents didn’t show up, everyone else did. Nancy and Jonathan and the Party, and Mrs. Byers and Hopper. And Robin, playing with the band.

He didn’t make it into college, not that he tried all that hard. Officially, he got cut off, not that it mattered to him all that much. He saved up, stowing away cash whenever he could. Saving the Hush money, and allowance money, and lifeguard money. He was, for a while at least, fine. He still got a job, and Robin was right there with him, applying to Scoops Ahoy.

Dustin left before he could see their uniforms, and he expressed great disappointment in this. Steve promised him free ice cream for when he got back.

The Uniform was… ridiculous. They looked stupid and felt it, too. It got them money and kept them busy, and it was all fine. Even as he got covered in melted ice cream, and cleaned up kids vomit and got yelled at by kids parents, it was all fine because he had Robin.

The Party visited often, taking full advantage of his employee discount and the hall behind scoops that led direct to the theater. At least one of them thanked him each time (Will. Will never forgot his manners).

Then Dustin came home and shit hit the fan again.

Russian Code, hidden Bunker, child endangerment, and more!

More that he didn’t want to talk about let alone think about. More, like the questions, demanding he tell them what they wanted to hear. More, like the fists, like the broken bones and blood and pain. More, like the pleading, begging for mercy. Screaming. Crying. More, like everything that came after.

If Robin and him were inseparable before, they were practically conjoined twins after. After the mall blew sky high and Hopper died, and half of their group left to move to California. They had each other, and that would have to be enough.

Dustin Henderson first mentioned Eddie Munson about two days after his first day of Senior Year and already, Steve was regretting the fact that he still had most of his hearing on his right side. He was able to make his first joke about it, a few hours later. ("Do you think if I ask the Russian's nicely, they'll take away the rest of my hearing so I don't have to listen to Dustin's hero worship of Eddie Munson?") The look Robin gave him was a mixture of so many emotions, he nearly apologized before she burst out into hysterical laughter.

It didn't stop there. It only got louder and louder, the more Dustin got to know the guy.

From all the stories, it should have clicked in his mind, then, that the words tattooed across his back could come from none other than the 'Best Dungeon Master in Indiana'.

He first spoke to Eddie on a random Hellfire night, when he was picking up Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. In a near perfect repeat of the first words he traded with Robin, Eddie spoke before Steve could.

"If it isn't King Steve," he began. Steve stole a quick glance at his watch and he waited for the theatrical monologue to play out before him. Some things of note in the monologue included: scathing critiques of capitalism, scathing critiques of putting people into boxes, comments about the 'Little Sheep' that Eddie had taken under his wing and their supposed hero worship of Steve.

It was strange, listening to him talk. Like puzzle pieces falling into place. One of the first mysteries of Steve's life, and it was all coming together before him. Context finally provided for some, frankly, insane sentences.

Finally, Eddie wore himself out and stared at Steve expectantly. Steve stole a glance at his watch, did the metal calculations, and announced loudly, "You spoke at me for four minutes and two seconds. That is impressive."

Eddie's eyes bugged out of his skull, as did the other members of Hellfire that Steve could never remember the names of.

"There is no way..." one of them muttered. The one with the halo of curly hair in the flannel.

Steve turned and lifted his shirt to show the veritable wall of text tattooed to his back. Shoulder to shoulder, neck to hip, he was covered. He heard a sharp inhale of breath, before he dropped the shirt and turned back.

"Surprise?"

Steddie soulmate first words are fun and all but Eddie Munson will forever be a dramatic motherfucker, Steve has a full 3 page essay scrawled over his back about the dangers of capitalism and his dad hates it, you think Eddie would get the chance to speak to the Steve Harrington and wouldn't milk it for the most Shakespeare worthy performance you've ever seen in your goddamn life

Bonus points, Robin is his platonic soulmate and she'll ramble till the sun goes down so steve just has no space left on his body by the time those two are finished

#stranger things #steve harington #steddie #pre steddie #soulmate au #steddie soulmates #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #codependent stobin #stream of consciousness

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cherryxbooo · 3 days ago

Note

Helloooo hehe 🍒

Could you write a pedri fic where perdito and reader are both in college but he’s the popular kind and reader is quiet and almost invisible.

How at first she doesn’t wanna get involved but slowly warms up to him and start dating and her getting welcomed by his family.

Make it angst to fluff like real angst tho.

Whether you write this or not im grateful 💚

You make sense to me

Summary: Being introverted and choosing the background over the spotlight is already hard enough, let alone when the popular guy suddenly takes an interest in you.

Note: Thank you so much for your request! I decided to switch it up a bit and go from fluff to angst and obviously ending in fluff. Hope you like it! 🫶

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

University is a strange place.

It’s a world where people reinvent themselves, the loud get louder, and the quiet, like me, learn to live in the spaces between.

That’s how I’ve survived my first year at university, blending into the background.

I’m not a recluse, but I keep to myself.

I study, I go to class, I read in the corner of the library, and I go home.

No unnecessary interactions. No unnecessary attention.

That is, until he noticed me.

Pedri.

Everyone in our uni knows who he is. He’s that guy, the one with effortless charm, always surrounded by people.

Popular, not just because he’s good at football, but because he’s him. He moves through life with a kind of ease I can’t even imagine.

And yet, for some reason, he keeps looking at me.

I don’t get it. I don’t know what he sees.

At first, I ignore it. I convince myself I’m imagining things. But then, it happens again.

And again.

Until one day, he does more than just look.

It started off small.

"Hey," a voice says, casual but confident.

My highlighter sits on the page.

A thick streak of neon yellow bleeds over a sentence I was trying to mark, but my brain suddenly forgets how to function because someone is talking to me.

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

He’s already sitting beside me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A dark hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a grin that’s just a little too amused.

His presence feels loud, even though he’s not making any actual noise.

My first instinct? Escape.

My second? Stare.

I do both in rapid succession, my eyes flicking toward the exit, then warily back at him, as if assessing how much of a threat he poses.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care.

"...Hi?" I say, but it comes out more like a question than a greeting.

His grin widens, like this is completely normal.

Like we talk all the time.

“You’re in my psychology class, right?”

I blink at him. That’s what this is about?

I nod once, not trusting my voice, because I don’t know why he’s here, or what he wants, and I hate not knowing things.

He leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

His dark eyes scan the open book in front of me, then flick back up to my face.

“You’re quiet.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. No shit.

I don’t reply.

I just wait. People like him, people who talk first and think later, usually get bored when they don’t get the response they want.

Any second now, he’ll lose interest. Any second now—

"Like, really quiet," he continues, undeterred.

His chin rests on his palm, elbow propped on the table, as if he’s studying me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a full sentence.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Or groan. Or bang my head against the table.

Instead, I press my lips together and attempt to salvage my poor, over-highlighted page.

"Maybe because I don’t have anything to say."

He chuckles, low and warm, like I’ve just told some inside joke we both share.

Except we don’t.

“I don’t buy that,” he says.

I glance at him again, this time with actual irritation.

"Why do you care?"

His shoulders lift in an easy shrug, like he hasn’t even considered the question before.

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.”

I actually laugh. A small, startled sound that slips out before I can stop it.

Not because he’s right, but because that has to be the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

"I’m not interesting," I say, shaking my head.

"You just don’t know me well enough to be bored yet."

His smirk deepens. "See? That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile."

I roll my eyes and refocus on my book.

"Congratulations. You’ve unlocked a new achievement."

He leans forward slightly, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. "So you can be sarcastic. Good to know."

I bite back another sigh. He’s not leaving. He’s settling in.

For a moment, I consider my options.

I could:

A) Ignore him until he gets the hint. B) Pack up my stuff and relocate to another part of the library. C) Say something so cold and blunt that he’ll regret ever sitting here.

I’m still debating when he speaks again.

"You always sit here," he muses.

I glance at him. "What?"

"In the library. Right here. This exact table." He tilts his head, thinking.

"You come in, you pull out your books, you highlight the hell out of your pages, and you don’t talk to anyone."

I stare at him, my pulse kicking up a notch.

"Have you been watching me?"

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. "More like... noticing."

"That’s the same thing."

"Not really," he counters, that lazy smirk still in place.

"Watching is weird. Noticing is just, paying attention."

I frown, my grip tightening on my highlighter.

"Why are you paying attention to me?"

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t know. Maybe I like mysteries."

I scoff. "I’m not a mystery."

"Debatable."

I shake my head and focus very intently on my book.

But the problem is, I can still feel him there, his gaze lingering, his presence impossible to ignore.

And for the first time in forever, I feel seen.

I hate it.

Pedri doesn’t leave me alone after that.

At first, I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

A fluke.

That first conversation in the library? A one-time thing.

A moment of fleeting curiosity on his part.

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

It starts small.

A casual wave when he spots me across campus.

At first, I ignore it, assuming he’s greeting someone behind me.

But when I glance over my shoulder and see no one there, I realize, he’s waving at me.

I don’t wave back.

But that doesn’t stop him.

The next time, he adds a grin to it. The time after that, he calls my name, loud enough that people turn to look.

(Which, obviously, mortifies me.)

Then, there’s class.

He used to sit on the other side of the room.

I know this because I used to specifically sit where I wouldn’t have to be around too many people.

But one day, Pedri is suddenly there, dropping into the seat next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s always been there.

I glance at him, suspicious. He just shrugs, pulling out his notebook.

"Better view from here."

I don’t buy that for a second, but I also don’t argue.

And then there are the conversations.

Or, more accurately, the ones he forces me into.

"So, what’s your verdict on our professor? Secretly a vampire, or just really hates sunlight?"

"If you had to survive on only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? And if you say something boring like ‘salad,’ I might actually cry."

"I bet you secretly have a list of people you’d commit crimes for. I respect it."

Some days, I ignore him completely.

Other days, his persistence wears me down, and I give in with a sigh.

"Pasta," I mumble one afternoon.

He blinks. "Huh?"

"If I had to survive on one food. Pasta."

His entire face lights up like I’ve just gifted him something.

"Yes! Solid answer. Now, important follow-up question: are we talking plain pasta, or are you a sauce person?"

I sigh again, but this time, it’s less annoying. Maybe even a little amused.

Just a little.

And that’s how it starts.

I don’t even realize it’s happening at first.

How, little by little, I stop avoiding him.

How my replies stretch from one-word answers to full sentences.

How my body relaxes when he shows up, instead of tensing like I used to.

How I catch myself looking for him in class before he even arrives.

I try to convince myself that it means nothing.

That it’s just habit. That he’s just there, and I’ve gotten used to it.

But habits don’t make my heart skip when I see him across the quad.

Habits don’t make me bite back a smile when he says something stupid.

Habits don’t make my chest ache in ways I don’t know how to handle.

And somehow—without me fully understanding how or when or why, we become friends.

Or something dangerously close to it.

And it terrifies me.

Because Pedri is warmth, and I am used to distance.

Because he is effortless, and I have spent my whole life trying to be untouchable.

Because the more time I spend with him, the more I feel.

And feelings?

Feelings are dangerous.

Then it started with an invitation,

A casual one. Like it’s no big deal.

"Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?"

I glance up from my book, blinking at Pedri like he just asked me to rob a bank with him.

"What?"

"Lunch," he repeats, standing beside my table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"You know, that thing people eat in the middle of the day?"

I roll my eyes. "I know what lunch is."

"Great. Then let’s go." He gestures toward the door like this is already decided.

I hesitate. "Why?"

"Because we both have to eat, and food is better with company," he says simply.

"And don’t say you weren’t planning to eat, because that would be tragic."

I chew on my bottom lip, searching for an excuse, any excuse, but nothing comes to mind.

Pedri doesn’t give me time to think too hard about it.

He reaches for my bag, lifting it from the table before I can protest.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "I promise not to bite."

I sigh, knowing I’ve already lost.

"Fine," I mumble. "But if this place is loud and crowded, I’m leaving."

He smirks. "Noted."

The restaurant he takes me to is small and tucked away, a quiet little place that somehow doesn’t feel overwhelming.

It’s warm inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh bread and spices.

There’s soft music playing in the background, and to my relief, no overwhelming crowd.

"See?" Pedri says as we step in. "Not too bad, right?"

I nod slowly. "It’s... nice."

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’d pick a good place."

We find a booth by the window, and for the first time, I feel oddly at ease.

We order our food, and somehow, Pedri keeps me engaged in conversation the entire time.

It’s easy. Effortless.

He talks about everything, his classes, his teammates, a hilarious story about how he once fell asleep in the middle of a Zoom lecture and got called out for it.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He looks ridiculously proud of this accomplishment.

"You like my suffering," he accuses, eyes gleaming.

"I’m just impressed by your ability to sleep through an entire class," I tease.

Pedri gasps dramatically. "So she can joke. This is a breakthrough moment."

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We eat slowly, the conversation flowing without effort.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

Because for the first time in a long time, I feel something dangerously close to happy.

After lunch, Pedri suggests a walk.

I should say no. I should go back to my dorm, back to my safe space.

But instead, I find myself walking beside him, our steps slow and unhurried.

The campus is quieter now, the afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the trees. It feels peaceful.

We eventually find an empty bench near the park and sit down.

I exhale, tilting my head back slightly to feel the breeze on my skin.

Pedri watches me for a moment before speaking.

"You don’t let a lot of people in, do you?"

I glance at him. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I just notice things."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Why?" he asks softly.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t usually talk about this. I don’t talk about myself at all.

But with Pedri, it feels... safe.

"I like peace," I admit finally. "I like being quiet. Being unnoticed. It’s easier."

Pedri stays silent, waiting. Letting me talk.

I take a breath.

"People... they take up space. They expect things. They need things. And I—" I pause, searching for the right words.

"I don’t know how to be what people need. So I just don’t try. So I won't end up getting hurt."

Pedri listens carefully, nodding like he understands.

I look down at my hands.

"I spent so long blending into the background that I guess I forgot how to be anything else."

Pedri exhales softly. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

"I get that," he says.

I glance at him, surprised.

He leans back against the bench, gazing up at the sky.

"You know, people always assume I like attention just because I’m popular. Because I’m always around people, always talking."

I nod slightly. He’s right. I did assume that.

"But the truth is," he continues, "I don’t care about any of that."

I frown. "Then why—"

"Why you?" He turns his head to look at me. "Why did I notice you?"

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

Pedri smiles, but it’s softer this time. "Because you’re real."

I blink. "What?"

"Everyone else is so... loud," he says.

"Always trying to be something, trying to impress, trying to fit into whatever image they think they need to be."

He shifts slightly, his knee brushing against mine.

"But you? You’re just you," he murmurs. "And that’s rare."

My heart does something weird in my chest. I don’t like it.

Pedri studies my face for a moment, then sighs.

"Look, I know you like being on your own. I know you don’t trust people easily. And I get that. But..." He hesitates, then turns fully toward me.

"Give me a chance," he says.

I inhale sharply. "Pedri—"

"Just a chance," he insists.

"Let me prove to you that I’m not like everyone else. That I don’t just want something from you."

I bite my lip, staring at the ground.

"You scare me," I whisper.

He blinks. "Me?"

I nod. "Not in a bad way. Just... you make me feel things. And I don’t know how to handle that."

Pedri’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, hesitating for a second before lightly brushing his fingers against mine.

"You don’t have to handle it alone," he says gently.

"Let me in. Just a little."

I look at our hands, barely touching, then back at him.

His expression is so open, so earnest, that something in me cracks just a little.

Maybe just a little wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

I take a deep breath. Then, slowly, hesitantly, I nod.

Pedri smiles, squeezing my fingers lightly before pulling away, giving me space.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying.

It happens gradually.

One moment, he’s just there, the way he always is, persistent, warm, impossible to ignore.

The next, he’s everywhere.

And suddenly, Pedri is mine.

Which is strange...

If you would've told me I would end up with the most popular guy of my uni, I would've straight up laughed in your face.

But, here we're... I guess.

It’s funny how quickly I get used to him.

To his presence, his warmth, the way he seamlessly fits into my life like he’s always been there.

And maybe it should scare me.

Maybe I should keep my distance, hold onto the walls I spent so long building.

But with Pedri, distance feels... impossible.

Because he refuses to be anything less than close.

It doesn’t take long for people to notice.

Because Pedri isn’t subtle. At all.

If anything, he seems to take genuine delight in shocking people.

Like the time we’re walking across campus, and he suddenly grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I freeze.

"Pedri—" I start, eyes darting around, but he just squeezes my hand.

"Relax," he murmurs, glancing down at me with a small smile.

"It’s just me."

I exhale slowly. It’s just him.

I tell myself to pull away, but I don’t.

And then I really regret it when I hear a group of students whispering nearby.

"Wait—are they holding hands?"

"No way. Pedri and y/n?"

"How did that even happen?"

I feel my entire face heat up, but Pedri? He doesn’t care at all.

If anything, he likes it.

Because the next day, when we’re sitting together in class, he casually reaches over and plays with my fingers under the desk.

Like it’s a habit.

Like he just wants to touch me.

"Pedri," I hiss quietly, trying to pull my hand away.

He smirks but tightens his grip. "You’re cute when you’re flustered."

I glare at him. "You’re annoying."

"And yet," he hums, "you still let me hold your hand."

Damn it.

Outside of school, it’s even worse.

Because Pedri doesn’t just want to see me in class, he wants to see me all the time.

"Are you free later?" he asks one afternoon.

I glance up from my notes. "Why?"

"Because I wanna see you," he says easily.

I blink. "You see me every day."

He grins. "Yeah, and?"

I sigh but don’t argue. Because, honestly?

I want to see him too.

Some nights, he comes over with zero warning.

Like when I’m sitting on my bed, fully prepared to spend my evening reading, and suddenly—

Knock, knock.

I groan, already knowing who it is.

When I open the door, Pedri is standing there with two cups of hot chocolate and a ridiculously pleased expression.

"You didn’t text me," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn’t think I needed to," he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

I sigh. "What if I was busy?"

He flops onto my bed, looking completely at home. "Then I’d just sit here and wait for you to be un-busy."

I shake my head, but my lips twitch. I hate how much I like this.

One day, we’re supposed to grab lunch, but it starts pouring out of nowhere.

Pedri and I sprint across campus, completely drenched by the time we duck into the nearest café.

I groan, wringing out my hoodie. "Well, this sucks."

Pedri grins, shaking water from his hair like a golden retriever.

"Nah. I kinda like it."

"You like being soaked?" I deadpan.

"No," he chuckles. "I like that it means I get to stay here with you longer."

And damn it, he means it.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches.

We sit by the window, watching the rain while sharing a plate of fries.

Pedri drapes his hoodie over my shoulders because I’m still shivering, and when I glance at him, he just shrugs.

"What’s mine is yours, princesa."

I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t go away.

One night, we’re lying on my bed, facing each other in the soft glow of my bedside lamp.

It’s quiet, comfortable.

Pedri reaches out, tracing lazy patterns on my wrist.

"You ever think about what would’ve happened if I never sat next to you that day?" he murmurs.

I blink. "What?"

"In the library," he says. "If I never sat down. If I never talked to you or approached you. What do you think would’ve happened?"

I think about it for a second. "I guess... nothing."

Pedri frowns slightly.

"You wouldn’t have noticed me," I explain. "And I would’ve kept living my life the way I always have."

His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "That’s a terrible answer."

I laugh softly. "It’s the truth."

"Well, I hate it," he says.

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Pedri exhales.

"Because I can’t imagine my life without you now," he murmurs. "And I don’t want to."

My breath catches.

He’s staring at me with so much emotion, like I’m the most important thing in his universe.

"I meant what I said," he continues softly.

"I don’t care that you’re quiet. I don’t care that you like being in the background. I don’t care that people think we don’t make sense."

His fingers brush against my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You make sense to me," he whispers.

I don’t know what to say.

Pedri smiles slightly like he can hear all the things I’m too scared to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmurs.

"Just, promise me you won’t push me away."

I swallow. "Pedri..."

"Please," he breathes. "Just let me love you."

My chest tightens, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

But instead of answering, I reach for him, fingers threading through his hair as I pull him closer.

His lips meet mine, slow, soft, certain, and in that moment, I know.

I know that Pedri is different.

I know that I’ve already fallen for him.

And for the first time in a long time,

I don’t want to run.

It’s a normal day at school.

Or at least, it should be.

Except nothing is ever normal when you’re dating Pedri.

We’re sitting outside on one of the campus benches, a rare moment of peace in between classes.

I’m trying to eat my lunch, but Pedri, ever the distraction, is making that very difficult.

"You’re not even paying attention to me," he pouts, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Because I’m eating," I say, taking another bite of my sandwich.

"But I’m right here."

"And?"

"And I require attention."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile.

Pedri grins, clearly pleased with himself.

He reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his fingers trail down my arm before entwining our hands together.

"Better," he hums, like this was the missing piece of his day.

I shake my head but squeeze his hand anyway.

For a moment, it’s quiet, and comfortable, like it always is with him.

And then he drops a bombshell.

"So, I was thinking... you should come to my parents’ house this weekend."

I nearly choke on my drink. "Wait—what?"

"To my parents’ house," he repeats easily as if he’s asking me to grab a coffee, not meet his entire family.

"For dinner. Just something casual."

Casual?

Meeting his parents is casual?!

My brain short-circuits.

"Pedri, I—" I pause, exhaling. "That’s... a big step."

He tilts his head, studying me. "Is it?"

"Yes," I say, nodding vigorously.

"I mean, it’s your family. What if they don’t like me?"

Pedri immediately frowns, turning his entire body towards me.

"First of all, there’s literally no way they won’t like you."

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands. "You don’t know that."

"Yes, I do," he says firmly.

"You’re smart, and kind, and funny, and—" He pauses, squeezing my hand.

"And you make me happy. That’s all they need to know."

I feel my heart clench.

Damn him. Damn him and his words that make me weak.

I hesitate for a few more seconds before exhaling. "Okay... I’ll go."

His face lights up, and suddenly, I know I made the right choice.

"Good," he says smugly.

"Because if you said no, I was gonna beg."

I snort. "I would’ve made you suffer a little first."

"That’s mean."

"That’s justice."

Pedri grins, tugging me closer. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

That weekend, I stood in front of my mirror, stressing out.

What do you wear to meet your boyfriend’s parents?

I don’t want to be too formal and look like I’m trying too hard, but I also don’t want to look like I just threw on the first thing I found.

After way too much debating, I settle on something simple yet cute, just enough effort to look put-together.

And right on cue, my phone buzzes.

Pedri: I’m outside <3

I grab my bag, take a deep breath, and head out.

As soon as I open the door, I see him leaning against his car, arms crossed, a lazy grin spreading across his face the moment he sees me.

"Wow," he whistles, giving me an obvious once-over.

I shift on my feet, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"You look—" He pauses, stepping closer. "Beautiful."

My face heats up. "Shut up."

"I’m serious," he murmurs, eyes shining.

"My mom’s gonna love you even more now."

I roll my eyes but smile as he opens the car door for me.

As we drive, I feel the nerves creeping in again.

My hands rest stiffly on my lap, and I stare out the window, chewing on my lip.

Pedri notices immediately.

Without a word, he reaches over and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Breathe, princesa," he murmurs.

I exhale shakily. "I just don’t want to mess this up."

"You won’t."

"How do you know?"

Pedri lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

"Because you’re you," he says simply.

And just like that, some of the nerves fade.

As soon as we arrive, Pedri barely has time to knock before the door swings open, revealing his mother.

"Hola, cariño!" she exclaims, pulling Pedri into a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He laughs, hugging her back. "Hola, mamá."

Then, her eyes land on me.

And suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

"And this must be y/n, the girl I’ve heard so much about," she says warmly, her gaze kind and curious.

I hesitate for a moment before stepping forward, offering a polite smile. "Hi, it’s really nice to meet you."

To my surprise, her face softens even more before she pulls me into a gentle hug.

"Oh, you’re adorable," she murmurs before pulling away.

"Come in, come in."

As we step inside, I glance at Pedri, who is smirking at me like he knew this would happen.

He leans down, whispering, "Told you she’d love you."

I glare at him, nudging him with my elbow, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t fade.

The house is warm and inviting, decorated with framed pictures of Pedri and his family.

Some are from his childhood, others more recent, like his love for football evident in every corner.

I take a moment to glance at one of the shelves, where several of his trophies and awards sit proudly.

"You’re staring, princesa," Pedri teases, nudging my shoulder.

"It’s just weird seeing your entire life displayed like this," I murmur.

Before he can reply, a deep voice cuts through the room.

"So this is the famous girl?"

I turn to see Fernando, Pedri’s older brother, leaning against the doorway with an amused expression.

"The one and only," Pedri says smugly, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I shoot him a look but manage a polite smile. "It’s nice to meet you."

Fernando nods, eyeing Pedri. "Well, I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought you were just making her up."

I snort, while Pedri glares. "I hate you."

"Love you too, hermano."

His mother shakes her head, laughing. "Boys, enough. Let’s eat."

Dinner is incredible, and not just the food (which is honestly some of the best I’ve ever had).

Pedri’s mom made a full spread, and every bite tastes like it was cooked with love.

"This is amazing," I say, genuinely in awe.

His mom beams. "Thank you, cariño. Eat as much as you want."

"Careful," Fernando jokes. "She’ll try to adopt you if you say that too many times."

Pedri smirks. "Too late. She’s already mine."

I nearly choke on my drink.

His mother laughs while Fernando groans.

"God, you’re embarrassing."

Pedri shrugs, completely unfazed, squeezing my knee under the table.

Throughout the meal, his parents ask me questions, not in an overwhelming way, but enough to show that they’re genuinely interested in getting to know me.

His dad is quieter but still warm, occasionally chiming in with a question or a story about Pedri as a kid.

"Did he tell you he used to cry when he lost board games?" his dad asks, smirking.

I light up. "No, but I love that."

Pedri groans, slumping in his chair. "Why are we exposing me?"

"Because it’s fun," Fernando says, grinning.

I giggle, and Pedri shoots me a betrayed look.

"You’re supposed to be on my side," he mutters.

"I am," I say sweetly. "Just... not right now."

After dinner, I insist on helping with the dishes.

"Oh, no, cariño, you’re a guest," his mother says, waving me off.

"Please," I say, offering a small smile. "I want to help."

She eyes me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But only because you asked so nicely."

As we stand by the sink, washing plates, she suddenly speaks up.

"You know," she starts, her tone thoughtful, "I wasn’t a fan of the other girls Pedri has dated."

I blink, glancing at her. "Oh?"

She nods, rinsing a dish.

"They only wanted him for his name and popularity. But you... you seem different."

I swallow. "I just like him for who he is."

She smiles softly. "I know. And that’s why I like you."

Something warm blooms in my chest.

"You’re good for him," she continues.

"He’s always been surrounded by people who want something from him. But with you? I see the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you."

She pauses, drying her hands before turning to face me.

"I can tell you care about him."

I nod, my throat feeling tight. "I do. A lot."

She smiles, patting my hand. "Then that’s all I need to know."

As we drive back, Pedri is grinning like an idiot.

"That went amazing," he says, eyes flickering to me.

"It did," I admit.

"See? You worried for nothing."

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah. You were right."

He gasps dramatically. "Wait, say that again?"

"I will never repeat it."

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. "I’m proud of you, princesa."

I glance at him. "Why?"

"Because I know this wasn’t easy for you," he says softly.

"But you did it. And my mom loves you. My dad and Fernando too."

I bite my lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "But more importantly, I love you."

My heart stops.

Pedri, realizing what he just said, suddenly tenses.

"Wait—" His eyes widen. "I mean—"

I laugh softly. "It’s okay, Pedri."

He swallows. "I just... I love you, okay? And I don’t care if that scares you. I’m not going anywhere."

I look at him, really look at him, and feel something inside me settle.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach over, lacing my fingers with his.

"Drive, Pedri," I whisper.

He exhales, squeezing my hand. "I’ll wait for you, princesa. However long it takes."

And as we head home, I realize—

I don’t think it’ll take very long at all.

It was another boring uni day. A day full of back-to-back classes.

I’m in the library, stacking my books neatly into my arms, already mentally preparing for my next class.

My mind is quiet, calm, focused on anything but him.

Pedri had texted me this morning, telling me he had early practice and would see me later.

"Have a good day, princesa ❤️ Miss you."

I had smiled when I read it.

I shouldn’t have.

I adjust my grip on the books and turn toward the exit. Then I hear it.

Laughter. Loud voices.

At first, I don’t think anything of it. Until I hear my name.

I stop. My heart stutters.

I tell myself it’s nothing, that maybe I misheard, that maybe it’s just some random conversation.

But then a voice cuts through the noise, A voice I know better than anyone else’s.

His voice.

Pedri.

My stomach twists, my fingers tightening around the books as I take a cautious step forward.

The voices are coming from the hallway just ahead, around the corner.

I shouldn’t listen. I shouldn’t. But I do.

"Bro, you’re actually still with her?" one of his friends cackles.

"I swear I thought this was just a bet or some shit."

Pedri laughs.

That’s the first stab.

"Nah, man. No bet."

"Then what the fuck is it?" someone else scoffs. "There’s no way you’re actually into her."

Pedri lets out a low chuckle. "Come on, man. You really think I’d go for a girl like that?"

A girl like that.

"Exactly," another voice chimes in.

"She’s fucking boring, bro. Always sitting in the back, never talking, just reading like she’s in some old-ass novel or something. You could have literally anyone, why waste time on her?"

"It’s not like that," Pedri says easily. "She’s just… convenient."

The air leaves my lungs.

"Convenient?" one of his friends laughs. "What, like a little charity case?"

Pedri doesn’t deny it.

He fucking laughs.

"Nah, it’s just easy, you know?" he shrugs.

"She doesn’t ask for much. Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a big deal out of shit. I don’t have to try too hard."

"So you’re with her because she’s easy?"

Pedri snickers.

"More like… low maintenance. She’s quiet, doesn’t bother me when I’m busy, doesn’t start drama. It’s just chill. I don’t have to worry about her blowing up my phone or expecting too much."

I feel sick.

"Damn, so you’re basically keeping her around for convenience?"

"I mean, yeah," Pedri mutters. "She’s just... there. It’s not that deep."

The laughter erupts around him.

I think I might throw up.

"Fucking knew it," one of them howls. "You had us thinking you were actually in love with her or some shit."

Pedri laughs harder.

"Come on, man. You really think I’d fall for her?"

My heart shatters.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t.

The pain is too much, the walls around me caving in, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

I need to get out of here.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Seconds? Minutes?

Everything is a blur.

Their laughter rings in my ears, mocking me, haunting me.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I won’t let them have that power over me. My body moves on its own. One step.

Then another.

Then I’m walking away.

I don’t care where I’m going.

I just need to get the hell out of there.

I don’t go to my next class. I don’t care about my next class. I walk. Fast.

Away from the library, away from the voices, away from the truth clawing at my chest.

I feel numb.

Like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I’m just walking around with a hollow, empty space inside me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I don’t check it. I don’t need to. It’s him. It has to be. I ignore it.

I ignore the ache in my chest, the sting behind my eyes, the lump in my throat that makes it hard to breathe.

I just keep walking.

By the time I finally return to my dorm, the sky is a deep shade of blue, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

I close the door behind me, my body exhausted, drained.

And then there’s a knock. I hesitate, my pulse spiking.

I already know who it is.

I take a slow, shaky breath, gripping the door handle before pulling it open.

Pedri stands there.

His brows are furrowed, concern laced into every inch of his face.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he asks immediately. "Why haven’t you been answering me all day?"

I stare at him.

He looks so… confused. Like he has no idea what he did.

That makes me angrier.

"Go away, Pedri."

His eyes widen slightly. "What? No. What’s going on? Did something happen?"

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your friends?"

He freezes. And I see it.

I see the exact moment realization hits.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

"Yeah," I say, voice shaking. "I heard you. I heard everything."

"Princesa—"

"Don’t." I take a step back. "Just don’t."

His jaw clenches. "I didn’t mean it."

I laugh again, but it hurts.

"Right," I nod. "Because saying I’m just some joke? Saying you’re pretending to like me? That just… accidentally came out of your mouth?"

"It’s not like that," he says quickly, stepping forward. "Please, Y/n. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" I snap. "That I’m just some quiet, boring idiot who actually believed you cared about me?"

He flinches.

"That’s not true," he says, his voice softer now.

"It doesn’t matter," I whisper.

"It does."

"No, Pedri. It really doesn’t."

I exhale shakily, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze one last time.

"I can’t do this anymore."

His breath catches. "What?"

"We’re done."

I step back, my hands shaking as I close the door in his face.

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

And then I hear it—

A soft, desperate whisper from the other side of the door.

"Please don’t leave me."

Tears stream down my face.

But I don’t open the door.

And I don’t look back.

The days blur together, a mess of sleepless nights and suffocating thoughts.

I barely eat, barely leave my dorm, barely exist outside of my own mind.

Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice.

Every time I let my thoughts wander, I remember the way his words sliced through me like a blade.

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it.

At first, I let it ring, let the messages pile up, let his name flash across my screen like a cruel reminder of what happened.

But he doesn’t stop.

"Y/n, please." "At least talk to me." "I need to explain." "I miss you."

Every day, every hour, his messages come in, desperate and persistent.

And every time, I stare at them with tears burning in my eyes, fingers hovering over the screen before I lock my phone and shove it under my pillow.

Then, after a few days, I finally block him.

I expect that to be the end of it.

But Pedri doesn’t give up so easily.

It starts with soft knocks on my door, hesitant at first, then firmer when I don’t answer.+

I stay curled up in bed, biting my lip to keep from crying out in frustration.

Then, when I wake up one morning and open my door, I see flowers.

A bouquet of my favorite ones, left neatly against the doorframe.

The first time, I hesitate.

The second time, I stare at them for a long time before stepping over them.

The third time, I pick them up, hold them in my hands for a moment, and then drop them in the trash.

And yet, the next day, there’s another bouquet.

Every single day, without fail, there’s a new one waiting for me. And every time, I feel my resolve cracking a little bit more.

But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know if I ever will be.

One week later, I finally force myself to go back to school.

I can’t hide forever.

I tell myself I’ve had time to heal, that I’ve built up enough strength to walk these halls without feeling like I’m suffocating under the weight of my own emotions.

That I can handle seeing him again.

But the second I step onto campus, my chest tightens, and my heart pounds against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

I keep my head down, moving quickly, avoiding eye contact, avoiding him.

But I can feel it. His presence. His eyes.

I know he’s seen me. I don’t look.

I don’t want to see the desperation in his expression, don’t want to acknowledge the way my stomach twists painfully at the thought of him standing somewhere nearby, watching me, waiting.

I force myself through class, focus on my notes, pretend everything is normal even though nothing is normal anymore.

But later, as I leave my last lecture, I barely take two steps before I feel it—

A hand gently grabbing my wrist, pulling me back.

I freeze.

His touch is familiar, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll run.

"Y/n."

His voice is quiet, raw, holding a plea that makes my throat tighten.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before finally turning around, my expression carefully blank.

Pedri stands there, looking at me like I’m the most important thing in the world and he’s terrified he’s already lost me.

"Please," he says softly, his fingers still around my wrist. "Just let me explain."

I exhale slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "There’s nothing to explain, Pedri."

"Yes, there is," he insists, stepping closer.

His hold on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t let go completely, like he’s afraid that if he does, I’ll disappear.

"Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."

I hesitate, my mind screaming at me to walk away. But something in his eyes, something so painfully real, holds me in place.

I sigh, crossing my arms. "Fine. Five minutes."

He pulls me aside to a quieter part of campus, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes.

I stand stiffly, my arms still crossed, my body tense like I’m ready to run at any second.

"I never meant what I said," he starts immediately. "I swear to you, Y/n. I didn’t mean a single fucking word of it."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Right. You just happened to say all those things for fun? Just to impress your asshole friends?"

"No," he says quickly, shaking his head. "It wasn’t for fun. It was to protect you."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"Those guys? They’re not my friends. They never were. But they have a way of making people’s lives hell. I knew that if I admitted how much I cared about you, they’d go after you. Mock you. Make your life miserable. I thought if I played it off, if I made it seem like I didn’t care, they’d lose interest and leave you alone. Trust me Y/n iy happened before and it had gotten really ugly. I didn't want that to happen to the person I love."

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "You really think that justifies what you said?"

"No," he admits, his voice softer. "It doesn’t. I was an idiot. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you to understand. But I swear to you, Y/n, I would never actually think those things about you."

"Be a fucking man Pedri and instead of doing this shit stand up for the person you supposedly love. You're nothing but a pussy."

I swallow, my emotions warring inside me. I don’t know what to feel.

So I leave. Again.

Later that day,

It all happens too quickly.

One moment, I’m walking across campus, lost in my own thoughts, and the next, there’s chaos.

A crowd gathers around a scene near the student quad. Loud shouts and yells fill the air.

My heart skips a beat as I push through the mass of students, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on.

I’m not expecting to see what I do.

There’s Pedri.

His fists are flying, and the guy he’s fighting, the asshole, is holding his jaw, clearly stunned.

But Pedri doesn’t stop. He throws another punch, fury in his eyes. I see the red in his face, the anger, and it’s not just at the guy. It’s everything. The hurt. The frustration.

The last few weeks have been hell for both of us, but in this moment, it’s all coming out.

His fists are like his words, punching through everything that’s built up, everything that’s been left unsaid.

But I can’t watch it anymore. I’ve seen enough violence in my life to know when things are about to spiral.

“Pedri! Stop!” I shout, pushing through the crowd to grab his arm, pulling him back.

He jerks his head towards me, his expression wild, eyes wide with a mix of rage and confusion.

I hold onto his arm tightly, trying to calm him down.

I don’t know why I’m even doing this for him, but it’s like I’m drawn to him, like I can’t just walk away.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but slowly, the fight drains out of him as he looks into my eyes.

His breath is ragged, and his hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles covered in blood.

“Are you stupid?” I mutter, my hands trembling slightly as I grab his arm and pull him away from the scene.

The crowd disperses, some murmuring, others filming with their phones.

Pedri doesn't fight me.

He lets me drag him away, and somehow, I find myself leading him into the first-aid room, a small quiet space where the tension in my chest can finally loosen, even if just a little.

I shove him onto the chair and kneel down, rummaging through the first aid kit.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, my voice shaking. I try to stay calm, but my hands are shaking as I pull out the bandages.

I clean his bloody knuckles carefully, avoiding looking at him too much. I can’t let myself soften. Not yet.

He sighs deeply, his voice low, raw. “He was talking shit about you again. That guy, he just won’t leave you alone. I had to make it stop.”

My heart sinks, and I bite my lip hard. I don’t know how to feel. My stomach churns.

Why did he feel the need to fight again? Why did he let it get this far?

“But why do you keep doing this?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"I... I don’t understand, Pedri. You say you care, but you keep pushing me away in the worst ways possible."

Pedri doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me for a long moment, his brow furrowed as though he’s considering every word carefully.

I can see the guilt in his eyes, the regret, the desperation. He wants me to understand. He needs me to.

“I—” He hesitates, his voice cracking slightly.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you were a joke. I thought... I thought I was protecting you, Y/n. From people who wouldn’t appreciate you the way I do. Those guys... They’ll never understand how much you mean to me. But they will hurt you if they think you matter to me."

I’m speechless, blinking at him. There’s a part of me that wants to scream, to tell him he’s full of shit, but the truth in his eyes catches me off guard.

He’s being real, and it’s so hard for me to reconcile that with the image of the guy I heard talking shit about me, degrading me, the guy I’ve been blocking out of my life for a week.

“You should’ve told me that before, Pedri.” I swallow hard.

My voice trembles with the weight of everything.

“Instead of... doing that. I don’t understand why you had to hurt me first.”

He doesn’t look away. He looks... guilty.

“I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t want you to think I was using you as some kind of... shield or something. But I wasn’t. I swear, I wasn’t.”

His eyes soften as he gently reaches for my hand, his touch so careful now, like I might shatter at any second.

I pull away, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into me.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, Pedri,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.

“You hurt me too much. And... I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.”

He nods, his lips pressing together in frustration. “I’ll do anything to make it right. I don’t care what it takes.”

I turn away, my heart heavy, my thoughts too tangled to untangle.

It’s not so simple anymore. I don’t know if it ever will be.

I walk away, feeling like a piece of me is being pulled in two different directions.

The days that follow are both long and quiet. The silence between Pedri and me feels deafening, like an invisible wall built higher with every moment.

He’s not giving up on me, though. Not even close.

It’s hard for me to stay distant. Hard for me to ignore him.

But it feels like I have no other choice. Every time I open my phone, I see his name.

Every time I hear a knock on my dorm door, I know it’s him. But I don’t answer. I won’t.

Still, something is different now. I notice his absence more than I expect.

The void he left in my life isn’t easy to fill. His quiet persistence is eating at me, but I won’t let it show. Not yet.

Pedri, however, doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up.

At first, it’s small gestures. One morning, I find a handwritten note slipped under my door.

Just his name at the bottom, a few simple words.

“I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to prove I’m worth it.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him so vulnerable. He’s always been confident, cocky even.

But this? This is different. I can feel the weight of his apology in the paper, and I fold it carefully, slipping it into my pocket.

Then, the flowers start.

He leaves them outside my dorm door every evening, sometimes daisies, sometimes sunflowers, always with a small note attached that says the same thing, “I’m sorry. Let me make it right.”

I feel the pull to just let him back in, but I resist. I’m not ready. I’m still broken.

Days go by, and I finally decide to leave my dorm to go to class. I walk through campus, trying to focus on the routine, trying to shut out everything else.

But I can’t. Pedri’s presence is everywhere.

I see him talking to the guys he used to hang out with, but now he’s different. He’s distant. Not laughing. Not joking around.

I can see it in the way he avoids eye contact, the way he doesn’t engage with them anymore.

His posture is closed off, like he’s shutting something down. I don’t know what it means, but something stirs in me.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s hope.

That’s when I notice it, his transformation.

Pedri has made a point to distance himself from the very people who encouraged him to hurt me.

He doesn’t hang out with those friends anymore. The ones who always made fun of me, belittled me, and tried to convince him I wasn’t “good enough.”

The ones who laughed at my expense and pushed him to do the same.

He’s even going out of his way to take different routes on campus, avoiding his old crew altogether.

It’s subtle at first, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s proving to me, in the smallest ways, that he’s changing.

That he’s fighting for something that matters more than his pride.

One day, I’m walking to class when I hear footsteps behind me. A familiar voice calls my name.

“Y/n.”

I don’t turn around, pretending like I didn’t hear him.

He’s been trying to talk to me for days, but every time I shut him down. It’s easier that way.

It’s safer.

But then, he’s right beside me, his presence undeniable.

“Please, just let me explain,” Pedri says, his voice low. There’s a softness in it now, no trace of arrogance. Just sincerity.

I finally stop, reluctantly meeting his eyes. He’s standing there, his expression full of regret, but something else, too, determination.

“I’m listening,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I... I’ve been thinking about everything,” he starts, hesitating, as if searching for the right words.

“I was an idiot, Y/n. I should’ve never listened to them, and I should’ve never pushed you away like I did. I wasn’t protecting you. I was just being selfish. And I never should’ve treated you like you were second best. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

His words hit me hard, and I want to yell at him. To tell him that his apology doesn’t fix anything.

But the truth is, he’s right. He was selfish. And I was hurt.

But there’s something about him, something in the way he’s looking at me now, that makes me wonder if he really means it.

“I don’t know, Pedri,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You say you’re sorry, but it doesn’t undo everything. It doesn’t fix what you said or what you did.”

“I know,” he replies quickly.

“And I’m not asking for you to forgive me right away. I’m asking for a chance to show you that I can do better. That I can be the person you deserve. But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me prove it.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, my mind racing with all the things I’m still unsure about.

But then I notice it, the genuine effort in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice. He’s not just saying the right things.

He’s living it.

“I’ll prove it to you every day,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ve already cut ties with the guys who put you down. I don’t need people like that in my life. They can think whatever they want, but you? You matter. You always have. I’ll prove that to you, Y/n. I swear.”

I swallow hard, his words breaking through my walls. I want to stay angry.

I want to stay hurt. But everything in me is telling me that maybe, just maybe, he’s worth another chance.

“I don’t know if I can trust you yet,” I whisper.

“But... I’ll try. Slowly.”

Pedri’s eyes light up, and for the first time in weeks, I see a glimpse of the boy I used to know.

“That’s all I need. Just a chance.”

From that day on, I watch him like a hawk.

Pedri is relentless. He’s not just sending flowers or leaving notes anymore, he’s putting in real effort.

He spends his free time sitting with me in the library, helping me with schoolwork, never pushing for anything more.

Every time I see him talking to his old friends, he’s distant, his back turned, never engaging with the people who once made him feel like he was better than me.

He’s proving to me, with every small action, that he’s serious.

One day, as we sit in the park near campus, he looks at me quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“I know it’s not enough,” he says softly,

“but I hope one day you’ll look at me and see someone who actually cares. Someone who will fight for you, no matter what.”

I look at him then, really look at him, and for the first time in a long while, I believe it.

He’s not perfect. He might have messed up. But he’s doing everything he can to make it right.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart beating faster. “I’ll let you try.”

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

A few months later,

the tension between Pedri and me starts to ease. He’s patient, more so than I’ve ever seen him.

And with every day that passes, he seems to be putting more and more effort into proving that he’s not just saying the words.

He’s showing it.

But there’s something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Pedri hasn’t stopped trying to make things right, and it’s clear he’s not giving up on us.

It’s not just the grand gestures anymore, but the small, thoughtful ones, like leaving me my favorite coffee in the library, or texting me random jokes in the middle of the day to make me smile. (bare minimum fr)

And when I finally start to look at him again, I can see it. There’s real change in him.

And so, when he asks if I’ll go out with him on a date, I don’t say no.

But I don’t expect what happens next.

It’s a Saturday evening, and Pedri messages me earlier in the day, asking me to meet him at 6 PM sharp.

When I arrive at the spot he texted me, the park near campus, I’m greeted with something that takes my breath away.

There, in front of me, is a blanket spread out on the grass. The soft glow of fairy lights surrounds the area, strung between trees, creating a romantic little nook in the middle of the park.

On the blanket, there’s a picnic basket, candles, and even my favorite flowers, lilies, pink and white, arranged in a vase.

It’s not what I expected from him. At all.

Pedri stands beside it all, hands in his pockets, looking nervous as hell.

His eyes light up when he sees me, and for the first time in ages, I see a boy who’s trying harder than anyone ever has to make me feel special.

“Y/n,” he says, his voice shaky but hopeful.

“I know I’ve messed up. But I wanted to show you... that I’m serious about this. About us.”

I stand there for a moment, blinking at the effort he’s put into this.

The last time we were together like this, things were so different.

It feels like we’ve both come a long way.

“Are you serious?” I ask, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“I’ve never seen you do anything like this before.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But you deserve something better than what I gave you. You deserve to feel appreciated. And not just with words, but with actions. I know this isn’t enough, but... I hope it’s a start.”

I can’t help but smile, my heart beating a little faster as I walk over to him.

“I think it’s a perfect start, Pedri.”

He grins, relief flooding his features.

“I’m glad. I thought I might’ve messed it up with the flowers and all that.”

“Honestly? It’s the most effort anyone’s ever put into a date for me,”

I admit, my voice soft, but sincere.

Pedri chuckles, and his eyes soften.

“Well, then I guess I’m doing something right.”

We sit down on the blanket, and the evening goes from awkward to comfortable, and then, as the conversation flows, it becomes something even more.

We talk about everything, the past, the mistakes, the ways we’ve grown.

We laugh about stupid stuff, and he even admits to being terrible at making dinner (something I’d suspected from the start, but now it’s confirmed).

He makes a joke about how he can barely toast bread without burning it, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll cook for you sometime,” he says with a playful grin. “And you can judge my terrible cooking skills.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. “But sure. I’ll take you up on that.”

We settle into a comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

It feels... nice. Simple. And yet, it’s everything I’ve been wanting. I can feel the trust building again, piece by piece.

“Y/n,” he says quietly after a long pause, turning to face me.

“I know I messed up. But I need you to know that I would do anything to make things right. I’ll spend every day proving to you that you’re the one I want, the one I need.”

I look into his eyes, eyes full of sincerity, full of hope, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart thudding in my chest. “I’ll give you that chance.”

Pedri’s eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face so fast it takes me by surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say with a playful smile. “But only if you promise to keep the flowers coming.”

He laughs, his face lighting up like I’ve just given him the biggest gift in the world.

“Done. I’ll keep the flowers and the dates coming. Just don’t leave me again, okay?”

I laugh softly, nudging him again. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m good at dates,” he grins, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“Otherwise, I’d be in serious trouble.”

“Oh, you’re already in serious trouble,” I tease back, rolling my eyes.

“But I guess I’ll give you another chance. For now.”

Pedri leans back, throwing his arms around me in a mock dramatic fashion.

“I’ll make the most of it, I promise! I’ll win you over... one bad joke at a time.”

I can’t help but laugh as I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

It’s easy now. It’s natural.

“I’ll hold you to that, Pedri,” I say softly, closing my eyes for a moment.

And for the first time in months, everything feels right again.

The end

#football imagine #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri fluff #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri angst #pedri gonzalez #football x reader #football fanfic #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader

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hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

Text

that tune without the words

“It was nice, walking through those woods, talking to you,” and the tone of his voice in admitting it makes the whole shebang another line item for Eddie’s getting-to-know-Steve file: lift this man’s standards out of the fucking gutter—but then his tone’s turning sorta wry: “Even if it was mostly about how you were impressed that I was less of a douche than advertised.” 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: mid-S4, Vol2, steve goes back for eddie’s ‘body’, interdimensional bat venom can be a hell of an paralytic inconvenience ♥️ tags: eddie munson lives (to go on a date that’s not walking through dead hell-forests 🎉), steve harrington having a one-sided/unfiltered heart-to-heart with the cute boy who carved his probable bisexuality indelibly intonstone 💎 (no biggie), an over abundance of flirting in times of mortal peril, planning a future in an actively crumbling hellscape=(soon-to-be)couple goals, happy ending (and hopeful ending, too!)

for @steddielovemonth day two: "if you're lost, you can look and you will find me // if you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting" —Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

title credit here🪶

When they tangled with Vecna, Eddie’s body gets left behind. Sure, yes, they all know the timeline, the logistics, how the story goes. The gates seal. Supergirl goes nuclear. They kinda-half-lose. The town’s a fucking mess. They gotta lick their wounds.

But the in-between bits get hazy, see.

Specifically when Steve went AWOL and ran back, jumped through the closing gate he’d just barely managed to climb up through in the first place, given the extent of his wounds, and runs for the body they abandoned because he doesn’t leave his people behind.

And somehow in just a couple days, Eddie counted as his people. Even just his body.

The strength, the speed, the stamina to not have been stuck in the Upside Down, to not have dropped the dead weight in the way back up, to not have got suctioned in and crushed in half as the fissures crept closed: that’s the fucking stuff of legends, of parents lifting trucks off pinned children. No wonder they call Steve the mom.

But yeah. Eddie’s body’s left behind.

For like…ten minutes, max.

Then Steve fucking Harrington had to be all Steve fucking Harrington about it, say fuck that, and weigh the risk of two dead bodies as sufficient collateral to leap like it was a fucking two-for-one at Melvald’s.

Bastard made it back, too. Bloody as fuck, everything that’d healed even a little bit torn at least twice as wide in breaking back open; three extra broken bones, with at least on being a rib that there’s genuine concern over puncturing a lung with one more wrong move—and a likely one, given the evidence thus far.

And also, there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s breathing, who they don’t know until later whether Steve managed to somehow resuscitate, or if the powers that govern the hellscape zapped him back for nefarious reasons, or maybe they’d all just…fucked up and missed that Eddie wasn’t even all-dead in the first place.

Details, remember. The in-between parts got real hazy.

Eddie knew the truth form the get-go, though.

Having to witness Henderson fall apart, draped across him was maybe the most harrowing thing eddie has ever had to live through—but the point was, he did live through it. Everything was foggy, and he felt like his world was blinking too long in between knowing it was still there, like reality and his place in it were too close to sleep to be rooted, to be trusted, to be sure at all that it would last and that his shitty attempts to get any air in weren’t just painful acts of desperation to delay the inevitable.

But then there had been lips on his lips, and he’d tasted his own blood there but then more blood, other blood.

And his lungs were blissfully full for the first time in what felt like eons.

He wants to turn to find out who’s there, whose mouth had just spared him in his torment for even a few extra moments before the end, but he—

He can’t fucking move. He hadn’t realized that part before—oxygen deprivation, hell of a distraction apparently—but now that he clocks it?

That lungful of air’s gasping out fast as fuck as eddie panic because what’s happening what is happening—

What’s happening is that mouth on his again, giving him back the breath he’s foolishly wasting on panic, coupled with a too-broad hand, palm braced at his chest and fingers curled up his shoulder: firm. Steadying.

“Poison,” a voice says low, close to him enough that eddie thinks he maybe feel warmth from it but he’s not sure, he’s not sure what he does and does not feel and that’s most of the fucking terror: “in the venom. My legs were numb as fuck after, the went too deep at the core and it just fanned out, couldn’t feel a fucking thing but the pain til we got supplies.”

The hand moves fuller to his chest like it’s testing something, then the lips are back, filling up his lungs, like someone who knows how this works, who’s done it before—

A lifeguard would know. Would have done it before and…

Okay, like, Eddie didn’t spend most of every summer the past handful of years in a carefully disguised little copse of shadey trees near enough to keep the community pool in his sights because he was planning to get in the water, y’know?

“But then it felt like there wasn’t enough air when I tried to breathe deep, way worse than my legs, like from,” and he touches Eddie’s neck, then, where the bats barely got him by comparison to…other places so Eddie thinks—with the newly-restored moments of oxygen to his brain cells—Steve’s talking about his suspicious noose-shaped souvenir.

Eddie wants to be able to see, wants to see and know with all his sense that this is steve: touching him and coming back for him and saving him and—

“You’re still breathing,” and shit, it’s like Eddie’s prayers are answered without a god believed in, his fucking lucky day, because Steve’s leaning and holding still so the his cheek under Eddie’s nose, and the bow of his lips just at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, gasping out his assessment when the hint of damp the exhale gathers on his skin, all with a kind of relief that feels…too big, really. Like Eddie can’t possibly deserve that. They barely know each other.

But fuck if Eddie—who was very much banking of giving up the goddamn ghost down here just a couple minute prior, especially once everyone had left and he was just staring at the red lightning waiting to be struck down for good—but fuck if Eddie is gonna pretend he doesn’t want to deserve that care and relief, to merit and earn it for himself, specifically from Steve, especially the Steve he’s gotten to know in the last seventy-two hours. All the shit about crisis revealing a persons true nature?

Sign Eddie the fuck up for a) all of Steve Harrington and his truest true nature as well as b) the sworn duty of keeping this far too tightly wound paladin barbarian crossbreed marvel of a specimen from any more crises, and ensuring the opposite instead, maybe like, holding him close. Kissing his neck. Falling asleep in each other’s arms. More…stuff like that.

Time probably moves faster the vacuum of real actual Armageddon, so. He probably can shrug off the ‘barely know each other’ stuff.

His heart’s doing a little floppy-floppy thing with Steve’s mouth still so close; with knowing Steve’s mouth had been closer, so. Yeah. He’s sold, 100% on board. Bring him the dotted line, he’ll be Mrs. Harrington by morning.

Or…evening? It’s just fucking dark here, he doesn’t even remember what day it is.

“Too much,” and Steve’s not moving form where he’s gauging—presumably—Eddie’s breaths at the source, whispering and so, so close as he waggles his hand around; “before, but,” and Eddie gets it quick: too much commotion. To much hysteria, and more than merited, but Dustin’s sobbing? Robin’s shaking, Nancy’s armor-grip on her gun making trying to measure a pulse less than worthless and Steve…Steve has getting them the fuck out before the gates closed, Eddie remembers hearing that—which begs the question of why he’s here again bow, but one thing at a time.

The one thing Eddie wants to focus on is Steve thought to come back at all, and thought it not inpossible to find him alive and not-yet-but-still-eventually-capable-of-kicking, because the bats had numbed him to fuck, too.

And he hadn’t told anyone, Jesus fuck—this man, and giving more shirts about him already than Eddie’s maybe given for anyone, is gonna be what actually manages to put him six feet in the goddamn ground.

“I had a feeling,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t have to try and fail to turn to see the triumphant smirk he’s pulling, still relieved but like, vindicated now, too.

“And even if I didn’t,” he sobers quick; “I wasn’t leaving you here.” And Eddie wouldn’t stilled if he was capable of moving in the first place because…yeah, he’s basically figured he was being left here. Was pretty much solidly on his way to making his peace with it too when feet landed close to his knees and lips closed over his own and the rest is…

Is now. Where Steve Harrington doesn’t leave Eddie Munson, even as the world ends in their fucking faces and all proves to be as good as lost.

He won’t settle for them counting among the loses and that’s…

That’s just kinda…wow.

“Was really banking pretty hard on that feeling, too,” and Eddie hears Steve’s voice strain a little, even as there comes a little tiny huff of slightly manic laughter, and a rip of fabric from fuck knows where. “Want to get to know you better, Munson,” he says, tight like he’s holding up tensions, or swallowing back pain and Eddie doesn’t like that, and likes even less that he can do fuck all about it right now.

But if they’re gonna be in the business of getting to know each other better, then Eddie’s filing that sound away in the ‘keep that shit away from Steve forever’ file.

Eddie likes dealing with forevers in his head, because they so rarely work out for him in life. He craves disappointment, maybe; but.

“Walking through the woods, half-fucking paralyzed was some of the,” Steve starts, honest and earnest before Eddie catches half-a-shrug out the corner of his eye and…maybe he’s not the only one who deals in forevers in their head, and if he’s suddenly not the only one, maybe less disappointing could possibly be imminent.

Maybe.

“It was nice, talking to you,” and the tone of his voice in admitting it makes the whole shebang another thing for the getting-to-know-Steve file: lift this man’s standards out of the fucking gutter—then his tone’s turning sorta wry:

“Even if it was mostly about how you were impressed that I was less of a douche than advertised.”

Eddie wants desperately to laugh, to bump shoulders with Steve again like he did a little, tries for more when they were walking side by side, he wants so fucking bad—

Then there’s fire in his fucking throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve sounds more startled than concerned, where Eddie’s kinda afraid his neck is melting into lava or some shit; “yeah, yeah, baby,” and hold the fuck up, what did Steve just say, what did Steve just call him? Our of nowhere?

The lava feeling’s way less important; in fact, takes enough of a back step to make some sense with Steve’s neck words, with his hand back in Eddie’s chest to brace his shoulder:

“You’re coming back, just keep,” he’d tries to laugh, and the sound had gotten lost on Eddie in the agony but it hadn’t been lost in Steve, his baby, holy fucking shit—

“Oh.”

Steve’s tone is something entirely new; awed a little, floored a little, not bad, so that’s a plus, but…overwhelmed like at the edges but then fucking ecstatic in the middle, which down here shouldn’t even be possible, until his hand pressed a little harder into Eddie’s ribs on the less mangled side and—

“Strong enough to feel, now, even when I still can’t feel everything,” Steve’s face swims, gorgeous and kinda like an answer to the universe in the minimal view space Eddie has to work with as he slowly crawls back online, a process not actually being helped by Eddie putting together what’s causing Steve’s reaction—the way his heart’s pumping’s growing a little undeniable even on his own end, and Steve’s hand feeling the raw effects of Steve on Eddie’s body right now isn’t helping matters at-fucking-all, but also Eddie never wants that touch to leave him ever fucking again, ever.

It’s a delicate sort of contradiction.

“Shit, yeah,” and Steve’s laughing, and it’s a soft joy-tinged thing less than the manic hysteria thus far.

Eddie’s fucking toast, man. No hope for him now.

“Strong enough even if I’m kinda fucking shaking,” Steve holds out his hand that, yeah, is in fact a little trembly but hey.

Eddie can’t feel shit yet too good, but he’s almost certain he’s got to be no better. Blood in his veins certainly ain’t winning any awards for steadiness.

And Steve leans down, this time back with another one of those vaguely hysterical laughs and Eddie can’t see everything outside of the angle his head’s held at just now, and the whole problem really starts with how he can’t feel a lot of shit á la bat venom, but.

If Eddie had any money, he’d actually wager that Steve fucking Harrington. Just touched his lips to Eddie’s neck, just kissed where his pulse would kick between his collarbones. And, true or not, the possibility of that?

Holy fucking shit.

“I hope these aren’t too tight,” Eddie sees the motion from Steve’s shoulder, feels…or thinks he feels the lightest ghost of pressure at his fucked up side: tight. The tearing from before; Steve had been wrapping his sorry ass up.

Talk about Eddie’s goddamn knight in shining armor, Jesus fuck.

“Pretty sure it came down to the fact that their poison hit me like it did because of where they got me the worse, and that’s what made me hope in the first place, you know. Your worst bleeders are in the meat,” and yeah, Eddie really does think that’s real sensation for the soft press of Steve’s hand at his flank, not say nothing of the burning flush to his cheeks, blood’s moving just fine there.

“Fucking deep but not so close to the bloodstream, to pump around and make it worse,” and he touches Eddie’s neck again, and ah: that was why Steve had the reaction he did, mainline to the ticker to get it all swum around. “More of it in you, obviously, because there were more of them, more teeth, but not up here,” and fuck Steve Harrington for the way his hand brushes Eddie’s neck almost tender-like, just…fuck him; “no a direct fucking line to the source.”

Yes. Fuck him. Preferably soon and with Eddie at full sensation and on a horizontal surface that’s not bloodsoaked and vaguely reeking of rot.

Just, y’know. If anyone’s taking note of preferences.

“Thank god for it,” Steve breathes out, the air fluttering over Eddie’s face and he can feel it and he wants to cry, he wants to jump up and dance; can’t do that year but his pulse makes a damn good attempt.

“But yeah, anyway, just walking through hell with you was,” Steve shifts back to the part where he’d seemed to be extolling the virtues of apocalyptic flirting, but before Eddie can file it away to do so much better in whatever’s to come? Steve’s slotting his fingers between Eddie’s own; he can’t feel the whole of it, but he damn well feels enough to know the way they fit is perfect, like they were cut form the same clay millennia ago.

Of course Eddie’s heart goes flippy-floppy again; it fucking has to.

“Not the part about Nance so much, though.”

And Eddie thinks he frowns because…oh.

Oh right, yeah, he really hasn’t had a glimmer of hope in hell that what kinda feels like is happening right now was even on the goddamn table, so…maybe he had tried to funnel his sense of pure and unadulterated loss into at east giving the boy he wanted, what < i >that boy wanted.

Whoops.

Won’t be making that mistake ever again, though, at least. Lesson learned, loud and clear.

“That’s been and gone, man,” steve sighs, a if Eddie needs more convincing. “And I don’t want to go back to where I left it. I want to love someone, who loves me.”

It feels heavy and vulnerable, but all Eddie wants to do is shot me, it can be me, let me have the adventure of learning how to love every bit of you better than you ever thought to even hope after pretty fucking please with a goddamn cherry on top—

“So she’s,” Steve huffs, definitive-like: “out of the picture. She could maybe learn to be that, but, and Steve moves, the most intentionally he’s done it so far to look Eddie straight in the eye when he wraps up the point:

“I’m not interested enough to wait.”

Which means it’s no fucking coincidence, that eye-contact, and Eddie’s ping-ponging pulse for it is 100% prevent valid and then some.

“And I know can’t talk right now, so I get this isn’t really,” Steve sucks his teeth in a genuinely unbearably adorable way; “fair, or probably even like, wholly ethical,” and Eddie’s only been around for days but that sounds like Robin right there, and the feeling of a dangerous pull near his cheek makes him think the urge to smile wasn’t wholly ignored by his beat to shit body, fucking progress.

“So think of it just like a,” he hums, then snaps his fingers as he lands on: “suggestion! A suggestion. Like me, just, putting it out there, which I usually do before anyone feels the same way anyway so this is just like, variation on the theme, but,” and Steve’s eyes are so big, Eddie’s never seen them looks this way before while Steve tips his whole face so Eddie can watch before he can sit up or turn his neck, must be fucking painful but he doesn’t even flinch, and Eddie’s only ever just kinda fallen for the puppy droop of those gorgeous eyes. Now they’re all, big and wide and bright and breathless and holy shit, Eddie’s really is just so screwedbest thing ever.

“I want to take you to dinner, a movie.”

Okay, hold up. That idea, said out loud and meant and directed to him: that might be the best thing ever.

“Maybe a drive in so no one will see if you let me hold your hand, or put my arm around you, or start necking with you halfway through,” like that isn’t making Eddie wonder if he just can’t feel the hard on every piece of him is very convinced he has to have right now, if his body can actually pony up just yet.

“If you want, of course. We could go slow,” and it’s like Steve’s thought about it, like this isn’t just adrenaline and near-death and zero impulse control. It’s most like he…like he actually wants. “Just a movie, even like at my house. Or yours. After they,” Steve clears his throat, the only part he’s even hinted awkwardness in; “after they take care of that.”

Ah. Right. Eddie probably does now have a trailer anymore.

Weird how little he’s caring about that at the moment.

“I could cook, I’m not bad at it,” Steve’s ploughing in with secret knowledge because: Harrington. Apron. Sauce on his cheek. KO-fucking punch to the heart, no survivors.

“Takeout’s fine too, I’d get whatever you wanted,” he pivots before trialing of, chewing his bottom lip then saying a little softer:

“But I would look up recipes too, practice to learn your favorite foods.”

And maybe Eddie really was never supposed to survive the Upside Down. He just maybe completely misinterpreted the way he was gonna fuckin’ die .

“I’d kiss you at the door if that’s okay, if that’s not to far,” then Steve’s bit-sparkle eyes darken even in the hell-dim around them; “or take you to bed if you wanted, but only as much as you were sure.”

And y’known how Eddie’s heat’s been flippy-flopping?

What it starts doing then leave that schoolgirl shit to dhame.

“I want to date you, basically,” and Steve’s shoulders are all squared up, like he’s making a pitch that has any chance of failing, and Eddie does have some working knowing of the past failures…thing, but he genuinely believes those fuckers have been at least partially brain dead to leave a man like this free for the taking, by Eddie of all fucking people.

“I want to try, and see if we can be something,” and the way he says those words, it’s…it’s like a soft perfect flame in Eddie’s chest, the first thing he thinks he can feel again fucking perfectly right,

“‘Cause fuck Eddie, I’ve been looking for something for what feels like forever, and the only thing I keep coming back to for any of it is thinking about you, and ain’t that a plot twist, the deepening of the idea that any of this stretched last what started in that fucking boathouse. “Had a whole-ass sexual awakening over you when you started shepherding my kids, can’t let that go to waste, man.”

And holy shit, dude. Eddie can’t leave him hanging on that confession no matter how mostly-carefree his smile stretches. Because Steve’s been in it since last fall?

Well, Eddie’s not one to easily be outdone.

“What?” Steve squints at Eddie’s face which…okay. He probably looks absurd but he’s trying really hard here, and miming isn’t easy when your muscles don’t want to get on board, yeah?

“Are you,” Steve scrunches his nose; tips his head; considers; “are you trying to,” he frowns, like he’s ready to dismiss what he’s guessing but then says fuck it and leaps:

“Are you trying to whistle?”

Yes, oh my god, sign him up for his marriage license for real, they’re meant to fucking be.

It takes Steve a second to make sense of the absurdity, and the fact that it’s only a second is a feat in itself:

“When I was a lifeguard?”

Eddie watches the timeframe, the length of admittedly varying types and depths but always constant infatuation, start to sink in and then:

“Jesus, Munson, for real?”

And lips are coming for his lips, and he’s real hopeful he can feel them this time but: no. Not yet.

But they fill his lungs up quick and full where he’s getting better which breathing by the minute, but. Any but if a boost is appreciated.

Especially from those lips, felt fully yet or not.

“That’s just because I’m gonna lift you up here in a second to crry you, and it’s gonna hurt like fuck no matter how gentle I try to be,” Steve warns him; “so breathe as slow as you can until I can lay you back down topside.”

Right. Right, because…the Upside Down was breaking apart and they’ve been here how long, fuck, they need to get a mov on…probably.

But Steve doesn’t seem concerned about anything but getting his arms around Eddie to pick him up just right, and then staring at him all star-bright bbsome more, and that’s…way more pressing, to be honest.

“But when we get there,” Steve glances behind him; “how about we look into doing that in a way that’s more spit-swapping, less rescue breathing, that cool?”

And holy fucking shit, Eddie genuinely believes right now that he could fall in love with this motherfucker, what the actual hell.

That, and he thinks he’s gonna enjoy it, to boot.

Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn cracker—

He’s looking forward to it more than the air in his fucking lungs could even hope to rank.

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wherein steve goes back for eddie #and doesn’t KNOW if he’s still alive #but goddamnit: he has reason to HOPE #confessions #romance #planning a future #idiot4idiot #developing relationship #fluff #humor #snarky internal monologue #an overabundance of flirting in times of mortal peril #steve POV: walking with you through hell was the nicest date I’ve ever had #(maybe less focus on the ex-girlfriend next time; not a deal breaker for a first try but definitely room for constructive criticism)#steve is definitely thinking long term here so: plenty of time to get it just right #also: eddie wants it to be known that just because this bat-venom-paralytic hasn’t worn off yet and he can’t reply with words?#he is NO LESS ENTHUSIASTICALLY ON BOARD with steve’s proposals #baffled a little? sure #but 100% ready and willing as soon as he’s able #the ordeal of asking the cute boy out just after everyone thought he was probably dead #planning a future in an actively crumbling hellscape=(soon-to-be)couple goals #happy ending #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: time after time by cyndi lauper #hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers v words

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