#and there was stuff happening even before that

[okwonyo]

DON’T MAKE NO SENSE ⸝⸝ 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂’𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

🍵 best friends and a little bit more

❪ 𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲 ❫ ｡ enhypen pining over fem ! rea ⠀──⠀ fluff bsf2l ◜◡◝ mention of alcohol skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A SMOOCH

분지 ܃ not everyone’s is as hot at jake’s .. >//<

HEESEUNG

before meeting any of you properly, people are already sure that you are taken. of course, they assume that you are each other’s lover without having to check twice. for the sole reason that they often get a sight of the two of you together at parties— where he acts like your boyfriend.

there is a very simple explanation to that ; guys hit on you a lot and he doesn’t like to witness this at all. so he decided, on his own, that he would be your fake boyfriend in order to protect your from any other men that thought of talking to you. you don’t complain, he is a very good boyfriend plus boys do tend to bother you too much.

for instance, tonight a random man is talking to you and won’t get the hint. therefore, your knight in shining armor steps in. he takes off his jacket as he walks towards you then puts it on your shoulders. he rests his hands on your waist after, pulling you closer, and under the stranger’s widened eyes, he leans down to your ear, kisses your cheek, “is he bothering you, sweet angel?”

JAY

you met him in kindergarten, when you were both two apples tall and half. as long as you remember, he has always been by your side. he has always been the one to jump in when you fell on the ground and started crying in the sandbox. he has been the one to defend you against mean middle schoolers. he was always the one guiding you through the crowded high school halls.

your best friend has always been protective of you. since the beginning of your friendship, he has felt as if he needed to take care of you— to make his own heart feel at ease. his habits has only grown more and more intimate as the time passed by. he cooks lunch and dinner for you because he knows that sometimes you forget, he drives you anywhere you need like your personally chauffeur, he pays for most of your stuffs.

he is really beyond happy to do the most ridiculous things for you, as long as he can take care of you. “i can do it on my own—” you start as he starts kneeling down. he cuts you immediately, taking your shoelaces between his fingers, “i know, but let me take care of you.”

JAKE

it originally started as a drunken game, a silly thing that would never happen again. the first time it happened was a party, under the heavy influence of alcohol, your friends decided to make you all play seven minutes in heaven. and of course, due to the sadistic universe, the bottle had to point to your best friend when it was your turn to spin it. it is not a secret that you made out for the entirety of the given time in that closet.

you both agreed to never do it again, that it was just for the fun of the game. but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth didn’t leave your head for weeks and he couldn’t stop biting his lower lip— in hope that it would feel the same as when you sucked his lower lip that night. it was obvious, at the way your eyes would dart to each other’s lips that you wanted to kiss again.

he lets his desire win after a month, and he thinks he deserves a prize for waiting that long. he kisses you during what is supposed to be a study session and you let him do it, you kiss him back with as much passion. “fuck,” his sighs into your mouth. “i missed you so much.”

SUNGHOON

as everyone else in the world, he feels attacked whenever anyone that isn’t him goes over his phone— or even when they do something as simple as peeking over his shoulder while he is on it. although he has absolutely nothing to hide, no one is allowed to touch his phone.

though, when he is asked about it, he can’t really explain why you can do it. it’s just different, okay? everything related to you is slightly different than when it’s related to others. “gimme your phone,” you don’t ask, but order and he obeys. he gives you his phone without hesitation, without asking you why.

has it gone as far as your face is saved in his face id, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong about that. he is too busy staring at your face to notice that you are going into instagram, down to his private messages. at the grin you make when you see a message from a girl he denied to like multiple times, he speaks, “i’ll block her.”

SUNOO

sometimes, he really does tell himself that you are very lucky that he likes you a lot. because there are some things that you make him do that are almost inhumane, that feels likely pure torture in a sense. but, he accepts to carry all your stuffs.

at this point, he has become your walking purse or shelf. you drag him in every shops you pass by and makes him hold the loads of clothes you bought. you make him hold your purse when you don’t want to anymore. you put your lipstick in his pocket to find it quickly.

now it’s a reflex, a natural instinct. whenever you are holding something— a drink, a paper, your phone— if he notices that you are strangling a little: he holds it for you without any hesitation. you’ll end up making him do it, anyway. and loves serving you.

JUNGWON

you never knew the existence of ‘friendship anniversaries’ until he came into your life. there is no one you know that is invested in the matter, who is so eager to celebrate the beginning of your friendship and the continuation of it with so much enthusiasm.

he shows up at your door around six in the afternoon, well dressed in a suit that hugs his waist, hair perfectly styled and his cologne making you feel butterflies in your stomach, “hi, pretty girl,” he greets you with a bouquet of flowers in hands. it’s so ridiculous, so lovely that it makes you blush each time.

you walk around all the pretty places he drags you to with the flowers by your side. there is always a moment of the night where someone asks you if you date is going well— obviously assuming that you are lovers. you both share a shy look, each year.

RIKI

your best friend used to not be a huge fan of physical touch. there was a time in your friendship, during middle school mainly, where he was unable to give you a hug without feeling forced to. and even when he did give you a hug, he would barely want to touch you— making the embrace comedicaly awkward.

but ever since he passed puberty, he has grown to love physical touch more and more. he picked up your gentle way of showing affection: through hugs, through touch, but only with you. and he gets very, very annoying when he wants it, when he wants to cuddle, “come here,” he whines.

you sigh, closing your laptop and putting it on your nightstand. he beams as he observes you laying down. the tall man gets comfortable, a little bit too comfortable. he entangles his long legs with yours, wraps his arms around your body and rests his head against your chest. you sigh, “i miss your middle schooler era.”

taglist ( open )

[salem-s]

06 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, angst (familial issues), mentions of body insecurity and unhealthy eating habits. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 8.6k. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER lacy by olivia rodrigo

Saying goodbye to Lorenza is harder than you would like.

Rafe gives her a warm hug with a million thanks for taking such good care of him, to which she kisses each cheek talking a mile a minute. Even though he has no idea what she’s saying, he assumes it’s all good stuff with the way she’s smiling – no – beaming at him, patting his cheek and fixing the collar of his shirt endearingly.

He doesn’t want to leave, like, really doesn’t want to.

He’s just gotten used to staying at the cottage, lounging at the beach, playing in the garden with the dog, being essentially catered to in a loving way versus in an obligation. 

But Rafe can't imagine what's going through your head right now.

He decides to give you some space when you say goodbye to your nonna, pivoting his focus to Ticino and scratching his belly, his head, his back. The dog completely collapses at the special attention, unknowing of the tidal wave of emotion happening in the doorway of the cottage. 

Sneaking a peek, Rafe flickers his gaze to watch you and Lorenza pull back from a hug, your nonna gripping you tightly by the biceps and saying something deliberately low to you: who is simply standing there and nodding with frown. It’s almost as if Lorenza is trying to reassure you of the upcoming days, smoothing down your hair and gently shaking you to get you to focus on her words.

Eventually, you respond solely with a small nod, pulling your nonna back in for another departing hug, a bone-crushing one. 

Rafe physically forces himself to look away.

These past few days were simply child’s play, and now you're transitioning to the main event where your behavior matters most. He knows you're dreading it, dreading the performance you have to put on whenever you see your family.

Rafe knows the added pressure of pretending to be in a relationship is also straining your conscience, even if you don't deliberately tell him that, because he can already tell whenever you discuss the wedding and your fingers anxiously pick at your nails or your hair. 

The taxi ride is quiet. You don't offer much conversation, instead somberly gazing out the window at the landscape. Rafe’s eyes shift between your profile and the land, noticing the transition between local territory to touristy attractions, the cottages and quaint shops and cafes turning into luxurious hotels and resorts with Michelin star restaurants. 

The resort is right on the water, the taxi entering through a gated community to bring them right to the lobby. The contrast in settings is comically drastic, the hotel guests decked out in ridiculous designer clothes with an overpriced cocktail dangling precariously in their hands. The entire set up looks fresh out of a White Lotus episode.

Your shoulders sag at the sight, the taxi stopping right in front of the grand doors and mentally preparing for the emotional turmoil that lies ahead. You really you'll be able to slip into your room and head down to the beach to have a few hours of quiet before the storm.

Those hopes and dreams die at the door when you see Paulette standing on the steps waiting for you. 

She doesn’t bother to help you with your bags, nor does she extend her arms for a hug. You're grateful for that, especially in front of Rafe who lingers behind you silently. All he does is politely nod in greeting, not trusting his words.

After some of the stuff you told him about Paulette – and he assumes there’s much more that you didn’t share – he doesn’t trust his words, anger and resentment cautiously bubbling in his chest, especially at the sight of Paulette giving a careless up and down to your outfit. 

“You’re late,” is all Paulette says, pulling out her phone as if this conversation is beneath her. 

You grab your bags and bite back a snarl. “Sorry,” you say, completely unapologetic. 

“Yeah, you sound heartbroken over it.” Paulette types a few buttons on her phone, bringing it up to her mouth as she speaks into it, “Yara, push my five o’clock to six and book that Himalayan rock salt massage. My shoulders are already starting to ache. Bring my daughter's room key to the front.”

The color drains from your face. “Yara?”

At your slight-panicked tone, Rafe looks to you in concern, but knows better than not to ask questions right now. Instead, he continues watching the scene in front of him. 

Paulette hums, shoving her phone back in her comically large purse, unfazed and looking bored. “Yes, angel. She’s my assistant now."

“And she’s here?”

She says your name incredulously. “I can’t take a weekend off of work, you know that.”

Then from behind Paulette, a beautiful blonde emerges with bright eyes, waist length hair, and a chipper smile that shows off her pearly whites. She dangles a key card in her thin fingers, perfectly manicured. A pretty peach sundress adorns her body, a white bathing suit poking out by her neck, and it takes everything for you to not jump back in the taxi and ride back to Lorenza's.

Especially when Yara squeals when she sees you, plastering an impossibly giant smile on her face and lunging forward to hug you. 

You pat her back cordially, straining to even manage a polite smile but instead it comes out as a grimace. 

Yara pulls back, unfazed by your distant demeanor. “Ohmygosh, hi! I haven’t seen you in ages. You look great!”

“You too–”

“Who’s this?”

Reeling, you nearly forget about Rafe, who stands lean and tall behind you, no doubt checking the pretty blonde out if you have to guess. You don't need to turn around to know, instead pursing your lips and jabbing an absentminded thumb in his general direction at the thought of him probably drooling over Yara. 

“That’s my boyfriend, Rafe.”

Rafe hates the way his heart stutters at your words, the b-word always weakening his knees, but the deadpan in your voice also makes him resist the urge to frown.

The whole ploy is fake, he doesn’t know why he’s all worked about your lack of enthusiasm when introducing him as such, but he needs to zoom out: you don't want to be here, you're probably anxious and irritable about having to deal with your family, so Rafe needs to cooperate with that. 

So, cooperate he will.

A large hand splays on your waist, a possessive claim over you that pulls you taut to his side. Stunned, you manage to look up at him, surprised to see him flashing a polite smile to Yara instead of that stupid condescending smirk you've seen him use to pick up girls. 

“Nice to meet you,” is all he says, but it’s enough to make you visibly relax.

Yara double takes between the two of you, almost out of shock, before flashing back to that charmer of a smile.

“Oh! I’m Yara. We went to high school together. Oh, god, that feels like ages ago!” Then she leans forward and squeezes your forearm, nearly squealing again. “Agh! This is going to be so much fun. We’ll definitely have to hang out this weekend, the four of us.”

Four?

You look from Yara to Paulette. “Four?”

You don't even try to hide the disgust in your voice at the thought of hanging out with her, your mother, and Rafe for more than five minutes. 

Quizzically confused at your tone, Yara follows your gaze, then reeling back on her point with a chipper laugh. “Oh, no. I meant my boyfriend, he’s also here. It’s basically how Paulette convinced me to come all this way for work.”

“Careful, angel,” Paulette teasingly warns, and you frown when you realize she’s talking to Yara. “Remember you’re getting paid to be here.”

The pretty blonde laughs, and it’s an unpleasantly pleasant sound. “Right, of course. And quite handsomely, if I say so,” she jokes, nudging your arm.

You don't have the gall to laugh, instead offering a tight smile in return.

It doesn’t seem to faze Yara as she hands you your room key, clapping excitedly. “Your room is 405, right next to me and Grant’s. Neighbors!”

Rafe instantly looks down at you when he feels you impossibly stiffen even harder when you hear that name, your breath hitching in your throat. His mind overdrives to panic mode, noticing your apprehensive demeanor suddenly skyrocketing to heights unknown.

Toggling from this pest infecting this already torturous event, your mother calling Yara angel, and even the mere mention of him has you spiraling, checked out from whatever the girl yaps about now. Your head spins, a wave of nausea suddenly overtaking you as you shift your weight between feet. 

God, you could be sick right on Yara's designer shoes.

Before you can make that incorrigible thought come true, you feel Rafe grip onto you tighter, to ground you, politely interrupting Yara. 

“Could you point us towards the room? We were hoping to relax before dinner.”

After pointing in the general direction, Rafe carries his bag and wheels both his and your suitcases towards the room, passing Paulette without so much as a glance. If he wasn't so worried about your shift in demeanor, he would’ve taken the time to really look at what the resort actually looks like, noticing its extravagance and flaunt of wealth for a fraction of a second so he can keep up with your speed-walking. 

Unlocking the door quickly, you beeline inside as Rafe follows cluelessly, pinching his brows in worry when you instantly start to pace back and forth without bothering to inspect the qualities of the room. The door shuts behind him, locking you both in the comfort of your own privacy, but the isolation does nothing to soothe your nerves.

He says your name worriedly, knowing not to ask if you're okay because you're clearly not. 

You bite the edge of your thumb nail with a disassociated gaze. “I’m going to actually kill her this time.”

“Yara?”

“No, my piece of shit mother.” You clench your hands in tight fists, resisting the urge to King-Kong destroy the room. “She knows damn well that–”

You interrupt yourself, forcing a deep exhale to avoid saying too much, because voicing it aloud only makes the situation more real. 

As if this trip can’t get any worse. 

Rafe stalks towards you slowly, testing the waters by putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to sit at the edge of the bed (yes, bed, singular).

There’s a sliver of fear that if he kneels in front of you, he might be in the splash zone if you decide you want to hit something, and it looks like you do given how tightly you clench your knuckles, so he decides to cautiously sit next to you, barely brushing his shoulder with yours so you don't feel bombarded.

There’s a fine line of understanding, because when Rafe is pissed, utterly pissed, he doesn’t want to be touched. Let alone looked at. 

In waiting for you to speak, Rafe darts his gaze between your hands resting in your lap and to your profile, your eyes distant which tells him that your mind is elsewhere, reeling, spiraling. 

He decides to attempt to break the ice. “How’d you do it?”

The confusion pulls you from your delusion. “Huh?”

“How would you kill her?”

You scoff, not really in the mood to joke around.

But then you pause, trying to zoom out of the moment to see this whole scenario from his point of view. His befuddlement is probably through the roof, undoubtedly, and you're not really offering much to give him any clear answers. In his own, weird way, you realize that he’s trying to help. 

So you relent. “You ever seen Game of Thrones?”

“No?”

You whip your head to face him. “You’ve never–?” Then pull yourself back on track. “Someone gets their head crushed like a melon. I’d do that.”

“You’d crush her head open like a melon?”

“Precisely.”

Rafe whistles low. “Sheesh. Remind me to not actually piss you off.”

That earns an eyeroll from you, your anger slowly subsiding into frustration instead. Your fists unclench gradually, crescent moon indents piercing through the skin of your palm. You sigh, looking down and smoothing out the marks that are already starting to irritate.

A part of you wishes that he’d do it for you, but the thought of being touched right now actually sounds repulsive. 

"Obviously, I went to high school with Yara," you start slowly, her name leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "We weren't friends. Like, at all. We were civil, sure, but definitely did not run in the same circle. She was..."

You trail off. The thought of Rafe knowing your life before college seems intrusive, so you shake off the mile long soliloquy and wave your head, signaling the end of that part of the spiel.

“And Grant’s my ex.”

Straightening up, Rafe’s heart drops.

Is he gonna have to fight someone?

“We dated in high school,” you continue, refusing to look at him. “It started right at the end of my sophomore year, he randomly asked me out after never really talking but I didn’t think too much of it because he was, like, the Troy Bolton of my high school.”

“Who?”

You scoff. “Really? I– whatever. We started going out, it was really fun. He was my first…everything, really. It wasn’t until right before junior year where we broke up, literally days before school started, because he said he’d gotten what he wanted from me.”

That makes Rafe’s skin crawl. 

“Hypothetically,” he starts slowly before he can stop himself, “if you wanted me to hurt him, would you prefer it to happen before or after the wedding?”

You ignore the warm feeling in your belly at the possessiveness, but snort and nudge his shoulder teasingly. “Easy. We aren't doing the masculine gorilla-chest beat thing. There will be no fighting, okay?”

Silence. 

At his lack of response, you finally look up at him to discover he’s already staring at you, definitely dead-set on beating this guy up.

As much as that would settle some long lost revenge plot in your brain, you know that's the last thing that needs to happen on this trip.

“Rafe. You’re not fighting him."

He blinks back at you.

You narrow your eyes. "Promise me.”

Rafe huffs like a kid on Christmas who didn’t get the toy they wanted. “C’mon–”

“Promise.”

Reluctantly, he bites his tongue and nods, earning a satisfied hum from you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”

You roll your eyes and wave the whole thing off as if it means nothing. “It’s not even about him. The whole reason he asked me out was because my mom asked him to.”

Rafe instantly frowns.

That has him pinching his eyebrows in confusion, trying to connect the dots on why she would do that, much less, what she would gain from it. 

You continue when you notice his befuddlement, swallowing the lump in your throat at the memory. “Back home, my mom runs a country club in the suburbs of the city, and promised him and his family free access for the summer if he dated me so I’d have a respectable date for the various charity events she organized.” You drop the confession so casually that his head spins. “Something about reaffirming my image and saving myself from detrimental embarrassment by being single, whatever that means.”

Rafe nearly has the urge to kill Paulette himself. 

How could your own mother do that to you?

A part of him understands the circumstances, as his father would do something conniving like that for the sake of keeping the family name clean. Rafe’s gotten a swift backhand more times that he can count to keep him in line for the seasonal galas that all the wealthy families on the island host to flaunt their money. One time he even got choked out in the ballroom kitchen for accidentally spilling a glass of wine over the white tablecloth, claiming that anything he does is an embarrassment to the family.

So, yes, in some ways he can understand. 

“That’s…evil,” is what he settles on saying. 

 You hum in agreement. “Yeah, well, that’s my mother for you.”

Rafe’s heart aches for you, deciding that you don't need lovey-dovey coddling right now. “I think she’d get along with my dad.”

The anecdote makes you lift your head, brows pinching as if to urge him on saying more, because if he can relate to having a shitty parent, then his life can’t be all rainbows and sunshines, either.

You aren't sure if you appreciate being able to empathize with him or not. 

“Whatever.” You stand, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. “I want to tan and drink. Are you coming with or not?”

The rest of the day is spent in lazy leisure. 

You both manage to sneak down to the resort beach without being kept too long by lingering family members. A few aunts and uncles recognize you and try to spark conversation, but you merely brush them off politely, dragging Rafe by the bicep away from the chance to introduce himself and delay your beach day even longer.

It’s pathetic the way he relishes in the way he’s essentially getting pulled around. 

After your second drink, Rafe is carelessly swimming in the water, the crystal clearness of the ocean reminding him of the better parts of home. Meanwhile you stand on shore, simply getting your feet wet to cool off before you lay back down to tan longer.

There’s a point where you insistently refuse his request to join him, so he pouts and retreats from the water, pretending to go back to your spot but instead heaving you over his shoulder. You squirm and yell and attempt to break free, but the pleas fall onto deaf ears as Rafe carries you into the water, precariously throwing you where it’s too deep so you have to either tread the waves or cling to him. 

He boyishly laughs when you emerge from the water, hair clung to your face like a second skin as you curse and splash him.

You - unsuccessfully - try to dunk him under the water, and then he does it to you successfully, causing you to splash him once more. Eventually, you end up trying to swim away to keep tanning but Rafe stops you by pulling at your ankles, claiming you're already in the water so you should just relax for a little.

“How the fuck am I supposed to relax when I don’t know when you’re going to dunk me next?”

Rafe pinky promises that he won’t, not anytime soon, anyway.

It takes a lot of convincing, but soon enough you're perched on his back as he swims around, pleasantly pleased to get what he wanted.

Whenever you snip at him, he simply ducks his head under the water to get his hair wet and proceeds to shake it out like a dog, which elicits a light slap on his shoulder and a curse. He doesn’t even care. 

The only reason you leave the water is because you both collectively decide to get another drink. After a little chit chat and sipping, Rafe ventures back into the water claiming it’s good for his skin. From your vantage point in the chair, you stifle laughs as you watch him practice his handstand. Truthfully, it hasn't improved since the day at your private cove.

Another ten minutes go by while you peacefully tan, and you almost forget the purpose of the trip until a shadow looms over you.

Assuming it’s Rafe begging to drag you in the water again, you snort. “What is it gonna take for you to let me tan for one second? A blowjob?”

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”

You shoot your eyes open when you realize it’s not Rafe standing over you, but Paulette. 

Your cheeks flush as you sit up, clearing your throat and feeling hot under your mother’s disgusted gaze. Well, that look is nothing new, it’s practically her default expression. You know better than to not try and defend yourself, knowing your words will only make things worse – like they always do, according to your mother. 

“Angel, it’s nearly five, you need to start getting ready for dinner,” Paulette snaps, looking your body up and down and analyzing the way your swimsuit hugs your curves. 

You frown. “I thought the rehearsal was tomorrow?”

It better be, you think. You were really hoping to just get some resort food in a drunken splendor and bring it back to the room, along with a few bottles of wine to soothe over the double-whammy discovery of your high school past meeting you across the Atlantic.

Although it's hard to concentrate on anything besides your mother's stare right now, trying really, really hard to ignore the condescending gaze. 

Paulette checks her watch, as if the conversation is taking too long. “It is. Tonight is an immediate family dinner.” Then, Paulette sighs deeply. “God, do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

Nope.

“Yeah, alright,” you grumble, beginning to collect your things. “What time do I need to be ready by?”

“Seven thirty. And it’s still a formal gathering, so none of this…” Paulette pauses, scanning your body once more up and down, “casual attire will be tolerated. I hope you have another dress than the one for the wedding.”

The dress for the wedding.

The one that "somehow" didn't fit.

Your anger spikes when you remember the dress you were supposed to wear, the lilac silk that barely zipped up your spine and was formed to fit your body type about six years ago.

“Speaking of," you snap, "it didn’t fit. I think your tailor is dyslexic.”

Paulette frowns angrily. “Those measurements are a goal. You’re telling me you didn’t work into it?” When you shake your head, not trusting your words, your mother scoffs as if it’s some major offense. “Of course.”

Great, another disappointment for the books.

“I found a replacement,” you grumble, half irritated and half defensive. 

Your mother, however, is always able to pinpoint the part of the conversation when you cower, giving her the perfect opportunity to strike where she knows it'll hit you at your most vulnerable.

“If you’re not going to wear it, then give it back to me. I’ll give it to someone who deserves it.”

Ouch. 

Trying to ignore the sting of her words, you simply nod and your mother takes that as her cue to leave, trudging back to the resort with difficulty as she decides to wear designer wedges on the sand.

Watching her leave, you absentmindedly collect your things, so caught up in your fleeing agenda that you don't notice Rafe emerging from the water with a skeptical look.

“What was that all about?” he asks, grabbing the towel and fluffing it over his head.

You catch a glimpse of his chiseled chest and force yourself to look away, stuffing your belongings in your bag. “Duty calls. Apparently, I’m supposed to be in my glam chair right now for dinner.”

Rafe feels a pull in his chest, not wanting to leave the beach, but begrudgingly nodding and mirroring your actions of gathering your stuff. 

But you stop him. “No, you don’t have to come with. Just…stay and hang out for like another hour.”

And he does.

Rafe decides that trying to bargain with you is almost always impossible, so he reluctantly stays behind at the beach while he watches you retreat back into the resort.

But, as a matter of fact, it is extremely boring without you. Detrimentally so.

He tries to entertain himself in the water, or on his phone when he lays down, but he huffs like a child in boredom. Allowing himself an hour of wallowing self pity, on the dot he’s packing up his things and racing back to the room, hating the silence of solely being in the presence of himself. 

When he arrives back at the room, you're doing your makeup at the desk with your hair cascading down your back in beautiful nonchalance, and Rafe has to suppress a smile when he sees the colorful beaded dress he got you laying on the bed, ready to be worn again. 

Despite already seeing you in the dress before, it takes his breath away all the same when you're basically out the door and on your way to the lobby. 

When the elevator makes it to the correct floor, Rafe’s slipping a hand in yours just as the doors open, ignoring the way your posture stiffens at the gesture. You don't know if it’s from his fingers intertwining with yours or the sight of your immediate family all congregated like cattle in the lobby, dripping in overpriced designer dresses and suits. 

Spotted within the crowd are your parents and brother, your father talking animatedly to a relative while Paulette leans forward, fixing your brother’s tie and babying him like usual.

You nearly roll your eyes at the sight of your pretentious younger brother, Patrick. He’s the definition of a coddled momma’s boy: always having the most prestigious clothes, running to Paulette when there’s a sliver of inconvenience in his life, blaming everything in the world either on you or his new target of the month. 

One would think siblings would have a bit of solidarity for each other, but not Patrick.

He only cares about himself, and one of his favorite pastimes is getting you in trouble. There’s too many times to count where he went and cried wolf, getting you in trouble for shit that didn’t even involve him. It's as if he thrives off of your misfortune, simply counting down the minutes until he can see you again just to make your life that much more miserable.

Point being, you don’t really get along.

And your father is just kind of…there. He doesn’t offer any assistance or support besides the occasional Venmo to help you with the bills that you didn’t ask for. Truthfully, you think he’s an airhead. 

Whatever. You have to approach at some point.

Your heels clicking on the floor alert some of them. 

One of them is your cousin, Jessa, the one getting married. 

She gasps when she notices you, a bright smile adorning her features as she races forward, tackling you in a big hug. “Ugh, thank god you’re here. This shit would’ve been boring as hell,” Jessa winks at you with a knowing look, before turning to Rafe. “You must be Rafe, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Rafe reciprocates the politeness, flashing a charming smile. “Thanks for letting me come on such short notice.”

Jessa has such a natural beauty to her that sometimes has the tendency to make people stare, and her smile and words are (mostly) always so genuine that at first people think she’s mocking them, but she rarely ever is. She’s too nice for her own good, and it’s the main reason you and her got along so well and why you were close growing up. You both could recognize the horrors and dishonesty of your family from a mile away. 

Although, while you leaned away from the monetary values in life in high school, Jessa embraced it, and that's when you started drifting apart a bit. You were still close, just not to the same degree. She was still your anchor during family events, and vice versa.

“Please,” Jessa waves him off with a laugh, “it was no problem. Besides, I wasn’t gonna let her fend off our family all on her own.”

You slip your hand back to Rafe’s, who gives it a gentle squeeze at the gesture. “Yeah, well, that means subjecting him to unlimited access to bigotry and misogyny.” Then you shrug as if the whole thing is beneath you. “At least it’s just the immediate family tonight, that way he’ll slowly get introduced to the crazy instead of all at once.”

The wince on Jessa’s face sparks a flash of panic in your chest. Why is she looking at you as if she’s walking on eggshells? 

“Don’t be mad,” she immediately says, and warning bells go off in your head that you barely register Rafe’s thumb, smoothing out the skin on your hand in an attempt to comfort you. “But Yara and Grant are joining us tonight. Your mom organized the dinner so she added them to the list. If I had known–”

Then you scan the crowd behind Jessa, noticing Yara and Grant are engaged in conversation with your aunt, your ex-boyfriend’s back turned to you so you don't have the unpleasantness of seeing his face just yet.

God, this really is enemy territory. The good, the bad, and the ugly all standing here in one room.

You shush your cousin with a distant smile, as if to try and reassure that it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine, honest. I’m a grown up.” Then, you jab a thumb at Rafe, “This one, on the other hand, might start a cat fight.”

Jessa laughs in relief as Rafe rolls his eyes, but a playful smile ghosts his lips. Your cousin goes to say something else but is interrupted by her husband, Kevin, who flashes you a warm smile then leans down to whisper something in his fiance’s ear, pulling Jessa from the conversation with an apologetic smile, spinning around to tackle the next objective in sight. 

It’s constantly go, go, go when it comes to her, and you can’t help but feel bad, wanting your cousin to just be able to take a deep breath. However, weddings are never a time of relaxation, especially for the bride no doubt.

To your dismay, the table isn’t ready yet, which allows time for your brother, Patrick, to saunter up to you and Rafe with a gleam in his eye that indicates he’s ready to stir up trouble, especially when he utters your name in that mousey tone that makes you want to drop kick him.

“Wow,” he nearly tsks, strolling right up and crossing his arms to buff out his chest dominantly as he looks at you up and down, “I see you’re still keen on dressing like a clown.”

Rafe has the nerve to hit the guy for coming up to you like that unprompted, and before he can cause a scene, you merely roll your eyes and scoffs, as if you're used to the behavior.

“I see mom and dad still haven’t funded your forehead reduction surgery,” you snap back, then mockingly shield her eyes with the hand that isn’t holding Rafe’s. “Jesus. Could you take a step back? It’s reflecting light right into my eyes.”

Patrick laughs condescendingly. “Wow, I almost forgot how fucking sensitive you are.” Then, he finally turns to Rafe with such a lax demeanor that he’s seconds away from slapping it out of him. “You her guard dog or what?”

You answer for Rafe, who’s holding a look that genuinely can kill. “This is my boyfriend, Rafe.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’d take that step back, he bites,” you deadpan.

Patrick takes his time analyzing the scene in front of him, wearing an ugly smile when he alternates looking between you and Rafe. Despite being older, you hate how you nearly squirm under his gaze, and slip your hand out of Rafe’s to cross your own arms defensively.

God, words can’t describe how much you can’t stand him.

“This is interesting. How much did she pay you to be here?”

You wince. “Jesus, Patrick. Could you fuck off for once in your life?”

“Nah, you’re too easy to piss off,” he says teasingly, but his eyes are trained on Rafe. “There’s no way you’re actually into that.” Patrick nods towards you with a look to say, amirite? “Did mom pay you? Be serious. It wouldn’t be her first time getting pimped out–”

You scoff, seething through your teeth, hating the way your palms sweat at the mere mention of Grant, especially in front of Rafe. “How’s that OnlyFans model, by the way? Or, wait, is that the one that took half your trust fund and ran, or am I thinking of Celeste–?”

Seeing red, Patrick takes a dangerously close step forward to get in your face. “I think you should shut the fuck up, because we can totally go band for band right now in front of your little–”

The edge in Rafe’s voice startles you. “Her little what?”

Patrick falters when Rafe takes a step forward, having a noticible few inches on your brother, as he stares down at the already cowering man. Taking a step back to compensate for the spacial intrusion, Patrick simply huffs, already seceding to the intimidation.

He goes to add some pathetic excuse but Rafe cuts him off again.

“If I hear one more word out of your mouth about her, I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.”

There’s a palpable silence between the two men, having a masculine-off and staring at each other to see who’s the first to break. With the way Patrick’s eyes are wide and fearful, it’s going to be him, as Rafe’s unfaltering stare is narrowed, cold, threatening. It’s a look that someone does not want to be on the receiving end of, and as a witness to it, now a part of you understands why he said he’d rather be feared. 

Because he knows how to instill it, you realize.

Rafe is fuming yet trying to keep his anger in check. It’s obvious to everyone that he’s severely holding back. “Now fuck off.”

Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice, tucking tail and scampering back to Paulette like he always does. 

Making sure your brother is fully set on not coming back, Rafe then spins around to face you, the cold stare now replaced with concern and you nearly melt at the sight, because you feel like this look is reserved just for you.

“Are you okay?”

All you can do is nod, not trusting your voice. Although you do suppress a grin, because nothing satisfies you more than your brother getting what he deserves. It doesn't happen very often given his track record of being the favorite, but those once in a blue moon opportunities are gold mines, and you know to appreciate them when they come.

Rafe doesn’t recognize your relief, instead distraught about the whole interaction as he runs his hands up and down your arms. “Baby, who the fuck was that? That wasn’t Grant, right?”

If it was, Rafe definitely would’ve knocked him out cold.

You push the thought down. “No, that was my brother.”

That causes him to pinch his brows even further. “Your...brother?”

You simply nod again, sighing out a breath you don't realize you hold.

“He’s a prick.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you complain. “He’s such a primadonna. More than you.”

Rafe’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull as he scoffs, deeply offended. “Baby, never compare me to that jackoff ever again. You hear me?”

All you do is bite your lip to suppress a grin. He hates that you're teasing him right now.

His irritation is through the roof, especially when you don't respond, and simply look up at him with your doe eyes. “You hear me?”

“You’re so worked up,” you murmur low, a tone that makes him shudder. “We should go talk about it. Upstairs.”

“Sweet girl.” A warning. 

You then laugh, and as endearing as the sound is, frustration still continues to bubble in his chest, half out of disbelief that that prick is your brother and the other half in slight arousal.

It makes Rafe spiral. His relationship with his sisters is much, much different than that, the three of them having a sort of solidarity together against their parents. A pinch of sadness pricks at his chest when he realizes that he’s who you've had to deal with your entire childhood, and given his charming behavior, Patrick probably wasn’t a very good brother.

“That’s not…” he trails off, trying to get back on track. “That’s not funny.”

You go to retort but one of the workers approaches the group to announce that the family's table is ready. 

The scene in front of you is almost comical: a large group of obnoxious, wealthy socialites herding to the private outdoor table like cattle, probably already drunk off of the all-inclusive bar that hangs just outside the lobby. Expensive heels click against marble floor, jewelry clutters together at any slight movement, the men laugh with their bellies, it’s already severely overwhelming. 

Unfortunately Jessa and Kevin are seated at the opposite side of the Last Supper kind of table, Jessa taking the head on that side and Yara, surprisingly, taking the head of the other end. You're placed to her right with Rafe on your right, which places you right across from Grant, who offers a timid wave to you.

Rafe puts two and two together, a lightbulb clicking in his head when he notices you overly refuse the gaze of the guy across from you. 

If Rafe’s glare could kill, Grant would be six feet under in an instant. 

And Grant definitely notices, and doesn't glance in your direction again.

Fortunately, Paulette and Patrick are seated at the other end of the table, so you really only have to deal with one of the two obstacles of the night, who are sitting in the closest proximity possible. Bless Yara’s heart, because she offers endless chatter so there’s no awkward pauses between you all. It’s practically the four of you in your little nook with the exception of a random aunt next to Grant who barely pays them any attention. 

Appetizers run well, and you manage to stay under the radar from the table discussions, simply conversing with Rafe quietly to keep your sanity at bay. Thankfully, he indulges in your rambling, keeping your mind occupied and sharp.

Then, of course your luck runs out, because you suddenly become the topic of the table when an uncle asks Paulette about you. 

“Oh?” Paulette asks in mock surprise. “Yes, she’s still in school. She’s at the end with her boyfriend, Rafe. Angel?” 

You hate how you and Yara both pick your heads up at the nickname. 

“I’m sure everyone wants to hear about you two,” Paulette jabs innocently, everyone else missing the very pointed look she gives you.

Well, everybody except you and Rafe, who finds your thigh under the table to squeeze in comfort.

Everyone’s eyes are on you, and you absolutely hate the attention. “Uh, yeah. This is Rafe. We met at school.”

There's a pause, your family expecting you to continue, but the words die in your throat at the implication.

How much of the truth should you reveal? Do you say you've been dating since you started fucking? Or from when you met? Should you introduce him instead of talking about your so-called relationship? What do these people really want to know?

Your anxiety spikes at your mother's raised brow, a wordless plea to keep talking, to not embarrass her.

Yara, surprisingly, saves you. “What do you study, again?”

Phew-

“Software engineering and romantic languages,” you reply, thankful for the distraction. 

Rafe tries to play it cool, but his heart pinches. He didn’t know that. He should’ve asked you way sooner. 

“Oh!” Yara beams. “That’s so interesting. So you must be, like, a hacker, or something!”

Despite how annoying she is, you find yourself stifling a chuckle. “Uh, yeah, something like that–”

Paulette interrupts tightly by saying your name, a fake smile plastered on her lips as she blinks like a doll. “Enough about computers. Tell us more about you two, your aunts are dying to know.”

Ah, there it is.

The obvious distaste for your real hobbies and interests, always pinnacling the conversation back to your relationship status, to your desirability. Of course, because no one actually cares about what you want to do with your life. Why would they?

Your eyes dart between your three aunts at the end of the table, leaning in eagerly. Rafe’s hand gives another squeeze under the table, and before you can speak up and bullshit some lie about your relationship, he cuts you off, to your surprise. 

“She started tutoring me last semester,” Rafe starts charmingly. “It was American history, and I really suck at memorizing stuff like that so she was nice enough to help me out. Ended with an A, even. Eventually, we became friends. I’d bring coffee to our study sessions to basically beg her to go out with me.”

That earns a few endearing laughs from your aunts. Patrick rolls his eyes. Your father raises a brow.

“But she always said no. I was almost tempted to take another history class so she’d be able to tutor me again.”

Rafe sneaks a glance at you, watching him make up the story on the spot with a soft gaze. Even though it’s pretend, he sounds pretty convincing. 

“And I did. Art history. Unfortunately, I’m not much better at it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “But, then again, I have a pretty good tutor. So I made a deal with her that if I got above a ninety five on my Italian Renaissance exam, I’d get to take her out on a date. And I think she agreed to that thinking I wouldn’t score that high.”

The table chuckles at that. You find his hand under the table and squeeze. 

Rafe shrugs. “But I did. I studied a lot in secret, but scored a ninety seven. So, I had the privilege of taking her out to dinner, and then one thing led to another…” he trails off.

God, that was charming. 

You aren't sure whether to be impressed on how he commands a room or how quickly he had that lie locked and ready to go.

Maybe his inspiration came from you talking his ear off about Macchiavelli and the fifteen-hundreds in Italy, as well as knowing random tidbits about the Sicilian architecture that you'd point out in town. Truthfully, you assumed he wasn’t listening to any of it, letting it go in one ear and out the other like people normally do when you have something to say.

But, to your surprise, he listened, whether fully or partially, it doesn’t matter. He still listened.

One of her aunts, Willa, nearly swoons at him. “Oh! How lovely.”

Another aunt, Nancy, leans in further. "Where are you from, Rafe?”

“North Carolina, ma’am.”

“And what will you do when you graduate?”

Rafe subtly tenses at the question, you being the only one to notice. “I’m studying business affairs and commercial real estate, so I’m hoping to work under my dad to get some experience and then move up north and join a firm there.”

The table seems pleased with his put-together plan. This time, your father speaks up while swirling his wine glass. “What does your father do?”

“He owns a real estate firm, Cameron Developments,” Rafe responds curtly, offering a tight smile. “It’s catered to the Carolinas and neighboring states, selling estates and buying out buildings to make affordable housing on the island to encourage more commercial viability.”

Eventually, the talk fizzles into something that pushes Rafe out of the conversation, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest so he can turn back to you, staring at him with a grateful smile. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to him. “Thank you. I thought I was going to have to make something up. How’d you pull that out of your ass?”

Rafe shrugs, suppressing a grin, feeling pride that he got to swoop in and save the day. “Contrary to popular belief, I was actually listening to your little nerd rants.”

You flush. “You seem to get their approval.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course, you get it in five minutes whereas it took me nearly twenty years.”

You take a long sip of wine, missing the way he frowns. 

“Who cares about these bastards,” Rafe grumbles, grabbing your hand in solidarity, skimming his fingers over your rings. “Software engineering sounds pretty badass.”

“Oh, please, it’s not cool at all.”

“It is,” he says, softer, yet firm. “What else are you hiding from me?”

You beam, laughing a little louder than your quiet volume. “Nothing that warrants a search.”

Rafe narrows his eyes playfully, intently staring. “Nah, I feel like there’s something so crazy about you that I can’t guess. Like, you’re secretly a klepto. Or a rockstar.”

“Oh!” Yara interrupts gleefully, catching the tail end of your conversation. “That’s so funny, because she kind of was in high school.”

Annnnnnnd now Yara's back on your shit list.

He whips his head to look at you, eyes wide in surprise. “You were a klepto?”

The scoff you let out is far from attractive, and the dramatic eye roll kickstarts a migraine. “I was not a klepto.” Then you pause. “I stole from CVS once, and it scared the shit out of me and I never did it again. But no.”

Rafe furrows his brows in calculation. “You were a—“

“Rockstar!” Yara practically beams. 

You ignore Rafe’s stare, as well as Grant’s.

Suddenly, you're squirming under the spotlight, hating the way your chest pulls tight at your two very different works colliding right now. Rafe knowing tidbits about your high school endeavors feels intrusive, and you practically rip your hand from his at the breach, and continue to ignore his stare.

Swallowing thickly, you suck in a breath. “That term is a bit dramatic.”

The shift in tone is sure to set the conversation elsewhere, but happy-go-lucky Yara doesn’t seem to get the hint, instead she further leans into the topic and even grabs Grant’s bicep to emphasize her point, who doesn’t look pleased to have been dragged into the discussion. 

“Dramatic? But it’s true!” To your horror, Yara turns all of her attention solely to Rafe, who’s still frowning about his hand not holding yours anymore. “She played guitar with college kids, which was all the rage as a junior in high school. Their band won the student music competition which is, like, the Oscars for NYU students.”

“That’s the Grammys, angel,” Grant murmurs, Rafe narrowing his gaze at the first words he’s heard the guy say all night. 

Yara doesn’t flinch. “Oh! I’m sure he gets the idea. But isn’t that crazy?” She doesn’t give Rafe time to respond before she turns to you, almost apologetically by the way she places a dainty hand on your forearm. “That’s why I was so surprised to hear you weren’t studying music. Everyone thought you’d be the next, like, guitar person, or something!”

Strongly resisting the urge to scoff, you simply shrug politely instead. 

You aren't sure why Yara is so insistent on this notion that you were friends in high school. You weren’t. At all. You existed in different social circles that occasionally intersected at parties and other gatherings. 

Realistically, you only had two really close friends in high school, Joel and Quinn, who always got into fun trouble together. You didn’t care about having a large friend group, and preferred keeping your circle small because you knew that it was genuine. Sure, you liked to show up to parties — not to show face but to get free drinks — which ultimately made Yara’s group think you were all tight. 

Yara and Grant were friends with the pretty rich girls and athlete guys who dated within their group, their personalities thin and weightless and their pockets deep with cash. They were stuck up and arrogant, walking around the halls as if they owned it (which their families probably did) and often picking fights with the nerdy kids or snorting in the bathroom. They were the cool ones, the popular ones, the people that everybody wanted to be. 

You remember a time when Paulette incessantly tried to push you into that friend circle: the rich kid group. She’d force you to attend charity galas and sit with all of them since all of your parents were friends, she’d invite Yara’s family and other families to your house without telling you and would proceed to force you to mingle.

She’d even go as low as bribing one of her friends’ sons - a certain someone sitting across from you at this very moment - to go out with you to prove you can be like them, talk like them, look like them. 

After that stunt, you separated yourself as much as possible from that scene, much to your mother’s dismay. You joined Joel’s older brother’s band and the three of you simply preferred their company to those from your high school.  Word eventually got out that you, Quinn, and Joel were kicking it with college kids, and of course Yara’s friend group had to intrude on that as well, proving that they, too, could be cool. 

So, yeah. Yara went to your shows. Not as a friend but for attention. 

“Well,” you feign nonchalance. “That was a long time ago.”

Yara sighs dreamily. “Indeed it was.”

The food arrives, pulling them from the trip down memory lane. Rafe’s hand reluctantly leaves your thigh to pick up his fork and knife, nearly salivating at the assortment of pasta and meat sitting in front of him. 

The thought still lingers in his mind, though, about you in high school.

He ponders over if you'd be together like you are now, or even friends. But as much as he wants to believe that, he knows you probably would’ve never given him the time of day.

Contrary to popular belief, Rafe was a bigger asshole in high school than he is in college. His chest feels funny at the notion that you have this whole other side of you that he doesn’t even know about, envious of those who’ve known you for the entirety of your life. How could he not know you played guitar? Or joined a band?

His mind only reels. What other mischief did you get into? Why don't you do any of that stuff at college? Or do you, and he simply has no idea?

Rafe frowns at the fact that he wants to know more. Not even more, he wants to know all of it. But he shouldn’t. This is fake. He’s playing a part. 

Then why does he yearn for more?

Physically shaking his head at the thought, Rafe pushes it away and begins to eat. It’s good, but he finds himself sagging his shoulders. 

Rafe leans down to you with a joking smile. “I think Lorenza ruined food for me. I’ll never have anything as good as her cooking ever again.”

A quiet hum is all you respond with. 

Displeased with the lack of enthusiasm for his banter, Rafe goes to say something else but notices you're looking down at your plate, swishing the food around with a fork. 

Or lack thereof. 

First, he’s confused at the notably smaller portion that you have in comparison to his. Then, he furrows his brows and looks around the table, seeing everyone has a normal, hefty plate, except you. It’s as if the meal is for a child.

Rafe scoffs. “Baby, the kitchen totally scammed you.”

“Wasn’t the kitchen.”

Rafe studies your indifferent expression, not looking up at him but instead down the table past his eyes. With curiosity, he follows your gaze and his stomach drops when he realizes you're looking at Paulette, who eats a veggie platter rather than the pasta with a bright smile, completely oblivious to his stare. 

Then Rafe starts fuming. 

His hand curls around his fork and knife, knuckles turning white at the ferocity of it, at the thought of your mother pulling this stupid shit again. Of course she would. She’s the one who organized the dinner so she’d have full reign to make her own accommodations, always jumping on the first chance to embarrass her daughter. 

It makes his blood boil. 

Rafe takes a deep breath, reminding himself that a loud crash out is not the appropriate response, especially in front of your entire family, even though he has more than enough words to say that are nothing nice. Despite his flaring temper, he regulates his breathing and composes himself. 

Without question, Rafe starts scooping out pasta and meat from his bowl into yours, not trusting his words. 

Your voice is so small, so unlike you, that it further pisses him off. “Rafe. Stop. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fucking fine,” he hisses quietly, gradually piling more food from his plate to yours. “You’re having some of mine.”

“But I—“

“No. End of discussion.”

“You don’t—“

Rafe ceases his movements to glare at you, really glare, with such intensity that it shuts you right up. Your breath hitches, feeling hot under his piercing blues, squirming uncomfortably as if you're in trouble. There's no baby or sweet girl to lull you through this dilemma, and you can't help but shrink under his gaze.

The two of you stare at each other, having a silent discussion that you aren't going to win. He almost relents when he realizes that you're not looking up at him with anger, but rather embarrassment, shame, guilt.

It makes him hate Paulette even more for putting you in this position to begin with. 

“We’re sharing,” he says evenly after the tension filled silence. “Okay?”

You blink, knowing you're not winning this one. “Okay.”

Reluctantly, you let Rafe continue until your portions are the exact same, deliberately trying to ignore your mother’s laser gaze from down the table as you quietly take your fork and eat.

You want to agree with him that, yes, your nonna’s cooking is better, but you can’t seem to find the words. Or any words, for that matter. Not while your mother is watching you like a hawk, and not while Rafe eats next to you as if that whole thing wasn’t severely intimate, as if he also isn't watching you to make sure you do what he wants you to do. 

Because you hate the way that he understands what’s wrong without you having to say anything.

You're not sure if you appreciate someone being so in tune with your thoughts, or if you're scared of it.

Teetering between the two feelings, you continue to eat and sip your wine every few bites, refusing to look up from the plate to let the flushed feeling in your face relax.

“I’ve seen you hangry before,” he says after a few minutes, his voice barely heard over the laughter and chatter of the rest of the table. “You literally choked Elliot last week because he forgot to place our bagel and coffee order after waiting an hour.”

You shrink at the anecdote. “I was hungover.”

Rafe snorts. “Baby, you were so scary. I feared for my life.” Then he notices you're looking at him instead of eating, and nods towards your plate. “I’m not ready to die. Eat.”

Suppressing a giant grin, you swirl a forkful of pasta and take a bite, for once thankful for his bossy attitude.

He’s been stupidly perfect tonight, saying the right things and smiling in a pretty way that makes your knees weak, but also glaring at Grant so intently that he doesn’t try and attempt small talk with you. His touch alternates from your thigh, to your hand, to your shoulder when he slings his lean arm across the back of your chair, as if he’s caging you in, a notion of possession you're surprisingly grateful for. 

It’s too much. But in the right way.

Rafe’s playing the hell out of the boyfriend role so hard that you're beginning to believe it, too.

You've already made up your mind: you're totally going down on him later. 

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes apologies for the delay on posting. thanks for all the support, genuinely !!!!!!

[lover-of-mine]

You should use your color theory powers to prove that Bobby is still alive

Okay, not exactly color theory but stay tuned to step into denial land with me.

One thing about the show is that it loves breadcrumbing. They do a lot of stuff that will make you go "oh, that is what that was" upon rewatch.

So, I made myself rewatch the lab stuff and from that we get Argument Number One: we never saw a body. We saw him pass out and a body bag. Bobby passing out does not mean he is dead because Chimney fully passed out and Chimney was bleeding a lot more than Bobby. And Chimney is alive. The seeing the body is important because we usually do see the body. We see Patricia's body, we have focus on Eddie with Shannon's body, we see Emmett's, we also Marcy's.

In other instances, like with Karen, Denny, Buck, we saw a monitor flatlining or some other confirmation that there is no pulse.

With Bobby we cut from him laying on the table to a body bag when they could've done a dramatic shot of Athena against the glass to parallel Bobby losing Marcy.

Argument Two: the song choice. Licensing Work Song by Hozier has to have been extremely expensive. And honestly, that song after the leaked scripts that he was gonna be buried alive was so...

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Like, come on.

And not only that but the way the song overall can be interpreted as an suicidal alcoholic finding something to live for in love.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

And the second verse catches my eye when we go back to Sick Day and we go back to bathena's dream house being an empty nest and Athena overall being the thing that tethers Bobby to life. Bobby wanted to die but starting to date Athena is the start of him accepting he found more to life than the things he lost. It all makes the choice of this particular song even more insane. He doesn't want to leave her. He will crawl back to her.

Argument Number Three: Bobby's halloween costume. He's a vampire.

An undead creature. An undead creature that in a lot of versions of the myth needs to go in contact with the virus venom then bleed out to be reborn. And coming back to the leaked script, in a lot of versions of the myth, the person needs to be buried to wake up in their second life.

Argument Four: Still on the buried alive line of thought, this happened in 811. Please note the way she grabs Bobby. We literally had someone be buried alive.

Argument Four bleeds into Argument Five: CDC recomendation for CCHF is to no autopsy, embalment, or do anything with the body beyond put the body bag in the coffin. @muddiedfoxglove has a more detailed post on that here. The situation in 811 is that the husband gave her cyanide, which should have killed her, but didn't, and buried her before checking for sure she was dead. Sounds familiar to everyone assuming the virus killed Bobby and not checking and him being buried with his full gear that includes his phone and will let him call 911 when he wakes up from this thing that should have killed him but did not?

Argument Number Six: the copilot from the plane disaster. In particular Athena's part in keeping him alive. He's powering through because there no other pilot, but then his heart stops. There's the whole effort to keep doing cpr while Athena fixes the situation and lands the plane, and then Athena chooses to stay in the plane, even thought it is on fire, to continue that and he ultimately makes it. Kinda like the way Athena fixes the situation with Chimney and is the reason Bobby has to stay alive.

Argument Number Seven: this parallel.

There's also the way Buck was dead, his light was on, Bobby's isn't on. We also had the full helmet in frame for Buck, and that did not happen with Bobby. But Buck makes it out of it alive.

Argumemt Number Eight: Jesus. 911 has added a lot of Jesus symbolism to Bobby this season. And it makes me wonder after meeting his mother in a church. And the fact that the episode aired on Holy Thursday. And the fact that the funeral is being filmed on the Hall of Crucifixion and Resurrection. The Easter of it all points to resurrection.

Edit: Wait, no, Argument Nine: 808 and the way Brad's character was supposed to be dead but has a "miracle recovery" no one could explain. Also plays into the Jesus of it all.

I think this is all I have for you. Hope you join me in denial land if you read this.

[no-144444]

꩜ summary: 2 years after he's seen you, and you're still both thinking the same thing...

꩜ pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

꩜a/n: smut 18+

Oscar had no idea what he was doing there. A concert wasn’t usually his scene anyway, but your concert. Fuck, he was out of place, despite not really looking it. Everyone was his age, some guys even looked like him (though they were clearly dragged by their partners), and honestly, had he a gin and tonic in his hand and maybe Logan and Lando by his side, he would’ve probably enjoyed himself. Well, that, and not having a long and deep history with the woman performing. But here he was, drink-less, and Hattie beside him. 

It had been what, 2 years since you’d last seen each other? Not that bad, right? Wrong. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the weeks just ticked by so much that texting you would be weird. Oscar was… a kid back then (not really, he was 20), when you two… started, if something even started. It had been one drunk night which had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He remembered everything from that night, despite the ridiculous amount of alcohol he consumed. 

“Have you met Y/n?” Pierre mused, a smirk on his lips. Oscar gulped. The randomest people were always invited to F1 events, and Oscar wasn’t usually interested in attending, but one bad race result meant he wanted a drink, and stuff always tasted better when someone else was paying for it, especially when that someone was the FIA. FIA parties were always interesting. All the celebrities who had come to the race, any driver who wasn’t flying home, and all the F2 drivers who hadn’t left yet. The music was deafening, the lights were low, and bad decisions were inevitable. 

“Who’s that?” he asked as Pierre wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer with that ill-intended smirk he always wore before getting Oscar into trouble. 

“She’s your age, she’s a singer, and she’s hot,” Pierre pushed Oscar into the crowd, his drink almost spilling all down the back of a girls dress, and knocking her over. 

“Shit! Sorry,” he cursed, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. “You alright?” 

You turned around to meet his eyes, and his entire body went stiff. Shit, Pierre wasn’t lying, you were stunning. “All good, thanks though,” you smiled back, flashing him a look of your perfect teeth. Whoever was going to procreate with you was lucky. 

“I’m Oscar, by the way,” he held out his hand to be shaken. This was a rare show of confidence from Oscar. The regular him would’ve just walked on and never thought about the interaction again. “I’m with Alpine-”

“I know who you are,” you chuckled, a wonderful, melodic sound over the deafening music. “I’m Y/n,” you shook his hand. “You’re really talented, too bad about the Sprint this weekend though,” you offered him a sympathetic look, but he was focusing pretty hard on not looking at your tits and the way they jumped out of your dress. 

“Yeah, a shame but… it’s whatever,” he shrugged. “Do you want to grab a drink?” 

“Holy shit,” you whispered against his ear as he continued kissing down your neck. “Never thought I’d be fucked on an F1 car,” you chuckled, digging your nails into his back muscles. He groaned against your neck, but never stopped. Maybe bringing you into the alpine garage to fuck you on an f1 car wasn't the wisest choice, but he did it anyway. The cocky part of his brain told him it was due to the fact he wanted to, but in reality, he just wanted to impress you.

“First time for everything,” he grunted, pulling back. “You’re sure?” he asked. 

“So sure,” you nodded, fisting the bottom of his stupid alpine shirt. He didn’t need to be told twice. He smirked and turned your back to him, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he heard you were moaning at that alone. “Liked that?’ he teased, and you slapped his arm playfully. 

“Just fuck me Oscar,” you rolled your eyes, bending over and leaning on the car. He let out a breath as he pulled your panties down your legs. “I thought racecar drivers were meant to be fast?” you mocked. “You’re taking your time.” 

He shrugged and started unzipping his trousers. “I like to enjoy the view when I’m not driving 300 km an hour,” he was feeling increasingly cocky, and he knew no one was taking him down from this high. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaning over you and taking one of your hands in his as he pulled the condom on his cock. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and felt you shiver under him. He was hard, harder than he’d ever been probably. He was going to enjoy this. “You ready?”

“Fuck me Oscar,” you pushed back against him, and he slipped in with one swift motion. Both of you were just frozen for a moment, you were adjusting to his size, while he was trying not to cum already. You were so fucking tight, he had no idea what he was going to do. Maybe he’d have to start naming world champions in his head to hold off longer, or maybe he’d just cum prematurely and make an ass of himself in front of the most interesting girl he’d ever met. Shockingly, he preferred the first option. 

“You can move now,” your voice was low and small, but it didn’t bother him one bit. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back and thrust into you once, knocking the air out of your lungs. Quickly, you two built a rhythm that had you both moaning out louder than either of you had planned. He genuinely prayed no one would check the security cam footage, or else he was for sure fucked. 

“So good Osc,” you whined, grinding back against him. “Feels so good.” 

“Feels fucking amazing,” he groaned, throwing his head back as he thrust into you harder. “So fucking beautiful baby.” 

It didn’t go unnoticed, the way you tightened around him when he said it. He smirked. Nothing was getting him off this ego boost. Ever. 

“Dear god,” you gasped out as he quickened his pace. 

“Not God, Oscar,” he smirked, earning him another slap to the arm. Worth it. 

The next time it happened, it was after Coachella. You’d flown him out to California, he watched your set, and then spent three hours in your dressing room getting rode like a fucking horse. He didn’t complain once. The visits gradually became more regular, and in hotel rooms, or the odd dressing room, or sometimes his Monaco apartment. It was sometimes just lunch, or dinner, and then it turned into that more than sex, and that’s when you ran, and he got his heart broken. 

He shook the memories away and sunk further into the crowd (he hoped), and adjusted the green cap on his head, trying to blend in some more. The last few notes of one of your songs played, and he smiled, watching you perform. 

“How are we feeling Melbourne?” you asked and the crowd went wild. He even clapped a bit, but mostly because Hattie slapped his arm. “Well, I have something for you, it’s a new song…” you paused as the crowd went insane. Hattie grabbed onto his shoulder, her mouth hung open with shock. “It’s called ‘Dear God’, and it’s about a Melbourne native,” you winked at the crowd before the opening chords began. 

His mouth was hung open and all the blood rushed to his ears. He wore ear plugs to concerts, he always had. He had never been a fan of too much noise, but he immediately ripped them out of his ears, and gawked. You danced around the stage, and his eyes never left your body as he listened to the damned lyrics. 

“Dear god, take his kiss right out my brain, take the pleasure outta my pain, take the way he used to say, ‘I love you’, dear god, get his imprint out of my back, take ‘amazing’ out of our sex, take away the way I still might want to,” you sang looking out on the crowd. 

And then your eyes found him and time stopped. You continued singing, you kept dancing, but your eyes never left his. Much like you never stopped thinking about him. Much like you never stopped loving him. Every word was meant. Every word was for him. 

“I want to meet that guy,” you pointed him out to one of your guards. “We know each other. Offer the girl with him a VIP package, she’s famous too. Just, send him straight to my dressing room and send her to the meet and greet, yeah?” 

He nodded, and left to start arranging it. 

The show came and went, and someone told you there was ‘a strange man’ in your dressing room. You smirked. 

“Amazing sex?” he teased, his hands in his pockets. “I think it was a bit better than that.” 

You rolled your eyes and closed the gap between you two, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were hugging him. The world stopped for the second time that night. His arms wrapped around you and squeezed, tight. It felt good. Right. “Missed you,” you admitted, your voice muffled by his (now) broad chest. “Where have you been?” 

You knew it wasn’t a fair question when you were the one who walked away, but you knew Oscar well enough to know he’d just smile and say something deeply profound as if it were completely unremarkable. 

“Waiting for you, I guess,” he shrugged. Check. 

You smiled against his chest. “I love you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” 

He pulled back, cupping your cheek with one of his perfect, boyish smiles. “No need to be sorry,” he shook his head. “It all worked out.”

You nodded and pressed forward, catching his lips with yours. All that heat and hurt you caused each other, all those years spent together and cautious, and those spent alone and miserable, it all culminated in that kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made you never want to stop, but alas, humans need air, and Oscar felt fit to faint, but then again, he would for you. 

“Also, the sex was way better than amazing,” you agreed, a chuckle on your lips.  He laughed out loud, that perfect, Oscar laugh. You leaned in and buried your head in his neck.

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

[justabeewithapen]

What do you think would('ve) happen if, like, Doey and the other toys/experiments (Lucas and Bella included) got out of the facility? How would they react? Obviously, they'd enjoy the freedom, but what else?

Text under the read more!

Phew! Sorry this took me so long to get to, but hopefully it was worth it! Someone else also sent an ask talking about how Bella and Lucas could have survived the HOJ (which I accidentally deleted due to lag while deleting spam TwT) so this is for both of you!!

The first thing on everyone's mind after escaping would be food, food and drinks of any kind. Playtime Co. controlled most of the toys via starvation, and the food they did get was really low quality junk. Doey is more than familiar with crawling through vents, and what is that Walmart employee really going to do about him. While grabbing most anything in reach, there was definitely a preference towards junk food, they're all still kids and chips and soda are like ambrosia and they're going to eat until they throw up, and then they'll probably eat more after XD

After they finish gorging themselves I think they'd probably hide? Try and find somewhere to hide out either just in the woods or if they can locate an abandoned building. Anything to stay out of the weather and away from people, especially that last bit. None of them want anything to do with people, interactions would be rare and as short as they possibly can manage (they're all very scared of being dragged back). Getting Lucas and Bella's collars off is one of those rare people interactions, that poor employee who had Doey's stalker form looming over them while they tried to turn off a shock collar attached to a stuffed animal (who was also alive). Like, the second they left the store that dude 100% fainted BAHAHAHA. Doey's main focus is on himself, Bella, and Lucas, though I think it'd make sense for them to pick up a squad on the way out. Most toys were enjoying the carnage to some degree (or being torn apart in it) and most of the mini toys couldn't do much even after getting out of the building, these three were just lucky. There is no way in hell any of them would be willing to go back into the building, as much as they wish certain friends were here, it's just too much risk.

Honestly even after escaping I think they'd still be stuck in survival mode, scared of being dragged back at any moment and living in a world that is so new and scary. Most don't have very strong memories of being human, everything is new and to them, anything new is dangerous. They'd settle into a routine eventually I imagine... I believe in them :] Also for funsies! The Bron's name is Brandy, he remembers the most about being human (though not his own name as Brandy was a name he took after being a toy) and is in charge when it comes to figuring out new stuff. He is also the oldest of the group! The Daddy Long Leg is Dill, he also doesn't remember his real name. Dill and Doey are the main ones who do any sneaking that needs to be done, Dill is small and flexible, Doey is large and flexible. Finally there is the Catbee Amelia, who the only thing she remembers is her name. One of her antenna snapped off before meeting Doey and gang and she was the leader of her little squad, though I think she enjoys being able to take a backseat nowadays.

[mahajio]

This is soooooo GOOOOOD!! Oh gosh, where do I even begin? Seriously! This is perfect! Every single panel is jam-packed with so much, like, what's the word? Like, you wanted to convey something here, and by golly you succeeded!

That first panel, with Laios facing away with that expression on his face… it's perfect. Falin may have forgiven her parents, but Laios still hasn't. I always thought that one post-canon extra where Laios and Falin talk to Marcille about their parents was super insightful and really made me want to see Laios reconcile with his old man and ma one day. This comic is exactly that and SOOOO MUCH MOOOREEE!! I am not crying. I am not crying. I am not crying. That tear? It isn't there. I don't have tear ducts, whaddiya talkin' about? Fuggedaboudid!

It's like… I love that Falin manages to convince Laios to at least see them. It's such a good moment. Like, after all that's happened, I feel at least part of why Laios agrees is because, like… how can he refuse Falin on this? One thing I also love aside from how nervous everybody looks, is that he is not happy to see his father at first, and only looks up when he says his name. OOooooh GOOOOSH, and the way father Touden cups Laios' face like that, finally seeing Laios all grown up—which, like, he hasn't seen him AT ALL since he was a kid! He never thought he'd see him like this… All grown up… Laios' retort made me sniffle, and his father's response straight up had me bawling. It is… so good. I also really appreciate what you did with Marcille and Kabru in the background. The both of them are tragically unable to reunite with their fathers, and for Kabru his biological mother, too. They didn't get to see them all grown up, and the timing on Marcille's tears as well as Kabru's expression make this work so magnificently... Uuugrrugugh, the way Laios seems to lighten up at least a little bit while, like, looking super hesitant to receive a gift, before laying his eyes on the ouppy killed me. I think that you struck gold by having the Touden parents gift their son an ouppy, given their whole history with dogs 'n' stuff.

I AM CRYING. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUUUUL AND I AM RAMBLING AND PROBABLY OVERLOOKING SOME DETAILS, BUT ALSO THIS IS TOOOOO GOOOD FOR ME TO BE COHERENT ABOUT IT WHATSOEVEEEEEER!!!!! I am in shambles. I am in shambles. I was waiting 'til I could make a more coherent comment, but every single time I try, I go right back to barely coherent rambling. This is too poignant a comic for me to handle, I'm sorry.

Thank you so much for being such an incredible artist. This comic is perfect.

Let's try this again

[trashcigs]

what breaks them after a break up ・ 엔하이픈 gn reader + word count 1.5k genre angst hurt no comfort cw not proof-read, kissing — more  🕷️

HEESEUNG

it happens a few days after your break up when you send him a text message. it’s the first one in a long time, it’s nothing much just a simple warning that you’ll be coming over to pick up your stuff in the next hour or so. 

he agrees, of course mentioning how he’ll pack it up for you (— i’ll set them outside for you —) he types back. and you send him a simple ok in response. the box stays empty in front of him, his hand gripping onto a a shirt of yours. 

his knuckles turn white. 

he doesn’t know what to do. no, he’s lying. he knows exactly what to do but every being in him is telling him not to. your shirt still smells like you, (he smiles to himself) ofcourse it does. but now the thought of you really leaving him seems all too real. 

heeseung shoves the shirt into the box with care — he refuses to rumple it. so he grabs another one, and folds it before shoving into the bottom of the box. and then again, and again, and again. 

now losing you feels all too real, everytime he puts another item into the box heeseung loses apart of himself. he hates this. he hates himself even more. 

eventually he stops, he can't bare to look at your clothes again or anything reminding you for that matter. his head rests against the edge of the bed, the rest of his body leaning into the frame.

thoughts run to his head, of what if's and words falling and being thrown and — he didn't meaning. heeseung didn't mean to say it was over, didn't mean to say all those words but he did. the box stays half empty or half full, he's unsure about everything. he want's to apologise but he knows you made up your mind but he wants to tell you wants to beg in front of you and—

the doorbell rings. you're here. 

JAY

it happens when he and his friends go out for dinner, bottles lined up and empty. music roaring in his ears, laughter even louder. he constantly tells himself that he'll only drink a little, that he needs to be sobber enough to get himself home.

but instead he finds himself stumbling to your apartment building, like muscle memory. jay knows he isn't in the right mind -- he knows its not the perfect excuse, that he's drunk and just needs to find a place to stay but he does it anyway, his feet dragging him otherwise.

so he sits on the curb and stays there, swaying back and forth and forth and back and biting his tongue and staring at the ground while he waits. waiting for you to approach him, to speak to him to ask him whats wrong.

and he knows you well and stays hopeful, that he'll catch a glimspe of you before leaving. and you do, ofcourse you do. coat wrapped snuggly around you and a plastic bag in a hand, as you quickly walk up to the man.

("jay?" you crouch down to see his face, his cheek and nose a deep shade of red and tears making everything all too blurry. he begins to doubt that anything is real.)

your voice is soft and comforting that in an instant. he cries. because that's what really breaks him. the fact that youre still concerned, the fact that you still care. the fact that he hurt you and you didn't even slam the door in his face, you didn't hate him enough to do it.

jay wipes the tears spilling down his cheeks, though the choked sobs escaping his lips do little to hide the fact that he got so emotional. jay the prideful, jay the strong is still love sick jay who still craves your warmth

and when you pull him into half a hug, where his head rests comfortably on your chest while he sobs — he wishes, oh how he wishes this'll last a little longer.

JAKE

It happens when he returns home from practice, tired and sweaty and all he can think about is being wrapped in your arms. 

he shoves the key into its hole and, turning and twisting it until it clicks. his hands holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. 

jake is excited, too excited. hes kicking off the shoes from his feet and yanking his coat from his shoulders. he almost yells out, “I'm home!” in his deep accent, dimples on display. 

but it gets stuck in his throat, your shoes aren't where there supposed to be. they aren't anywhere at all — they aren't at the doorstep and your coat isn't in the closet. your keys aren't hung anywhere and your perfume is gone and— 

oh. it comes back to him like a wave. oh. he gives himself a pathetic laugh, a dry half cough half sigh. his lips quivering at a silly promise the two of you made.

that he'd always return to your arms, and into a house that's full and lived and loved , with you in it.

but now its empty and cold and jake doesn't know what to do anymore. he lets out a shaky breath as layla senses his return, but even she doesn't bark with all her excitement anymore. tears cloud his vision as he stumbles onto the ground, resting himself against the cold metal of the door.

the flowers lay flush against the man's chest, arms holding it tight afraid to let go. sobs echo through the room, he won't let go. he can't — the very last of you.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon stares blankly at the trashcan at his feet and, then up at the fridge in front of him. and he doesn't know what to do.

pictures of the two of you together, has him spiralling. the fact that you're still smiling in all of them makes him feel sick.

it happens when he's cleaning up after, trying to get rid of anything and everything that reminds him of you. so he starts in the kitchen, the sticky notes plastered all over the fridge with phrases that tug his heart the wrong way, (soft i love you's and reminders)

the easiest thing to do (ofcourse), would be to throw it out. it happens when he's forced to look back at the past of what you were and think about what you could've been.

he finds himself furiously trying to wipe the tears spilling from his eyes, but to no avail. he grabs a photo, the one at the top left, the one taken at a photobooth. where your hands pull his head closer to your lips til you finally place a soft chaste (mwah!) onto his cheek.

but the photo feels dull. it taunts him. he wants to rip it. he wants to get rid of it, he wants to crumble it and throw it away. but he can't — he can't get himself to.

so the trashcan is still empty at his feet and the fridge still full. sunghoon doesn't know what to do -- he doesn't want to let you go, not yet. it makes everything all too real.

SUNOO

It happens at a convenience store, when hes working late hours and tending to the drunk man that doesn't know how to leave him alone. he practices in his head, more times than he can count — about ways to really give it to you, when he does get the chance. he lazily punches the numbers into the cash register, brows scowling as he rehearsed, again. 

sunoo has been doing everything and all that he can to keep himself busy, his apartment too large and too empty all of a sudden. jungwon no longer provides him the emotional support that was supposed to be guaranteed within the friendship (a pact — we made a pact)

everything made him feel sick — his shirt was too tight, his vest clung everywhere it wasn't supposed to, the fluorescent light flickering above him, the smile you gave when you told him that you were breaking up with him — sick. 

sunoo was going to give it to you, he promised himself. he'd tell you how much he hates you and how you're a terrible person, and tell you all the things he could've, would've said if you were together.

he'd ask why and what he did wrong and— 

the bell rings and he says his usual welcome in his customer service voice, until he sees who it is. the voice trails off and he sees you. sunoo finally sees you. 

you seem to be doing great, he notes to himself. your hair is all nicely done, your shoes look brand new and your look.. pretty. he watches you pass throught the aisles, bending and turning to catch a glimpse of you.  time seemed to be slowing when you were around. 

you finally walk up and he— (“im sorry,” he ends up saying eventually. “It was really stupid of me to and i didn’t mean what i–” you cut him off. “How much is it.” 

he blinks. what. you repeat it again, much firmer this time rummaging through your bag. sunoo opens his mouth to speak — “sorry sir, I really need to go. how much is it?” 

sunoo feels the lump in his throat, the sting behind his eyes, his lips quivering into a cry. He swallows the apology. “Your total is twelve dollars fifty three cents, cash or card?”

JUNGWON

he can’t hear anything over the roaring of his ears. the sound of his friends laughter filling the air and the bass of the music playing from the karaoke machine thrumming his bones. his drunken frising yet another song, jungwon fixes his position against the corner of the couch 

jake had ask him if he could retrieve a photo of him ( –’sure’, he answers). the phone light illuminates his face, he is quiet for the most part. Scrolling through your messages to retrieve an old message of himself. 

he tells himself that he’ll block you once he finds the photos, that he’ll be done with you once he gets those goodman photos back but every message he sees youve sent laced with love only causes a  lump in his throat 

jungwon is biting back every urge to cry. he doesn’t like this – he hates this, but his thumb only seems to scroll slower. he takes in everything, the way you write, the emojis, the pet names, the selfies, the “this reminds me of you” – (everything reminds him of you now). 

tears cloud his eyes, as he scrolls faster to find the images. he seems to completely miss the response to his desperate message for you to comeback.

NIKI

its when his friends ask when you were going to come over and hang out. "she's busy," he lies, the corners of his lips pulling into a thin line. niki smiles, playing with the hem of his shirt.

he has nothing better to do, so he lies. he lies that you're still together, that you still have pizza nights and hangouts. he lies that you're hanging out with friends or busy with work. he lies that you're still in love with him. but they know better, niki's friends know he's lying. they mask their pity with laughs and chortles but they know niki lis lying.

background noises turn to distant humming and niki is left toying the tab of his half empty soda can. he swallows hard, looking down at his phone that illuminated his face and made his features much clearer. niki doesn't want to admit that you guys broke up, that you left him and that he let you go. one hand runs through his hair, trying -- desperately trying to pull up your phone number. a string of silent pleas leaves his chapped lips.

it simply becomes a blur, the break up but he remembers raising his voice and he remembers yours yelling back and he remembers and remembers and the more he does the more he finds himself pulling his hair, lips quivering and etars falling.

he's left to voicemail, a "this phone number isn't available right now." and he finds himself shaking as he tries again and again... and again. he muffles his sobs with his knuckles, teeth sinking into his skin. surprisingly, it hurts less.

it comes to him in heartbeats, he feels his heart sink as he calls again. the ache that becomes a reality, the terrifying realization that you might really really be gone for good.

and that no matter how many times he'd tell everyone "they're busy," you're never coming back. and niki's not ready to accept that.

notebook I hope I wrote them accurately!!!

taglist open ⁉️ .....

[yukioos]

HELLO! This is my first time requesting so my apologies if I didn't do it right

(｡>﹏<)

(Katsuki x insomniac!reader)

I love your writing style smm, so I was hoping you could write one where the reader is like an insomniac, staying up late to be chronically online and stuff and Katsuki tries to help her ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

I struggle with insomnia quite a bit, and I just stay up, scrolling through my phone or computer even if I don't have anything to do on there. And it's not like a one time thing either, it's like every night, and the only way I actually go to sleep is holding my plushies or listening to ASMR/or calming music, but it still takes quite a long time for it to kick in.

So I would love it if you could convey that in one of your oneshots!!

If you don't wish to go through with my request for any reason, no worries and I hope you have a good rest of your evening! (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

I wish you tons of love and good times all around, thank you for listening (∩˃o˂∩)♡

katsuki trying to help his insomniac partner

katsuki was writing down what was on the board, listening to what mister aizawa was teaching when he turned his head to see you nodding off. he glared, and checked to see when the teacher wasn’t looking, then reached over to push your shoulder.

you slowly turned toward him and pouted, quietly grumbling, “what?”

“pay attention. you’re not failing this test, idiot.” he scoffed, changing his attention to his paper and trying to solve the equation in front of him.

after a few minutes, he heard a loud thump to his left, and he sighed once he saw what happened, your hair was splayed out everywhere, your head lay on the desk, and your arms wrapped around your head, protecting it in some sort of way. he reached his arm out, not caring about the equation anymore, and wrapped his hand around your bicep, squeezing it, and small explosions landed on your arm, causing there to be a black mark on your uniform.

you swatted his hand away, seemingly wide awake when he whispered, “we’re talking after class.”

you retorted and laughed, “no shit, katsuki, we always talk after class.”

he rolled his eyes and scoffed, done with your antics. but when the time came, and the class was done, school was officially over for the day, he dragged you by your hand into your dorm.

once you set your bags down and yawned, he asked, crossing his arms after he took his clothes off and changed, “why the hell are you always so tired during the day? do you not sleep or some stupid shit like that?”

you shook your head and then nodded, a little confused about how to explain it with just signals. you spoke, “i have insomnia.”

his eyes widened. well, now he felt like an asshole.

he mumbled, “first off, you need to sleep quicker and easier. what do you think makes you calmer and more sleepy?”

“i think being around people i like makes me sleepy because i feel relaxed around them, like a comfort person. then i like listening to asmr, i love listening to soft taps and crunchy sounds! it’s so cool!” you exclaimed.

he rolled his eyes. he didn’t know what the fuck asmr was, but he assumed it helped, so he spoke, “sleep with me tonight, and we’ll put that asmr thing on.”

“really?” you asked, eyes shining with admiration. all he was worrying about was your phone, as you managed to check it around a hundred times a day, even when you weren’t supposed to. who knew what you would be like at night?

so when it came to be around eight at night, you found yourself in katsuki’s dim room, with his large television screen opened up to the youtube app. you complained, “why are we here so early, kats?”

he answered, “because i’m guessing you take a long time to sleep. put on your favorite channel and get in bed.”

he stripped off his shirt as you took control of the remote, typing in the letters of your favorite asmr channel before clicking on a video. you climbed into bed with katsuki and crawled closer to him, wanting to feel his warmth.

after a couple of minutes, you reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone when katsuki forced your hand down. he argued, “no phones past eight.”

you immediately tried to argue as well, “but—“

“go the hell to bed. no phones.” he kept his word, and eventually your eyes started to feel heavy.

you mumbled, digging your face deeper into his side, and around two hours later, after conversations, and switching through multiple videos, he finally felt your breathing evening, and he sighed.

although you had to wake up early in the morning, two hours preparing to sleep was better than many more hours. he smirked to himself, katsuki had to make this part of your nightly routine.

hi i hope this was realistic enough! i’m so glad you love my writing, you have no idea how much this affects me

[graywaynewriter]

A/N: fuck it Mark Grays blurbs go!

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who ALWAYS bring you something back when he goes on missions. Rare flowers, tourist stuff, food, perfumes, and keepsakes. He once brought you back sand because it was different in another country.

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who flies with you while dancing because he thinks it's more romantic. He lets you rest your feet on his and you'll glide around the house until you smooooothly maneuver out of the patio door and into the night sky where he twirls you around

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who ALWAYS grabs flowers if he's ever late for a date. And yes he's sped across the globe to get your fair flower, that is not yet in season where you live

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who calls you mid-fight just to say, “Hey, so are we still doing the Italian place down the street tonight?,” before punching a villain through a building

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who gets overly competitive about carrying all the groceries in one trip—even if he’s flying them in and they all fall halfway across the driveway 

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who sends you blurry selfies from space with captions like “you’d like it here!” Or “I almost got hit by a ship :)”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who lets you try on his superhero suit once and then immediately regrets it because you won’t stop posing in front of the mirror. But he’s also not complaining because “your ass looks great in that”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who trains with you not because you’re in danger, but because “if anything ever happens, I want you to be able to at least break the dicks nose”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who sends you voice memos from high-speed flights and they’re completely garbled wind noise, but he still expects you to know what he said. Eventually, he has to text back and he says. “What do you mean you can’t hear anything??”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who uses his powers to pull pranks on you such as scaring the crap out of you while you’re in the shower and just sticking his head through the top opening of the curtain

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who is embarrassed by his mother because she just had to pull out the baby photos book and show you every milestone possible. Including all of his Halloween costumes and either when he was going through puberty acne.

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who swears up and down that he did not put your spare clothes on the top of his closet just so he can see you try and reach up to grab it only to ask for him to get it for you

-🧚🏼

[secretsoffish]

Alternatively love the concept of Stan going off and being an archeologist for like a decade in between his other canon stuff (so the pine twins still fight, get separated, and Stan pushes Ford into the portal etc etc). He impersonates an archeologist/professor and then just runs with it because its such a good profession for him. He gets banned from several states because he keeps stealing things from museums/government facilities to give back to the people (not for free though hes still Stan). He likes stealing and making money but he likes stealing from the government MORE.

By the time Gravity Falls happens he's like "retired" from the field because he's trying to get Ford back and run the Mystery Shack but then you can definitely still get the fun hijinks cbdhfdnsb. Somebody comes looking to ask him for help/threaten him to help and the kids keep investigating behind his back thinking he's part of some giant criminal scheme but actually hes just this badass archeologist that goes back to being his regular couch potato self at the end of the day... Before this he keeps making references to his time as an archeologist and everybody keeps being like "you stole that from an Indiana Jones movie" not knowing somebody stole Stans stories to make the movies (the timelines dont match up shshsh). Also even though the timelines don't completely match up he still gets to beat up nazis even though WW2 would have been over by the time he went looking for the ark of the covenant

[deejayrockz]

can you do george clarke headcannons please i absolutely loved your arthur hill ones 🙈🙈

HEADCANNONS •

G. CLARKE

SUMMARY ౨ৎ in which deejay imagines what george clarke would be like as a boyfriend. #parasocialcore

WARNINGS ʚ fem!reader mentioned, but you can just ignore it, it's only really in one line. fluff ! tooth rotting fluff. mentions of argument. nsfw (is labelled beforehand)

౨ৎ

i think he is a very teasy bf. constantly making fun and teasing you, but you do the same to him so it's okay 🤗

i don't know about pda, i think he'd prefer to cuddle and things in private, but he'd like a hand holding, or arm around your shoulder after a few drinks!

invites you to every possible video idea. he makes any excuse to hang around you, despite the fact that before the relationship he was so nervous talking to you

he's the type to hold your waist when kissing you, while you hold his face. i think if he did hold your face, it'd be like a hook under the chin kinda thing

will give u piggy back rides 24/7

big kitchen dancer guy. sticks music on and forces you to dance around with him!! your tired and probably have no coordination, but he looks at you with the most love every time 🤗

he loves streaming, but it always makes him feel bad because he doesn't want you to think he likes it more than hanging around with you. you obviously encourage him to stream anyway, because he loves it, but he cuddles you extra close after every time. he makes sure to ask you if you're okay 5+ times. "you sure you aren't upset?" "george, shut up and go to sleep"

big spoon 100%. maybe little spoon after a few drinks, but big spoon sober. he likes to lay on your chest, however if it's in the living room, the most cuddles you'll probably get it legs draped over his lap, and his hand slowly massaging / rubbing your knees.

i think if you were to have an argument, he's the first to say sorry. as stubborn as he is, he'd do anything to keep you happy, and if admitting that he's wrong is the only way to do that, he'd come around eventually.

flowers. loads. ranging from cheap pink flowers to the most expensive roses, he loves to give u flowers!

very cheesy dates too. fancy dinners, or pizza on the beach in the sunset, he absolutely loves it!!

i think he'd prefer to get his own place with you, but doesn't want to move too quick, so will stay with chris and arthur until you hit maybe the one year mark. then he'd be hinting at finding a house together.

he knows so much about you, things that you genuinely dont even remember telling him. you'll go out, and he's the first to buy you a drink, without even asking what you want. he'll go to the shops, and buy you you're favourite chocolate or sweets, without even asking if you wanted any. he knows your favourite flowers, restaurant, city, EVERYTHING!!

i think in vlogs and stuff, he's very flirty, making jokes about 'having a crush' on you, however doesn't ever really confirm anything to his fans. you both agree it's best to keep it private, especially with how crazy his fans can get.

NSFW !!

i think he can be very vanilla. he tends to take more control, however isn't really into the whole dom/sub play.

he's a grunter. i don't think he enjoys moaning, as he goes all red in the face, but he'll give you the occasional "fucking hell" or "you're so gorgeous"

loves a blowjob. that's all i have to say on that really. he just seems like the type.

i also think he loves cowgirl, his hands bruising your hips!

big munch, usually before the actual action happens, but loves to eat you out !! one of his hands is holding your hips down, while the other spreads your legs open, gripping onto your thigh.

not big on public sex, only ever really enjoys it in the bedroom, or maybe the shower, but even then it isn't his favourite place.

[bluewxrld07]

Heartbeat (Jack Hughes)

Cole Caufield gf! reader x Jack Hughes

Summary: Cole hasn't been the greatest boyfriend while staying at the Hughes' household this summer. What happens when the Golden Hughes boy gets you to himself? (Inspired by Heartbeat by Childish Gambino)

Warning(s): SMUTTTT, Smoking, Shotgunning, Spitting, fingering, p in v, unprotected (WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP), cheating (sorry Cole), choking, roughness, marking

"Get your fat ass off me!" Y/N laughed out with a screech, urging and trying her best to lift the youngest Hughes brother off of her body.

Luke was currently trying to tackle the girl after he's been convinced she cheated in another game of pool, not wanting to admit that she was actually pretty smart at playing the game.

"There's zero chance you just beat me. Twice! In a row!" he says, shooting her a playful pout and glare when she finally got herself out from under him.

"You're just too blinded by your ego to admit someone might be better at pool than you," Y/N chuckled, heading towards the kitchen. "Especially a girl."

Luke just groans and sends her his middle finger, earning a loud cackle from her lips.

She opened up the fridge to grab herself a High Noon for now, grabbed the package of fruit to stuff into the cooler for the boat.

"Will you sauce me a High Noon too?" Luke asks as he walks by her. She happily nods with a hum as she handed him his before shutting the fridge and followed him outside.

The sun was still shining bright, only a few clouds here and there seen in the skies above. It was almost mid-July, the heat now blazing in Michigan, the humidity levels also have risen due to a few rainy mornings at the lake.

Y/N and Luke made small talk as they made their ways down to the boat, seeing the group of boys returning from their little fishing frenzy.

She wore a plain black bikini with a pair of athletic shorts and her Birks, her hair flowed freely as it was still wet from the first trip out on the boat earlier that afternoon.

As the pair approached the boat, the boys all greeted them warmly. "Who won?"

Luke groans and shakes his head. "Don't even ask or it'll go straight to her head." he says.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a playful smirk. "You're just mad you can't learn my ways." she says, earning a swat in her direction as he hopped onto the boat.

Her eyes land on her boyfriend, Cole, the boy hopping up to grab the cooler from her arm. She happily takes the hand he offers her to step onto the boat, going and setting her towel and phone down on the seat. She takes her sunglasses from her head and puts them onto her face.

"Wow the fact that Luke might actually not be the pool champ in the house anymore is killing him," Quinn chuckles while backing away from the dock.

"I just choose to not believe she won so easily. Not once, but twice man! Twice!!!" Luke exasperates, popping open his High Noon.

Y/N settles herself onto Cole's lap per usual, his hand immediately finding her hips to support her as they pull out onto the lake. "I'm just too good, Moose. You should know this by now."

"Yeah, ok." he scoffs as he sips his drink.

"So when do the others get here?" Cole asks, changing the subject.

Y/N's eyebrows furrow. "Others? Who else is coming?" she asks.

Jack nods his head and speaks up. "Ethan and Duke are coming, and then a few of the girls from across the lake are joining. We're going to pick them up now."

"Ashley, Bridget and Mills?" Cole asked, and Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. She usually wasn't against other girls being there, she preferred it most days because the tester one could be insufferable.

It was because of these said girls they were going to pick up.

Especially Milly. Or Mills as Cole just stated.

There were three of them, and Milly was one of them she didn't get along with as she is one who always has her eyes on Cole. No matter the circumstance.

What makes her more annoyed is that he allows it, letting the girl flirt and touch her way towards him as if it meant nothing.

Each time she would try and call him out for it, he'd get all defensive and state she's "just being insecure". So she finally decided to ignore it, and not care anymore.

"This'll be fun." She mutters lowly, but Cole must've picked up on her comment because she received a slight pinch to her thigh. She turned to face him, seeing the look on his face. "Play nice. Don't start that shit." he orders, making her scoff and look away.

"When do Ethan and Duke get here?" she asks.

"They're gonna be here after sundown. They have a few last minute skate camps to do, and then they're coming out to stay for the week." Luke explains across the boat.

"Yeah, supposedly they're going to be bringing some more stuff too, so we won't have to worry about going to buy more till this weekend." Jack brings up, earning hums and agreements from the group.

Jack also finds Y/N's eyes, points and winks at her. "Also they're bringing you your goodies." he says, making her smirk and perk up in excitement.

Cole's face frowns. "No." he says and shakes his head. "You're not smoking with them."

Y/N's face falls, and she turns back to Cole. "Why? I do all the time, and it's not like I'm in a strange place. We do it all the time back at UMich."

"Dude chill she's in good company first off, and second we're not gonna let her go nuts." Trevor adds.

Cole rolls his eyes. "You're not smoking and that's final. I don't like how you smell afterwards."

"Funny, because I wasn't asking permission." Y/N bites back, earning a low howl from Trevor. Cole just looks at her with shock and annoyance on his face.

He drops the argument but pinches her thigh as if he was warning her, she jumps and sends him a glare. He gives her a look, and she soon just sits there not saying anything.

She listens to the boys as they all converse about the weeks ahead and how next season may go, only turning her head slightly to see Jack's eyes were already on her.

He stares over at her, running his fingers over his mouth as his eyes squint towards her like he is trying to say something without saying anything. She just looks back at him and shrugs slyly, hoping he will drop it and move on.

Before she knew it, she was slightly nudged off of Cole's lap and to the side of him, making her look over at Cole. His eyes were already set on the dock they were now arriving towards, seeing as the three girls were standing there happily waving.

Y/N lets out a huff, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She watches as Cole immediately stands when the boat arrives at the dock, greeting Milly and helping her into the boat. She doesn't hesitate for a second to kiss Cole's cheek, easily making Y/N's eyes harden.

She sits there silently as they get the girls onto the boat, the other two warmly greeting Y/N whom happily greets them back. "Oh," Milly says abruptly, seeing Y/N sitting there.

"I didn't know she was still here." she says innocently, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"Yeah. The girl who grew up Nextdoor to the Hughes' is here for her traditional summer trip. Shocker," Y/N retorts, earning a snort from Trevor and Luke.

Milly's eyes narrow, but soon is turned away from Y/N when Cole comes up next to her.

He guides her over to the seating where Y/N sat, Cole giving her a look. "What?" she asks.

"Can you scoot? Or go sit behind Quinn?" he asks, making her roll her eyes with an amused smirk.

"Seriously?"

Cole just shrugs. "You're gonna wakeboard anyways, so might as well save the upper half of the boat for those who want to chill."

Y/N's eyes widen at his remark, knowing damn well he would be wakeboarding today too. She scoffs. "You sure it's not because you-"

"Come on I'll help you suit up, Y/N. You can start us off." Jack interrupts, coming into view. Y/N looks between Cole and Milly, seeing the satisfied look on her face.

Her eyes find Jack's when she feels him softly grab her forearm, giving her a look as to say it wasn't worth the energy, making her look back at the pair.

"Fine." she says, letting Jack walk with her to the back of the boat as Quinn drives and turns up the music.

Y/N stands at the back of the boat, watching her boyfriend and Milly sit awfully close to one another, his attention entirely entranced by her.

Jack pops back into view with her lifejacket, turning her to face him. "Don't start." he chuckles while he helps her get strapped up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You look like you're going to kill her."

"Well do you blame me? You see how he acts with her, and how she acts regardless if I'm around. It's pathetic really." Y/N says with an eyeball.

Jack's eyes meet hers. "I may be a jerk, but your man is a real dick." he says low enough so she can only hear it.

Y/N sighs at his words, and just nods. "Yeah. Seems like it."

Jack lets out a playful scoff. "Did you just agree that I'm a jerk?" he asks, getting playfully offended. Y/N lets out a smile and chuckles and slaps his chest.

"You are you, so we know how you can be." she jokes, Jack sticks his tongue out at her.

"Yeah yeah whatever, pretty. Head onto the end of the boat so I can help you in." he says, shooing her over to the buttoned of the boat.

Quinn slow the boat down enough so she can sit down and get herself strapped onto the wakeboard. Jack is making sure the board is all in good shape, his tongue sticking out as he focuses.

Her eyes look up at him as she watches him focus on getting her all set in, before he finally looks at her. He smirks over at her. "You've got quite the problem, pretty." he chuckles as he stands up.

"What?" she asks, but she doesn't get a response. He just holds his hands out to help her up which she gladly takes.

He yanks her onto her feet, Jack pulling her awfully close when she's upright. His eyes dart down to her lips for the slightest second, if she blinked she probably would've missed it.

She feels her breath hitch as his hands leave hers and trail slowly towards her hips. She shouldn't feel anyway towards Jack like she does.

Before she can say anything he pushed her into the water, making her give him the finger when she came up. Jack laughs before tossing her the rope and the board.

"You ready?" Quinn calls out, and she raises her thumb up. "Ready when you are Quinny!"

He begins playing the music once again, Y/N making sure the board is secure underneath her feet as they take off slowly.

Once they begin to pick up the pace and she balanced out on the waves, she tosses Jack the rope back and surfs along the water.

This was the part she always looked forward to during the summer, being with her friends on a lake she's come to know so well. It felt like it was engraved into her no matter where she was.

Her eyes focus on the waves below her feet, trying to twist and turn as she rode, hearing chants and encouragement from the guys. She looks up with a smile.

Trevor holds up a drink for her and points at it. "You want?" he asks out, and she nods. "You know what to do!" he says as he tosses it towards her.

She wobbles a bit as she catches it, and nods at them. She puts a finger up to single to hold on, beginning to take off her lifejacket.

Y/N's eyes catch Jack's, telling him to catch it and he nods. As soon as he gets it she focuses back onto the can of alcohol in her hands, trying to create a good divot onto the edge of the can to shotgun.

Once she's got it how she wants, the group counts her down and then she opens the can. As she shotguns and downs the drink, she can hear cheers from the girls and boys.

Jack's eyes follow the drips that leave Y/N's mouth, watching as they trail from the side of her mouth, to the side of her neck and in between the valley of her breasts and down her stomach where her belly button piercing sat perfectly.

He bit his lip, adjusting his lower half as he snaps it back up to her face, watching her smile widely in victory while crumpling the now empty can.

Before she can do anything else, she sees Trevor making his way off the boat and jumps out towards her. "My turn!" he playfully says as he meets her body and they fall back into the water.

When they resurface, she splashes him playfully. Y/N lets out a laugh before flicking him off, the two watching as the boat makes its way around to grab them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was set fully, flames crackling and lighting up the darkness around the group that surrounded it.

Ethan and Duke had finally shown up with more goodies to get through the weekend, the group now sat with drunken conversations and dares going around the group.

Y/N sat by herself, Cole being incredibly occupied with Milly across the fire, hand on her thigh as they talked and flirted. Y/N was so over trying to fight over it, having earned looks from Cole when she made comments throughout the day.

She watched them with a stank look on her face, just frozen in her stare. Watching as her boyfriend just acted like she never existed.

"So," she hears Ethan's voice drag out next to her. She turns to face him. "Heard your little mans over there said no to it, but I hear you kind of need it." he says, holding up a couple of blunts in his hand.

Y/N laughs. "Who told you that?"

He shurgs. "Just a little birdie here."

Y/N smirks at him with a nod. "You know me so well. This is why we're besties Eddy." she chuckles and takes one from his hand to light it.

Ethan grabs the lighter from his pocket and holds it up to the blunt that rests between her lips.

Once he lights it, she takes a long drag from it and her eyes instantly roll to the back of her head in relief. She holds the smoke in her mouth for a bit before letting it fall from her lips.

"Fuck, yeah I did need it." she sighs out, passing it to Ethan who takes a hit. "Yeah I can see that." he says before his head nods over towards Cole and Milly. Y/N rolls her eyes as she watches Milly run her hands through Cole's hair.

"Why aren't you doing anything about it?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"If he truly wanted to stay committed to me, he would. I'm tired of the constant arguing and the backhanded comments he makes when I call him out. I don't want him, the girl can take him at this point." she sighs, Ethan seeing the sadness flash through her eyes as she watches her boyfriend act close with the blonde across the fire pit.

"You should get even." he suggests, making her eyebrows furrow and look at him.

"Even how?" she asks. Ethan hands her the blunt.

"The best revenge is getting even. Not getting mad, or sad or pissed. Even."

Y/N lets the smoke out of her mouth, and nods. "That's true. But at the same time I just want someone to appreciate me. I can't stand doing the one night stands. You know how I get." she chuckles as she takes another hit.

He nods and inhales another hit after her. "Who said it had to be a stranger?" he says, making her whip her head towards him.

She shakes her head and chuckles. "Eddy I love you, but no way do I see you like-"

He shakes his head. "Oh no I totally agree, I wasn't saying me." he adds. "But I know someone here who would happily help you out. Everyone sees it but you." he hints.

She furrows her brows. "Who?" she asks, and he just shrugs.

"You'll just have to pay close attention to find out." is all he says before he gets up and makes his way over to the cooler to grab a drink.

Y/N sits there confused, her attention going back to the fire as she smokes the blunt.

"Careful there, remember what happened the last time you took in a whole blunt in under five minutes." Jack's voice cuts in, plopping himself down next to her.

She scoffs playfully. "I'd much rather get crossed than have to watch that unfold," she motions towards the pair in front of her.

Jack nods slowly, the two sitting silently for a bit as she takes another hit. Jack looks over at her and raises his hand.

"Can I?" he asks, motioning towards the blunt. She nods before handing over to him. He takes one long hit and lets it sit for a moment or two. Then lets it leave his mouth slowly.

Y/N watched him, entranced by how easy he did it. Jack could feel her stare, making him smirk as he kept his stare on the fire in of them.

"You're staring again, pretty." he says lowly, making her shrug.

"Just intrigued is all."

"How so?"

"I don't know why, but it's attractive when a guy can smoke so smoothly like you did."

Jack's eyes flick over to hers, looking down at her lips for a second before finding her eyes once again. "Really?" he says softly, his voice rough.

She nods with a hum, her eyes droopy as she feels the high. "You trust me, pretty?" he asks, and she nods. "Always, J."

He nods back before he takes another big and long hit, turning his face towards hers. He raises his hand and grabs the front of her neck softly, pulling her forward. Y/N's sense heighten at his closeness, seeing his eyes flicker to her lips and stay there.

He takes his thumb and pushes her bottom lip down to open her mouth, slightly leaning forward so their lips were barely touching. He opened his own mouth, letting the smoke leave and travel into her own mouth.

Y/N's head felt so light in that moment, her eyes closing as she took the smoke in from his mouth. "Good girl. So good." he growls, making her insides quiver and a small whimper leave her throat.

Once it all left his mouth, he closes her mouth and backs his face away from hers and takes a sip of his drink as if nothing happened. Y/N stayed frozen in her spot as she blew the smoke from her mouth, turning her head back towards Cole and Milly.

Their eyes never left one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N couldn't sleep.

She had been tossing and turning all night, Cole sleeping soundly next to her as soft snores left his mouth.

It had been a couple days since the incident with Jack, if she should even call it that. She just hated how much she enjoyed it.

Enjoyed him.

It was the way he made her insides feel, it was something she wasn't used to feeling. He made her feel seen, the more she would think back about their history. How he was always the one there, and how forced it felt when Cole came around.

She sighs as she softly and quietly gets out of bed, not wanting to wake Cole, and opens the bedroom door. Once it shuts softly behind her, she makes her way down the hall and down the stairs.

She heads over to the kitchen and grabs herself a bottled water and one of the leftover blankets brought inside from the fire, before unlocking the sliding door and heading outside. Her eyes get used to the darkness around her, hearing the loud bugs and frogs around the lake, some of the neighbors music softly playing.

Once she gets to the dock, she steps out onto the boat and turns on the speaker system. Once she picks her tunes, she adjusts the volume so it's not loud enough to bother anyone around the area and sits on the back seating portion.

She wraps the blanket around herself, looking out towards the lake that sits as calm as can be, looking like glass.

Her thoughts begin to make themselves known, making her wonder why she let Cole treat her the way he does. Or how he thinks it okay to act how he did with Milly in front of her eyes. Or how he spoke to her when she stated she wasn't;t fond of how Milly acted with him. Calling her insecure and dramatic and clingy.

She tried to let it get to her, letting her thoughts ramble and jumble, soon getting to how Jack has treated her. How he made her stay distracted for the time being, so she didn't have to witness Cole and Milly. Especially with how Jack was making her feelings twist and turn and making her thighs tighten.

Y/N took a deep breath as she felt her face heating up from the thoughts entering her brain of Jack, letting her breaths become shallow as they grew more.

The way she would've let him kiss her hard when he shotgunned the smoke into her mouth. How she would've let him do whatever he wanted to her in front of their friends. In front of Cole. In front of Milly.

Her eyes rolled back when she thought about how he'd feel inside of her. Or how rough he could be. Maybe how he could mark her up so nobody else could have her. Especially the way how nice it would running her hands through his hair as his head ate away between--

"Thought I'd be able to find you out here." a voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump.

Jack's hands go up in defense as he sees her jump from his voice, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. "Easy tiger. Didn't mean to scare you."

She rolls her eyes. "What're you doing up?" she asks.

He takes her legs that were draped along the seating, takes a seat and then props them back on top of his lap as he shrugs. "I couldn't sleep. Trevor's snoring was also pissing me off." he jokes, making her giggle slightly.

"Isn't he in the room next to yours?" she asks, and he looks at her.

"Exactly. It echos more than you'd think." he says, making her chuckle at him. He trails his hand up her thigh and squeezes. "Why're you awake?"

She sighs and shrugs herself. "Couldn't sleep either."

"Does it have to do with what happened?" he asks and she hums with a nod.

"Ever since that night, Cole has been really distant. Or he gets upset at the littlest things I do. He disappears a bit more, and I know he's not going to skate at the rink." she explains, Jack humming in response.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"It's whatever. I just wish he'd break it off already. But he is so worried about you all banning him from the bakehouse for breaking my heart." she shrugs.

"Well he definitely would not be allowed back for a bit, I'll tell you that much."

"Okay but that is also not what I'd want you guys to do. You guys have been friends for too long. Don't be petty." Y/N chuckles, earning an eyeball from Jack with a smirk.

"He hurt you which isn't allowed here. That's always been our one rule. So that's his fault for not listening."

She sighs. "I supposed," she says. "I just can't stop thinking about what Eddy said."

Jack's eyes snap to hers. "What did Ethan say?" he rushes, making her laugh.

"Woah chill there Jack. Nothing scary," she says. "He just stated he thinks it's now my time to get even with him. No mad, or upset. Just even."

Jack's grip on her thighs tighten, raising higher up on her thighs. The feeling making her insides melt. "Even how?"

She hesitates for a minute. "Like getting even." she emphasizes.

Jack leans closer to her. "Would you? Want to get even I mean?" he asks lowly, and her eyes look deeply into his through the darkness. She'd do anything he'd ask at this point.

"Depends on who's asking." she says softly.

"What if I'm asking?"

Y/N's insides freeze completely. She knew he felt some way towards her, but hearing him ask that just made it ten times more real.

"What?" she stutters, watching as he breaks their eye contact.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," he says and shakes his head, leaning back against the seats. Y/N looks at her lap.

They were silent for a few moments. Y/N then builds herself up enough, and lets confidence take over. Her eyes look over at Jack, seeing his head back against the edge of the seat with his eyes closed.

She takes this moment to sit up, take one leg and place it on one side of his lap while the other stays on the opposite side as she is fully now sitting in his lap looking down at him.

Jack's head pops up looking up at her, eyebrows furrowing. Y/N's hands trail from his biceps, to his shoulders, and finally to the sides of his neck. "What if I want it to be you asking?" she says lowly, her head dipping down slowly to be close to his.

Jack's hands find her lower back, his head raising to lean his forehead against hers. His lips smirking. "Oh, pretty, you don't know what you're asking for right now." he says.

Y/N nods. "If I didn't know what I was doing, would I be be sitting here waiting for you to ruin me?" she whispers, letting her confidence come in.

Jack chuckles lowly, his hands trailing up her back and into her hair to pull her head back. She lets out a sigh at the feeling, his lips making soft kisses upon her neck. "If I ruin you," he starts. "I'm ruining you for anyone else."

She looks down at him. "You sure you want play that game?" he says.

She takes his face into her hand, and squeezes his neck to make him look at her, causing a low groan mixed with a sigh to leave his lips. "I'm all yours, Jack Hughes."

Those words were enough to make a switch turn in him.

He grips her hair harshly and brings her lips slamming down onto his. Their teeth clashing, tongues fighting, soft moans leaving her lips at how good his lips felt on hers.

Her hips get a mind of their own grinding down against the building erection in his sweats, making them both moan against one another at the feeling. Jack's hands left her hair as they kissed in sync, one traveling down to her ass while the other made its way to her throat. He let his hand come down hard onto her ass, making her let out a light squeak as his other hand squeezed her throat.

It made her head feel light at the feeling, causing her head to fall back, his lips attaching to her neck leaving marks in their tracks. "He's going to see how much better I take care of you," he says, biting her neck. "Of how much I can give you," she sighs. "Of how good I can make you feel," his hand comes down against her ass again.

"Fuck, Jack," she moans out and he hums. "Exactly. That's me Pretty."

Jack lets his hand leave her throat, traveling down to her breasts and squeezes them over her t-shirt. "Take this off." He says, helping her remove her shirt.

His eyes immediately fall to her chest, licking his lips as both hands find each breast. Y/N lets out a gasp as he pinches one nipple and caresses the other with his rough thumb. Her hips stuttering as she ground deeply onto him. "They're yours." she mutters out, Jack chuckles darkly.

"Oh pretty," he starts, his eyes looking up at hers. "I know."

Before she knew it, he was taking on nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing over it, causing her whole body to break out into goosebumps. "Keep making those noises for me pretty. Want everyone to know how good I'm making you feel." he hums against her skin.

Her moans and gasps become louder with each mark and bite Jack leaves on her breasts, running her hands through his hair and pulling.

He moans against her chest, his hands guiding her hips as she grinds over his hard erection. She can feel her wetness pooling between her legs, sure enough knowing there's most definitely a wet patch on her panties and his pants. Y/N takes his hair to pull his head up to look at her, slamming her lips back onto his.

When she pulls away she bites his lower lip, causing him to hiss and smirk at her. "Someone's taking the dominance a little bit." he jokes, and she smirks.

"Deal with it." she moans out, and before she knows it Jack grips her thighs to stoop her movements, earning some curses and whines from the girl above him.

"Can't have you thinking you're in charge right now," he says, immediately flipping her to lay down on the seat, Jack going to hover above her, blanket long gone. He uses one hand to pull his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side.

Y/N's eyes follow the shirt being ditched, only to have her jawline squeezed and turned back towards the boy on top of her. "You keep your focus on me." he states.

"Open that pretty mouth, baby," he says, and she obeys. Jack immediately puckers his lips, letting the saliva from his mouth slowly leave his mouth and slide into hers. Y/N happily sticks her tongue out as it slides down her throat, causing Jack to moan out and push his erection into her wetness.

"Swallow," he says, and she immediately lets it slide down her throat and bites her lip. "Fuck. You're such a good girl." Jack says with a smirk on his face.

"You're definitely mine now. Nobody else is going to have you. You belong to me," he says as he lets a hand trail down the valley of her breasts, her stomach and to the line of her pants. "You got that? Nobody else ever gets to see you this way. Cole had his chance." He states.

Y/N nods, causing Jack to take his hand from her pantyline and slap her pussy. She jolts at it, letting out a whimper. "Words, pretty girl." he says.

"Yes. Okay."

He smiles darkly. His hand makes its way back towards her panties, immediately sliding beneath them and finding her clit. She lets out a loud gasp, her head falling back against the seat. Jack's mouth opens at the feeling of how wet and warm she felt, his head falling back as his eyes fell closed.

His fingers slid back and forth between her folds, circling her clit every so often. "Ohhh you are so wet for me, Y/N. I can't wait to feel you around me, fuck." he sighs out, his head looking down to see her mouth open and soft moans coming out.

He can feel her grinding against his fingers, Jack chuckling darkly. "So needy baby now are we?"

Y/N nods, and Jack growls before pinching her clit harshly. She let out a large squeal. Her eyes open to look up at him. "What did I say?" he says lowly.

"Use my words."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't use my words." she moans, and Jack hums. "You do that again and I'm stopping. You got it?"

"Yes baby."

Jack moans, instantly going back to gliding his fingers over her slickness, playing around her hole. "Please Jack. Don't tease. Need you."

He lets out a pout. "I think you need to be teased a little. Especially since you didn't listen to me."

"Jacky please." Y/N begs.

"Fine. Only because I need to have you. Need to feel how tight you are for me."

"What-" before she can finish her sentence, Jack sticks two fingers inside of her. She let outs a loud moan, wrapping her legs around his torso. Jack's lips find hers as he pumps in and out of her roughly, not giving her time to adjust, his lips hiding her loud moans.

"Who does this pussy belong to?"

"You."

"Who?"

"Fuck, you Jack!" she gasps against his lips, feeling a burning sensation building up in her stomach. Jack can feel her hips beginning to stutter, sensing she is getting close.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out, causing her eyes to open widely and stare up at him. Jack gets off of her, ripping her sweats and panties off her legs, then stripping from his own.

He kneels in between her legs, taking in her naked figure in front of him while sliding his hands up and down her thighs. "Shit you're gorgeous, pretty."

Y/N feels her insides melt, her heart fluttering at his words. "Too bad I'm going to ruin you." he says.

She looks up at him. "Ruin me, Jack." she challenges, and it doesn't take him a second longer to decide.

He takes himself into his hand and slides in all the way deep inside her pussy, Y/N letting out a loud gasp followed by his full name. He smirks, before sliding out till the tip is just inside, then slamming back into her.

Y/N's eyes roll back along with her head, Jack sliding his hand up to her neck and squeezing it as he fastens and hardens his pace. Their breaths and moans mix together, Jack taking in the marks along her chest.

She definitely would scold him tomorrow for them, but it would be so worth he look on Cole's face.

Jack lets out a moan at the thought, then taking her throat tighter in his grip to make her head roll back to look at him and he slammed himself deep into her repeatedly. "This was made for me. You were made for me. All mine." he pants out against her lips as he kisses her hard.

"All" thrust "Fucking" thrust "Mine" thrust.

Y/N felt like her head was spinning. She felt like she was on cloud nine. She never wanted this to end.

Jack's free hand traveled down to her clit, rubbing harshly and fast. The sensation made Y/N gasp loud and moan into his mouth, feeling her high coming close. "Jack I'm gonna-"

"Hold it"

"Jack please I'm-"

"You're going to hold it pretty," he growls out against her lips and kisses her. "I'm almost there. Wanna finish with you."

"Finish inside me."

"Fucking shit baby, you're going to kill me." he moans. Her nails glide down his back once more, sure that the marks would be there tomorrow but she didn't care.

"Go ahead, pretty, let it go." He says, his moans and gasps getting more breathless, his hips stuttering as he feels his high reach, Y/N letting her climax finally reach its point. Her eyesight going white for a moment as Jack finished.

A few moments passed, and Y/N is still coming down. The pairs breathless pants being heard, Jack lifts his head from her chest and caresses her cheek.

"You back?" he jokes lightly, making her chuckle as her eyes stayed close.

"I'm back."

"How do you feel?" he asks softly, and she nods. "I'm good. Really good."

"I meant it," he says, his eyes finding hers. "You're mine. Cole lost his chance."

Y/N is silent for a moment and then nods, running a hand through his crazed hair. "I'm yours Jack."

Jack's smile widens and he kisses her softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. You're sleeping with me tonight."

[sqgeism]

On a roll with the Anaxa fics! (i love him so much i cant even)

so, a bit specific; sometimes i bottle up emotions and get so anxious i might even get physically sick from it. what would phainon and anaxa do for reader when that happens? +anyone else you like

Thank you for reading. Don't do if this crosses boundaries

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | anaxa and phainon (seperate) x gender neutral reader

love mail — hellooo anonnie!! thank u i try my best w him and the others ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i hope you're alright!! i hope this request is up to standard and u enjoy also erm anaxa's is more nausea n stuff.. phainon is like. actual sickness. like you're unwell.. sick and stuff... sorry i wasn't sure so i did both ゜゜(´O｀)°゜

long before you got into a relationship, you understood how to handle yourself when your stomach began to churn in nausea. your own steps to stop it, or to recover afterwards.

anaxa watches as you fidget quietly, today was another experiment regarding his pursuit for knowledge- but it involved something physically violent for him. he knows you're more morally intact than him, more human, but he's not going to act above those feelings. he cares for you, even if it's hard to see upon first glance.

"sorry." you see him staring, and force yourself to hold it together. but anaxa isn't having it.

he puts away whatever he was focused on, but the confrontation makes it worse. you don't wanna ruin his experiment, so you abruptly stand. "please excuse me. don't wait, just continue."

he blinks as you walk off, out of his lab and back to the hallways. it doesn't take long for him to follow, noticing how you frantically down a cup of water.

anaxa puts two and two together. he's not stupid, he knows your habits, he knows you.

before you can even reach out to the cabinets, he's already opening them and reaching for crackers that you leave for moments like this. he pops a bag and passes a cracker to you, his expression stern but caring. "i noticed these help you, please, eat it slowly."

once his hands are free, anaxa opens the kitchen window to let in fresh air. then you notice, that he's noticed. he knows how to help, he's learned how to help, and you've never realized it before. "is there anything else you need?" the utter concern snaps you out of your daze, and anaxa's suddenly looming over you now, his knuckles brush against your cheek and his eye is fixed on your face. studying you for any more signs of discomfort.

"i won't be continuing with the experiment today," he sees how your face shifts and shakes his head. "don't worry, i'll find something else to do. i'm realizing now that my experiment has too many risks, yet the only one i care about is the one that tells me that you'll be upset with me."

the sage brings you into his arms, having you close as he buries himself in your hair. "please, never be upset with me."

phainon doesn't want to scold you, but he really wants to. though you don't need that right now, especially with the fact you've had such a shit week and the fact you're bedridden.

he's cuddling you while you rest, listening to you snore as he's behind you, your head on his bicep and legs tangled together. he'd say it would make it hard to leave, but he has no plans to. so he doesn't care.

you two often had conversations about how you handle emotions. you were still navigating that realm of your relationship after being an independent person for so long, and phainon understood that it would take time.. but moments like this made him worry. had his heart aching, wishing he could do more.

he wasn't able to catch on that you were bottling it up either, you were good, he'll give you that. but you could've gone to him, he knows you don't want to be a bother but he prays that you'd 'bother' him. that you'd choose to focus your attention on him, for anything. because he'll be there, aeon forbid he's halfway across the universe cause he'll do anything to go back home, to you.

"i wish you'd trust me more." he knows you're sleeping, but he doesn't mind. he hopes that these words reach you while you're at least at peace. "i'd never force you to, i promise. but it really does something to me whenever this happens and i feel powerless to help." phainon chuckles in a way that's completely robbed of any humor. "i'm a chrysos heir, for aeon's sake. i can handle whatever outburst you throw at me that you'll think i'll be upset over."

his hand ghosts over your hair, slowly caressing you. "but i'll never be. i'll never be upset, not at you. and not when you're just experiencing stress."

he brings his mouth to your ear, whispering. "i love you. i love you, and you know that. so let me take care of you."

he notices how you shiver slightly.

that's when phainon lets out a genuine laugh, stopping you from squirming away from him.

[seraphinitegames]

Just wanna chime in to say that A's more relaxed attitude in B4 felt like a very natural (and pleasant ❤️) development to me. The tough guy/girl attitude was not just the result of them deciding not to act on their feelings but also of not even admitting to those feelings existing in the first place. Now yes, they're still not ready to act on them but at the end of B3 they have communicated to the MC that there is indeed *something* mutual there and that the detective isn't hallucinating it all lol With the cat out of the bag A doesn't have to pretend any longer that there's nothing there in order to keep the MC at arm's length. They're just hoping (or not? ;)) that the detective will agree with them that not all feelings should be acted upon.

I am loving writing this more open and forward A for Book Four! I definitely wanted Book Four to be full of romance, even for A-mancers, before the, uh, well what happens in Book Five...

Getting to write kisses and embraces and all the good stuff for A too is definitely making my heart pitter-patter, hehe! :D

Thank you so much for the lovely message! <3

[ariaste]

Unfortunately, you can be taken in by propaganda at any age and regardless of how much you've been taught. The way that cult influencers like Andrew Tate work is that they hook into a key feeling of 1) loneliness/isolation, 2) unfairness, or 3) both. Ten year old boys are very aware that the world is unfair, and frankly they're not wrong!They have to listen to and obey adults, they have to do homework and chores, they have to live on other people's schedules, etc. Additionally, although all of those families who are showing preference for a son over a daughter do defend their son to "threats" (such as "gasp the teacher gave him a bad grade") that are external to the family system, within the family system they are also putting a huge amount of pressure on him to perform to expectations (and confusing mixed signals about how great he is at the same time). A 10 year old boy does not get space to figure out his own identity -- he is already being suffocated by toxic masculinity and the patriarchy. So he knows the world is unfair, but he can't quite put his finger on WHY.

Andrew Tate swoops in and says, "Here's why it's unfair!" And the natural emotional response is to go, "Oh!!!" He gives them an answer (the wrong answer, yes, but an answer) to a nebulous question most people of any age are not able to even begun to articulate for themselves. That's Cult Bullshit 101.

If you teach a child that they're not entitled to anything, then that unfortunately only sets them up to feel even more like the world is unfair. And frankly, there is a lot that they ARE entitled to -- privacy, bodily autonomy, and freedom to explore their own identity, for example. But even if you do teach them all that, that doesn't make them immune to propaganda. I know families who did everything right, who thought they were raising a great, kind, caring, compassionate kid, and the kid still got hooked into a cult influencer's orbit. Because feeling vaguely like the world is unfair is kind of part of being a preteen/teenager.

And honestly, feeling vaguely like the world is unfair continues into adulthood! This is just what happens when you are a social species with a big complicated brain! You assess, "Does that other monkey have more bananas than I do? That's not fair." Sometimes the feeling is right (systemic inequality), sometimes it's irrational (coworker brought a candy bar with their lunch and you do not have a candy bar in your lunch oh NO), and sometimes it's flat-out wrong (cult indoctrination).

The good news is that children's brains are VERY flexible, and at that age they're trying on a million different identities and just sort of Spouting Bullshit without actually having those beliefs firmly set in stone yet. The fact that they are discovering that stuff is concerning, but if the adults in their lives can catch it and identify it and do the hard work to guide these kids back out of it, you could potentially end up with a generation of young men who are better equipped to resist misogynistic propaganda because they've been inoculated against it.

With some kids, you can tell them, "Hey, the stove is hot" and they won't touch the hot stove. With other kids, you tell them that, and they touch it anyway, and unfortunately get to learn from the burn rather than from the warning. You can't prevent 100% of singed fingers, but you can catch them before they get badly hurt and patch them up. And then frequently they're the ones most vigilant against other people touching the stove.

I’m fucking livid

[revelboo]

hiya! just a lil guy in your inbox who is trying to get into writting, this stuff is hard hard but i get so baffled by how fast you do your work! im genuinely suprised you havent got burned out while im out here chipping away at my first fic... whats your secret 👀?

I’m just doing these for fun, so I don’t get too worried about making them perfect and Twitter’s word limits got me used to writing short and concise. I know with novels, just getting started can be the hardest part, that first chapter intimidating and serious fanfiction is probably the same. I’ve absolutely skipped ahead to scenes I was excited to write and then came back to the harder chapters before. I tend to just stick ‘888’ in the middle of a manuscript along with a sentence like (something happens) that way I can search for the 8’s later to fix it instead of getting stuck trying to write that one scene or chapter that I’m just not feeling at the time.

Even if it Kills Me Pt 23

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Painfully aware of him as you slide into his cupped hands and he ferries you down onto the floor of his habsuite before turning to go get food, you don’t regret what you did, but you can’t stop from feeling awkward about it. And the mini-cons are all staring at you, chirping softly among themselves to make you positive they know exactly what you and Starscream did while they were out. They’re grown, you remind yourself. Not that it makes it any better that they know you slept with their giant roomie.

• Venting as you sit crosslegged and put your face in your hands, he shoots the mini-cons a look and they fall silent, little faces innocent as they look up at him. And he’s not buying it at all. Lowering himself to sit with you and them, he nudges you with a box of your food before distributing energon to the waiting mini-cons. Why won’t you meet his optics? Watching you dig out a handful of your human food to eat, your silence bothers him. Still overthinking things? Dealing with hangups as you’d called them?

• You can feel his optics on you and that awareness twists to heat and need to your embarrassment. Is it just because you like him and he didn’t change after sex? That he’s still treating you the same, not like a belonging now? Chewing your dry cereal, you wonder if it had ever really been love with your ex. He’d been sweet until he’d managed to isolate you from everyone else and you’d been so infatuated, you’d not realized what he was doing until those bridges were burned and by then you’d been too ashamed to ask for help.

• Where did your thoughts go just then? Your expression emptying to make his wings fidget. “I thought we could go out,” he says to distract you because he hates when you go distant like that. Afraid you’re remembering painful things. “That you might like some sun?” And there’s a small smile. Spark aching when you look up at him, smiling like everything’s okay when it’s clearly not. Knows smuggling you in and out of the base increases the risk of getting caught. Of the Autobots kicking him out and losing the only place he’s ever felt truly safe, but he wants you to be happy. He’s not sure when that became more important than his own happiness.

• “I’d love that,” you manage, forcing a smile for him because he worries and broods when you’re unhappy. And it would be nice to feel the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair. Leaning against his leg, you watch him tip up his own energon cube to drink. It’s still so strange, to have someone that’s not family looking out for you, to care if you’re happy or not. This is what love should be, you’re sure of it this time even if it scares you. Because loving him gives him the power to hurt you and you’re so tired of being hurt. He wouldn’t. You know that, trust him, but that fear is still there.

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