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totothewolff · 1 day ago

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Grand Prix Elite Academy (5/10) [NEW CHAPTER]

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto(professor) x reader(student, future F1 driver)][👨‍❤️‍👨Lewis x Seb][💘Romance][🥵Smut][🎀Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Wild parties][🏫College AU][🌈Queer/Fem Seb][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

After Bonfire Night ended, Carlos invited Charles, Lea, and you to stay at the Sainz's beach house for what was left of the weekend. It was next door to where the party took place.

Their house was a masterpiece of concrete and glass, a stark contrast to the gentle curves of the beach below, it had so many terraces that overlooked the endless sea, and every room you stepped into - in complete awe, glancing all around, eyes wide - was designed with minimalism at heart, the focus on the sweeping vistas rather than ostentatious decor. And it was S-T-U-N-N-I-N-G!

You had never seen something like it before. This was another one of your, embarrassingly frequent, "jaw-dropping experiences", and your friends started teasing you about it as soon as they noticed it too, those fuckers!

But to be real, your entire house fits inside their living room.

This unexpected escapade at the Sainz’s suited you perfectly since Toto sailed back to Monaco in the Stroll's yacht, like most of their guests, and you were left unable to spend more time with him or even talk about what happened between you two.

Well, at least he said goodbye to you with that deliciously long and passionate kiss.

All of this still feels like a fever dream, like you were supposed to wake up soon. How has this world become your life now?

Yacht parties, running errands on Ferraris, weekends at beach mansions? WHAT?!

The following afternoon the sun shimmers on the crystal-clear water, casting rippling reflections on the poolside tiles.

Laughs come and go as you chill with your friends at the Sainz's massive pool, you start to notice the tan lines forming on your sun-kissed warm skin, your legs lazily dangling in the cool water while wearing a relaxed smile, even though your mind is elsewhere, stuck on the night at the beach with Toto, a secret too fresh to share.

Carlos approaches you, his easy grin as disarming as ever. He offers you a glass of something cold and fizzy. "You look like you need this," he says.

You accept it with a polite nod, and he sits close to you, too close, his shoulder brushing yours, his fingers almost touching yours.

"So, what’s keeping you so distracted today, eh?" His dark eyes set on you.

Instead of answering, you just slide off the edge of the pool in one smooth motion, sinking into the fresh water and splashing Carlos.

He chuckles, watching you from above.

"Maybe I just needed to cool off," you answer, without lying as your mind kept replaying those intimate moments with Toto.

On Sunday, you arrive back to your dorm, late at night.

Thank god for Oscar! He was kind enough to pick you up from the port on his way back to campus, after spending his weekend with his sisters.

Oscar was getting down the jet when he read your texts in the group chat asking for the campus pin location.

Charles had to leave you in a rush, to once again visit his grandpa after another health scare. Lea offered to take him to the IC unit at the Hospital Saints Pères as soon as you docked in Monaco, knowing the city like the back of her hands, leaving you on your own.

This situation with Charles' grandpa was the reason why he arrived late at the beginning of the school year and why he sometimes missed classes.

You had no idea about it, till it got discussed in front of you, as Charles was on a call with his mom, and now you were left feeling anxious for him, Charles seemed so close to his grandpa, but he promised to keep you updated on the situation whenever possible.

As you are about to reach your dorm - down the now desert and quiet luxurious hallway - you notice a massive card box sitting next to the door. It is addressed to you, to your complete surprise.

Thank you, Naya, for not dragging it inside! How sweet of you!

Fuck! This shit is heavy!

And so you have to push it all the way to your room.

It seems Naya is already asleep, all the lights inside are off once you close the door behind you, and you fight your urge to bump the box against something to make things fall off, just to wake her up with the noise.

But you aren't that of a bitch. I mean, you should... after what she pulled on you, but you believe in karma, so you let it be... for the moment.

Of course, she had been sleeping for hours; even 9 p.m. is "late" for her. And of course, she missed all the fun at the Bonfire Party. You guys were everywhere, and not once did you spot her. At this point, you start wondering if she was even invited.

Brain, set a reminder to gossip about this with Seb.

Monday is a hell of a day for all students, and Naya obviously can't fail at being the perfect one. She's the blueprint of all high achievers, the perfect scholar, the bookworm, the always-on-time, the "knows it all".

You have seen Naya talk briefly here and there with other students, ones who get all excited when she addresses them, nervous or in awe under her stare, always with her good manners showing but it never goes more than a brief exchange, usually for something she needs or is required to do, she seems to only willingly spend her time around Nico and... Toto.

Jealousy strikes you as you recall the rumors about them and how close they truly seem. She is always close when he is around.

Brain, add another reminder to gossip about this with Seb.

The next morning a delicious smell sneaks from the kitchenette as you finish brushing your hair in front of your vanity's mirror, inside your bedroom, your stomach roaring as a response to it makes you dare to pop your head out of the door to see what was going on, not minding not being presentable yet.

You needed fuel, desperately.

And it looks like Naya cooked breakfast for two as a peace offering, maybe. The round table near the kitchenette's island is set beautifully, is impossible to deny she has good taste and lots of skills.

The fact that Naya is too perfect makes you a bit bitter, but those are your own insecurities. You fully get why all people, especially men... and why Toto... would find her extremely appealing.

"Morning," she greets you, looking already flawless, dropping a pancake on a plate, hair shiny and perfect, uniform pristine, face card on point.

"Hi," you reply, in baggy clothes you sport as pajamas, face fresh from the shower, not wearing the cleanest sleepers. You feel her intense gaze eyeing you down, disappointment creeping in the corner of her lip, subtle yet clear.

The first part of your breakfast goes in silence, just a few nods at "Could you please pass me this and that?" It's borderline awkward, till she dares to break ice.

"He asked me to give you this," Naya's hand goes inside her cute black cardigan's pocket. She hands you a business card with Toto's phone numbers, business and personal. She looks incredibly uncomfortable doing it.

"Toto seemed... extra happy this weekend..." Naya starts going.

You tense immediately. Oh, here we go.

"With me, because I fetched Mercedes 'Goodyear' backing for this year's Elite Cup. Are you ready to hit the track? I heard you were doing fantastic in the simulator," she lowers her gigantic cup of tea.

Pheww. That was close.

"I'm excited but I don't feel 100% ready yet. It's been tough, you know! Getting back in shape, working the extra mile, I was so rusted," that last part comes out a bit overdramatic, your shoulders go up as you confess.

You don't appreciate the amount of vigorous nods Naya gives you, agreeing.

"Good for you, this time we'll have two extra Free Practice sessions than usual before Quali starts, and now that you know which faculty's car you will be driving, it'll be easier for you to picture how things could go," she points with her thumb toward your room door, showing curiosity.

WHAT?

You look at her with a blank expression, slowly bathing your eyelashes, sitting additionally straight.

"The box?!" Naya heightens and gives you a 'duh' expression.

You still don't get it.

"You only get deliver one of those massive boxes when you were accepted into a faculty," she explains. Now she is the one who looks confused, how is it that you aren't aware of it?

"Oh, shit! I was so tired yesterday that I went straight to bed. I haven't opened it yet" you reply, eyes on your bedroom door now.

You feel your feet beneath the table moving, eager with excitement, ready to run back inside there, but at the same time you are as perplexed as Naya at the moment.

You didn't receive any email or DM on the GPEA app informing you of this. From which faculty it was? You were dying to find out.

It turns out to be a Williams' "Welcome to our class" package.

This has to be a joke, this must be a mistake!

You didn't even apply for a place at Williams, aware of the rumors, and from the start knowing you wouldn't be able to get in, they were totally out of your league, of almost everyone's leagues, to be fair.

Could this be Nico and Naya pranking you?

But as you start to pull out items, they seem legit and all clothes have your name beautifully embroidered on the inside labels. Everything is custom-made and tailored to you, now it makes sense why Student Affairs asked for your measurements when you enrolled.

After trying out another beautiful blazer you move to pick up from the box the stunning letter envelope that was beneath, feeling with your fingers the rich texture and quality of the paper before breaking the regal-looking Williams' blue wax seal on it and reading the exquisite lettering inside.

It is with my utmost pleasure and profound respect that I extend you a warm and gracious welcome to our distinguished faculty.

We hope for your presence to enrich our academic achievements and we expect you to embody our time-honored traditions and practices, the ones that constitute the very ethos of the Williams legacy.

Our commitment to nurturing intellectual curiosity and practical prowess inspires our alumni to reach their fullest potential, and it is our privilege to support you in this ambitious endeavor.

With warmest regards,

Claire Williams.

Dean of the Williams Faculty.

Along with the handwritten letter comes a coffee table book, which looks damn expensive and is HEAVY! It's about the history of the faculty, on the pictures inside are just too many legendary faces of the F1 world to point out.

Damn, the last names on that alumni list are insane!

The blue branded folder that comes with it is full of papers you need to fill out and sign, and attached is a trifold explaining to you in steps, all you are required to accomplish on your first day at Williams.

You are instructed to be at their common rooms in about two hours, which sets you in a rush, also it informs you that your driver's suit and helmet are waiting for you at their front desk.

You better move.

Naya has already left by the time you come out of your room wearing your new skin, ready and eager to walk the hallways as a Williams student.

"Is that… real?" you hear someone whisper as you pass by them.

"No way. She must’ve bought it for clout," another one says, voice tinged with jealousy.

A guy leaning against a locker stares in slack-jawed awe. "Williams? Her? No way…"

Walking past the Starbucks on campus, you notice a girl clutching her drink tightly, glaring at you with barely concealed disgust. "Wasn't she here on a scholarship? This can't be," she hisses to her friend, who nods.

You feel more gazes on your every step, some admiring, some envious, others sharp with denial or happy for you, a couple even cheering you up, rooting for the underdog, some already predicting you would be the dark horse of this season.

As you reach the main building's outdoor stairs, you feel Nico's eyes burning on you as he is sitting there with some handsome male friends.

"Congratulations, Madam Williams!" Charles greets you with a funny bow, you cross paths in the hallways of the main building.

"Congrats, bae!" Lea comes to hug you. She was a few steps behind, they were coming from Ferarri's hospitality.

Ferrari's majestic common rooms are one of the oldest and first ones built in the GPEA, as the years went by, they got eaten by the overgrown campus and now ended up located in the weirdest spot, inside the main building. It is usual to see lots of red coming, and going in those corridors.

Monday for them meant faculty meetings, and Mattia didn't allow anybody to be late so they arrived hours before you.

"It's extremely difficult getting in the Williams cult, I mean faculty, it's so hermetic. Any chance you have a link with the Williams family?" she looks honestly surprised and even a bit worried, which makes you feel uneasy.

An unintentional baff comes out of your mouth, "Me knowing THE Williams? Girl, bye. Maybe it's due to Claire being in charge? I have no idea, you are the knowable of the two, you tell me, maybe it's a girl's girl type of situation, or maybe because of my WomenOne scholarship she gave me a shot?"

"Sounds so unlikely," Charles agrees.

"To be accepted or invited there, is usually the second, either you have to be close to their family, aka old money rich, bonus points if you grew up among the Monaco or British elites, or be part of the Formula One royalty, like Mick who's a Schumacher, basically" Lea explains.

"Not always, they rejected Naya, and she's a Lauda!" Charles corrects Lea. "Also, a stellar reference could open those doors for you, look at Mansell, that's how she got in" he adds.

"You know that was because of Frank and Niki not letting things go," Lea addresses him, rolling her eyes at Charles and giving you a "this guy!" face. "Any chance Alain Prost wrote you a recommendation letter as he did with Mansell?" she asks you.

You shake your head while putting a pouty mouth. "I just pray it's not Nico pulling me a joke."

"Please don't say that name, he could Beetlejuice here! God forbids!" Charles makes you burst into laughs.

You make it to the doors that lead to the common rooms or "hospitality" - as the kids say - of the Williams faculty, which turn out to be more than mere gathering spaces for the small and select group you now form part of.

Under your total stupefaction, this place looks like a set of a life soaked in privilege and tradition, every detail screaming wealth and legacy.

The moment you cross those large cedar entrance doors, the air changes. It’s quieter inside, the high vaulted ceilings humble you with their gorgeous skylights, ones surrounded by intricate moldings gilded with real gold leaf, letting in the natural light and the rays of sun reflecting on the spotless chequered marble floors.

Despite all this splendor, the first thing you notice as you set foot into the foyer - the one that leads you to the grand stairs that go downward to the study room - is THE helmet.

Encased and lit like a museum relic, Ayrton Senna’s iconic yellow helmet sits inside a glass case, radiating a quiet, untouchable power.

Your breath hitches as you get closer, your reflection wavering in the glass. It's the room's centerpiece, a clear "welcome to our iconic faculty".

You knew that helmet by memory down to the detail as the F1 nerd you were raised to be, its vibrant colors, the bold stripes of green and blue, the emblem of a legend.

But seeing it there, in person, was something else entirely. It felt like stepping into a shrine, and the sunflowers students leave around it as offerings to pass a test or to get a pole position make it feel more so.

The plaque beneath reads, "Ayrton Senna: Champion, Visionary, Alumnus," followed by the years he spent at Williams and the generation he graduated from.

Your throat tightens. It is absurd to think that someone like him had walked these very same halls, and sat in these same rooms. He was a mere "mortal", like you are, trying to navigate life among these aristocrats too, and yet, here was proof that he had once been just a rookie too.

You wonder if he had ever felt so out of place at first, as you do now, or if confidence had always been his companion.

You hear footsteps behind you and stiffen, suddenly self-conscious. A couple strolls past you, their laughter low and effortless, their glances sliding over as if you were part of the decor.

You follow the sound of the students' voices down those regal stairs, landing in the study room, where people lounged with effortless grace on the leather armchairs and Persian rugs, under that breathtaking chandelier.

You had seen places like this in movies or glossy magazine spreads, but not in the flesh, and certainly not as a space you were meant to inhabit.

You swallow hard, nervous to face all these new people, fixing your hair as a natural reaction, feeling the faint scent of drugstore shampoo clinging to you.

The group of three sitting by the fireplace completely ignore you as they are immersed in their laptop screens, close is a girl with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and a last name that also echoes through the history records, she is sitting by her own and absentmindedly tapping a Montblanc pen against her lip as she writes notes on her textbook. You know who she is, everyone does, she is one of the most popular persons on campus, Pavla Stewart.

Across the room from her, is another student whose nose is almost touching the iPad he is holding which hides his face, you are only able to glimpse the massive headphones he has on.

Interspersed between some floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are gilded frames containing portraits of alumni holding in their hands or arms the most desired Elite Cup, students whose names are synonymous with motorsports, success, or scandal.

Beneath their watchful gazes, your current generation carries their lives in this space where time seems suspended, where the outside world feels almost vulgar.

As you notice the tea served in the porcelain teacups present on almost all surfaces a striking figure with long, hazel, wavy hair cascading gracefully down her back, a true Latina beauty seems to be the one to notice you.

Ah! So I haven't become a ghost?

Her skin gleamed, accentuated by the delicate curves of her form, wrapped in a perfectly tailored Williams' sporty uniform, a white, short, fitted tennis dress with a polo collar, and a flouncy full skirt.

"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm María José Montoya. It's an absolute pleasure to welcome you to our revered and much-loved faculty. I'm delighted to acquaint you with our common rooms and exclusive facilities, a true sanctuary for our scholars." she gives you a handshake. "As the head of our "Trainee Performance Program", I have the privilege of guiding our new talents," José gifts you a warm smile, her teeth are so white and perfect. "Which is also a nice manner of acquiring those additional credits I need to graduate, you see," she winks an eye at you.

You like her already. And, she does have class! Can I be like you when I grow up, please?

"A senior student, then? Are you friends with Sebastian Vettel?" you don't know what else to say.

"Hamilton's charming other half, correct? A sweetheart, indeed. Oh! Mick wanted to join me on your welcome committee but he's at the simulator, his schedule changed. He shared with us the most delightful praises regarding you."

"How sweet! Shit, it when over my head for a minute he is in Williams too!"

"Oh, we do not employ that language here, Claire loathes it. We are rather... orthodox in our expressions, and in.. all, traditions, traditions, traditions, "That's very Williams!" is an expression you soon will get acquainted with," a smirk forms on her lips. "Perhaps it would be best to reserve that for our mechanics when you meet them" she gently scolds you, with a lot of diplomacy and politeness.

"Me and my potty mouth, I'm so, so sorry," you go all red, yet she offers you a cordial dismissing gesture.

"Don't be too self-critical, you just arrived. It's quite natural to feel overwhelmed at first. However, it would be wise to familiarize yourself as soon as possible with our particular customs and protocols, ones that will be essential to ensuring your success and, indeed... your survival within these halls," her eyebrows go up at that last part, which may imply something that makes you feel anxiety.

Survival? She said?

After a complete and detailed tour of the place and a two-hour welcome training course, you are left with some free time to hang in the study room before you meet with Keke, head of the faculty.

As José and you cross past the foyer once more you dare to ask about THE helmet.

"Good heavens, no, one doesn't simply become accustomed to it as it was merely a decorative piece of artwork adorning a wall," she gently touches your arm with a delicate gesture, her warmth and friendliness radiating.

During the tour, María José introduced you to numerous fellow Williams students, which relaxed you enough to not panic at being left alone with them.

"Keke is engaged in a most important conference call with one of our sponsors, he will receive you soon. I'll return shortly, Alois, Delon, behave yourselves." José sends them a look as she leaves you in their company.

The Villeneuve twins nod in sync, to your left, spread on the large Chesterfield leather sofa, the enigmatic duo exuding an aura of elegance and composure. Their tall and slender yet athletic figures, porcelain features, angular cheekbones, and full lips, make them irresistibly handsome.

Their dark hair styled perfectly and their uniforms impeccable, they put to work their charming façade and address you speaking with soft, melodious, French accents that are as sweet as honey.

However, you notice their striking blue eyes appear icy and detached, with an air of aloofness that's unsettling, who knows what lies behind their cold, dead stares but you are a bit curious to find out.

As soon as María José fades, Alois fires first.

"Pray to tell, where do you come from?" he pulls the most charming fake smile you have ever witnessed - if you weren't an expert on those you would have fallen for it.

How is someone this pretty?

"In Monaco like most of you, but in the suburbs"

The look of shock on their faces is priceless.

"Is it indeed such an unsafe place?"

"What?! No!"

"So, you socialize with the common folk?" he keeps the questions coming.

"The what?" you look a bit baffled.

He wouldn't dare...

"The lower class," Alois heightens, nonchalant, stretching on the sofa.

He dared...

"I identify as working class," you inform him, now sure of what he meant, you saw it coming but wanted to be sure.

The previous look of shock on their faces becomes horror, which doesn't feel as priceless now, it's awkward.

"Surely, you must be the new scholar who obtained that help?" even with his extra effort to make his voice charming, you pick the disdain in his words.

"Here on a scholarship! That's me!" you wave him a small hello with your hand.

"Then, is true no member of your family has partaken in Formula 1?"

You nod your head. "Not even me," and shrug not giving a fuck.

Woah, owing this kid is easy.

"That's not very Williams," Delon exclaims, aghast, speaking for the first time. "But you must hold such talent to make it here. Congratulations," he sounds genuine, with none of that "let's charm you" game his brother was playing.

Okay, that at the end was unexpected.

"Thank you" you gift him a smile.

"Are you aware we at Williams are renowned for our reluctance to socialize much with other faculties scholars? I have seen you in the company of that black kid and his peculiar group of fanatics" Alois inquiries again.

"Lewis and his friends, you meant," you feel the instant impulse to snap back. "And yes, I have heard the rumors about the Williams' students being very close-knit."

You don't feel like dragging Mick into this, but he was part of that very same group Alois referred to. And he is a Schumacher as in S-C-U-H-M-M-A-K-FUCK! You messed it up!

"It appears I have misspoken," Alois places a hand over his chest. "My highest respects for Lewis" he paths his pec and adds. "I just... forgot his name..."

Was that supposed to be an 'oopsie' face? And nah, you didn't, YOU TWAT!

"...his talents are indeed remarkable, blacks are good at sports, you know?" He keeps going, to your distaste, looking entirely oblivious to the rudeness of his words and the condescending tone they convey.

"...Keke speaks exceedingly well of him. He almost married his son, have you heard?" Alois finally quiets.

His attempts to recover from his tactless comment only serve to further infuriate you, his condescending tone and reduction of Lewis' abilities to a simplistic stereotype make your skin crawl.

Keke's son...?

...Rosberg, of course! Keke Rosberg is Nico's dad.

LEWIS AND NICO WERE ENGAGED?!!

"Why Nico isn't in Williams, then?" you venture, feeling the desperate urge to change subjects before you end up slapping him and getting your ass thrown out. "Not that I wish to have him anyway near," your joke doesn't seem to land with them.

Boohoo you!

"You may feel a certain aversion to Nico but one cannot dismiss his talent. Toto recognized this and extended him the invitation first, one that Nico accepted much to Keke’s disapproval, that strangled their relationship, it had never been the same" Alois divulges you, just in time as Mick drops himself by your side looking exhausted.

Saved by the bell, lucky you.

"José, my darling, might we consider the possibility that this was an error? She seems to be a total nobody," Alois asks nonchalantly, rising to his feet, ready to call it a day, the sun was setting outside.

She shakes her head in denial. "Claire received a handwritten recommendation letter from an individual she and Frank hold in the highest regard, talking wonders about Y/N and implying Williams would regret passing on her. Though Claire has not yet revealed to me the identity of this person, I certainly will uncover it."

Those two exchange lethal glances, intrigue passing between them.

"You must. We cannot allow her, or any other, to stain our name. If she fails to meet our criteria, we'll devise means to get rid of her," he asserts firmly.

"We will, my love" she replies with resolute conviction.

The following day, Seb welcomes you with a "Hello, Williams!" his arms extended as you approach him swaying your hips, making your pleaded blue mini skirt dance around, showing a little bit more than planned, grabbing the stares of boys inside the old library.

What a shit hole this room was!

Look at you! Acting "very Williams" already, hilarious! No, but seriously, in comper with the rest of campus, this stance was trash, old, and humid.

"Is it true about their rituals down in that cultish million-dollar dungeon in which they clash those nepobaby rings together to make their nepopowers grow stronger?" Seb asks you, with a serious voice.

You let out a big cackle and you two start laughing your asses off till some "shhhs" come your way.

Oh, you totally can picture them doing that sort of stuff.

"COME ON! Half of you have fucked someone in here... somewhere," Seb turns around to face the room, pointing behind the tall bookshelves. "Don't shhh us!" he lets it all out while holding a limp wrist the entire time, much to your amusement.

"Gosh, what I'm going to do when you graduate?!" you bury your head in his shoulder while hugging him, sitting next to Seb, taking a brief break from your "Telemetry" essay as you are four pages in.

"I'll leave you with a photo of me to hang in your locker, light a candle to it when you need me and I shall come to you," Seb teases you, eyes still glued to his computer screen.

"Girl, I wanted to ask you something,"

"Shot ahead,"

"Did Naya was invited to the Stroll's party?"

"Naya? I don't seem to recall her," Sebastian then rocks in his chair to face you. This secluded table was chosen by him since he needed a less popular and crowded place to be able to work today.

His gorgeous Louboutin's brodeback lug over-the-knee boots swing along with him, their leather tone matching perfectly with his Aston's green cute uniform short shorts.

Seb's blonde ponytail a la Ariana Grande was higher than your dreams that day, also swinging along in his movement, "Baby, the bitch has no friends, period. No, Lance didn't invite her," he rushes to gossip before returning to updating student files in the STEM system on his Macbook Air.

Today he had lots of Student Affairs tasks to do. "I do it for the credits! I do it for those goddamn credits!" Seb reminds himself aloud as if he was saying a mantra, trying not to lose it.

"Why are you in such a rush?" you ask, before taking a sip from your Williams' blue, brand-new, Stanley cup.

"We fuck on Tuesdays, I need to be free by 5 p.m., and have all my tasks done by then, Lewis' fitness regime marks additional cardio for this day, and as you already know he was gone for almost two weeks to do those silly Mercedes-AMG promos and he hasn't given me any dick, I need him to rail me so hard I lose consciousness."

"I mean, I feel you," you nod, in agreement.

"Lewis dick has that cocaine hold on me" he discloses. "Speaking of dick, how are things with Toto after your little rendezvous at the beach?"

"Rende-what?!"

"After he docked his yacht in your harbor!" Seb holds giggles as he expresses.

"How you...?" your jaw drops. This bitch has witch powers now?!

Seb gives you a come-on look. "That shirt you got back wearing said it all to me, plus your 'I just orgasmed' glow."

You bite your lips all blushed. "We haven't seen each other or spoken since," you let out a long sigh.

"And what are you waiting for? For him to reach out? That's so old-school, why don't you go look for him? You are dying to do so, don't you? You know where he is..." Seb glances at his Apple watch, "Right now, Toto is about to finish his class in Hall E," his eyebrows go up and down suggestively.

You grab your stressed tote bag from the desk table and toss it into your arm, now on a mission.

"Oh, okay! See you!" Seb shouts, making drama.

You quickly pull reverse on your steps - already halfway to the exit - and give him a quick brush of lips, before exiting to look for your man.

As you maneuver to reach the lecture hall - walking in the opposite direction to the flow of students coming out of Toto's class - you start to chicken out and get jelly knees, but you truly want to be with him and share the news of having been accepted into Williams.

Hence, you dare to enter the now empty and quiet hall, rushing down the carpeted stairs to the front of the room where he is, trying not to lose all your courage gathered.

Toto was so focused on organizing his papers, that you could appreciate the movement of his broad and muscular shoulders as he exhaled without being noticed. He's so hot!

Slowly, he raises his stare sensing a presence, and his eyes meet yours. The instant recognition on his face is like a switch flipping, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something familiar, something he showed you that night.

His lips part as if to speak, but words elude him for a second. He takes some steps forward, to come near you, and a smile, soft yet joyful, spreads across his face.

“Didn't expect to see you here,” Toto greets you with the faintest hint of disbelief.

“I had to see you,” your voice sounds nervous.

His smile widens a little, his eyes soften, and his gaze holds yours, both thinking about the intimacy you shared.

“I’m glad you did,” he murmurs.

"Hey, look!" you extend your arms and shift your body weight to one side, showing him the Williams' uniform on your body.

Toto doesn't look that surprised, but he indeed looks happy. He moves his long finger in a circle gesturing you to turn around for him. You feel his eyes traveling down your body as you slowly twirl, obeying, feeling a bit like a mannequin on a platform, a really horny mannequin.

"I think that skirt is too short on you," he says with a serious voice before playfully adding, "Just as I like it" flirting with you and placing the palm of his left hand on your ass while you enjoy the warmth, pressure, of his right thumb traveling your outer thigh, rubbing painfully slowly your skin in circles, making you feel things in your core.

You take a step closer to brush his body with yours and Toto starts placing soft kisses on your lips.

You return them two, three, four, five times more.

While sharing all about your days and listening very attentively to every word he tells you, being tremendously amused at how interesting his life was. He has done a lot for such a small amount of time since last you saw him.

You love being wrapped around his arms, listening to his voice, and sliding tenderly your hands all over his chest like you have been doing for the past hour.

"Now that I have you here..." Toto goes to the pile of papers on the desk, "I have something of yours" he hands you a familiar folder, and you waste no time to check out your essay's rating.

"I think it was worthy of an A but whatever..." you tease him, looking at the B rating he gave you.

"It was not," Toto replies without hesitation.

"Then, with who do I need to sleep to get that A+?" you taunt.

He starts shaking his head but with a very visible grin and some redness on his cheeks. It feels like a small victory for you to make him smile like that, he's so gorgeous.

"Now is it an A+?"

"Well, if I'm sleeping with someone for it, it requires that extra element."

You both laugh.

Then you wrap your arms around his neck and Toto's hands find your waist, his touch sends a shiver down your spine. You look up at him, his eyes full of desire mirror your own hunger.

While owning your lips with ravenous kisses, Toto pushes your body with his a bit too hard against the desk, which moves under your weight making noise.

Your hands roam his body, exploring his muscular tights and firm ass, one you often admire from afar. You moan softly into the kiss, your body pressing against his, eager to feel every inch of him, feeling his hardness.

He pulls you up from the ground, and you wrap your legs around his waist in a millisecond, your short skirt going up too, revealing a lot of you. His hands start exploring you down there with feverish urgency.

Your breath hitches as his gaze stops at your breasts. Unable to resist your erect nipples, noticeable from under your shirt, he lingers a hand to cup and touch them, aching to feel them. His thumb brushes against those sensitive peaks. You gasp at the contact, your head falling back.

"Fuck, Toto," you breathe, your fingers grasping at his belt. "I need you."

He smiles and slowly places you down on top of the desk. "We'll get there. But not here," his hands trail down your legs, leaving a path of goosebumps on their way to your skirt.

Toto rests his hands on your knees for a second while getting his tongue into your mouth as you kiss, you feel his fingers slowly sliding underneath your skirt, searching for something, exploring for a bit, till you feel the edges of your panties getting pulled, the warm wetness leaving you and pivoting for a cold breeze as he pulls your soaked panties down your legs and into his trouser's pocket, his erection so visible in those you are dying to release it.

"This come with me," he informs you, before giving you one last kiss.

"You're killing me, Toto," you pant, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls away.

With no underwear on, you go back to your dorm, placing your hands over your skirt at the smallest wind current, paranoid that you would flash someone.

As you cross the door, a furious Naya welcomes you.

"HOW?!" is all she spits, arms crossed.

Could there be a way she just caught you?

You remain quiet, allowing things to unfold a bit before rushing to open your mouth and fucking things up.

"I never expected you, OF ALL THESE PEOPLE, to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. Oh, you faked it so well! What a masterclass on naiveness, you got me. And that apparent concern, BRAVO!" she claps with her hands, "Oh, 'look at me, I'm all miserable, bwah! bwah!" she adds some crying gestures. "I'm here 'on a scholarship', LIES! 'And no faculty wants me', LIES, AGAIN! All while you knew you had a place secured at Williams the entire time!"

"Naya, what the fuck are you talking about! NO! I wasn't faking it! YES! I'm here on a scholarship," you start getting furious too.

"You know those scholarships are really hard to obtain? It's a very long painful and nerve-wracking process. One is not able to sleep waiting and waiting for the next email to arrive, praying it does. Y/N, some truly need those to support their studies, it's not fair you are here taking the space," she sounds so earnest, like never before, even her voice is different, her real speech pattern coming out as if the curtain just fell.

You tell me...

"NAYA, HONESTLY WHAT THE FUCK!! ARE YOU ON PILLS, BITCH?!!"

"OH, COME ON! No one gets into Williams without previous arrangements, without the courting, without the connections, without the MONEY!" she sounds resentful at the last one. "Be honest, who's backing you? There's no shame in being funded, trust me, I know. For sure is a big name."

"No one is giving me anything! I'm telling you the truth," you try to express yourself as frankly as possible since this is the very truth. "Listen, they were the ones who invited ME, no hints, no exchange, no contact, just a damn box appearing. You even had to explain to me what that meant."

"Oh, please!" she rolls her eyes at your words.

"How could you be so sure? Huh? How can you testify those are the only ways to get in?" now you are fuming.

"BECAUSE I TRIED THEM ALL!" she screams out, losing it.

Silence.

Oh, there it was.

Was Naya truly jealous of you? Oh my god. Okay, this is just impossible, how SHE could be jealous of YOU?

"It didn't even cross your mind for the briefest second that it could be because of my talent?" you cross your arms.

She releases a looney crackle.

"Oh, so you deserved it more than I do, huh? Why? Because of your family's name? Your status? Your wealth? So it should have been you instead of me, instead of a nobody? Well, guess who did get in!" that came out even more rude than intended.

"You don't know shit about me. Just, tell me how you did it, is all I want to know,"

"I told you, I DON'T KNOW! I just got accepted, I'm as shocked as you are..."

"Okay, fine! Don't share it with me. Keep your secrets! If it's due to your out-of-the-charts talents, as you say, let's allow the track to do the talking!"

"Let's fucking go, then!" you look mad and borderline mental at the moment.

You both face each other off for an instant, noses almost touching, before heading to your respective bedrooms, in opposite directions, and slamming your doors shut very loudly and at the same time.

That night you have a nightmare where the ghost of Senna pulls you by the hair and tosses you out of the Williams hospitality while everyone laughs at you, as you feel ashamed and cry, screaming at them "I'm not an impostor! I'm not an impostor!"

You tell your friends all about that dream during a night out at the 'Port 33' bar on campus - to ease yourself - but you don't mention a thing about your big fight with Naya.

"Once, Senna also came to me in a dream, but wasn't to kick me out, no, no," Lewis smirks while softly rocking his head, nodding several times. "YES! I blew him... if anyone wondered."

"NO ONE DID!" Pippa replies while sitting in Yuki's lap.

"Was he packing?" Lea's eyes sparkled, now Lewis had her full attention.

"Oh, he was," Hamilton adds, smiling like an idiot.

"Please tell me all about that dream, down to the detail," Lea swaps seats, and grabs the one next to him, resting her elbow on the sofa's back, and closing her eyes, to picture it better, as Lewis starts whispering it all into her ear.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Author's note: We are back on track! I hope you enjoy the chapter <3 By the way, I'm editing previous chapters, just making them better, some were written in a rush, sorry about it, I hope you don't mind :) if you like this story don't forget to leave a heart.

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

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leilasmom · 5 hours ago

Text

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. (𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕣)

pairing: stalker!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: It all started when you met Jake Sim—the campus golden boy everyone adored. Charming, new, and impossible to resist, you quickly become his obsession. But as you fall deeper into his world, you realize the person you're falling for isn’t who he appears to be. And soon, you're trapped in a game you never agreed to play.

warnings: stalking (obv), manipulation, explicit smut, violence, physical and mental abuse, toxic jake, non-con and dub-con scenes!!, more to be added. (none in this teaser tho)

word count: 1.2k

author's note: hiii, im completely new to writing and especially posting as this is my first fic. dont know how much attention this will recieve but i'd appreciate some constructive criticism to improve!

release date: tbd

now playing: mind games by sickick

It all started when you met Jake Sim. He was the campus guy—popular with the girls, adored by the professors, the kind of person everyone gravitated towards, but still had the kind, innocent, and nerdy element to him. If there was a charity event, Jake was organizing it. If someone had tech problems, Jake was fixing them. He had this effortless way of making you feel like you were the center of the world when he spoke to you.

You weren't immune to it, either. As a new freshman, you’d heard his name long before you met him. So when you found yourself at a party a month into your first semester trying not to look out of place, Jake was the last person you expected to notice you.

You weren’t even supposed to be at that party. Crowded rooms filled with loud music and drunk strangers weren’t exactly your thing, but your new friend/roommate Ava insisted. She was the kind of girl who thrived in any social setting, the life of the party, effortlessly magnetic, something you learned the first day you moved into your dorm. With her status as an upperclassman, she knew everyone worth knowing and had declared that you had to go to the “first party of the year” because it was “going to be epic.” So, naturally, she dragged you along.

Now you were nursing a watered-down drink in the corner of a house that smelled like cheap beer and vanilla-scented candles. Ava stood beside you, casually pointing out all the people she deemed “important”—guys and girls she seemed to have endless stories about, whether those memories were good, bad, or in between.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, nudging you with her elbow. “That’s Jake Sim over there. Real nice guy, everybody loves him.”

You followed her gaze across the room. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to a group of people who seemed completely captivated by whatever he was saying. Even from a distance, it was easy to see why. He had that kind of face—sharp jawline, warm smile, the perfect amount of confidence in the way he carried himself. His dark hair pushed back slightly over his forehead, like it had been styled that way on purpose.

You nodded without saying anything.

“You know,” Ava smirked, “I feel like he’s been eyeing you across the room for a while.”

You blinked, startled. “No he hasn’t.”

“Oh, he has. He’s doing that thing guys do where they pretend to listen to the conversation but keep glancing at you like you’re the main event.”

And who’s to say you weren’t the main event? Sure, this was your first official college party and the atmosphere felt a little out of your comfort zone, but it’s not like you spent your whole life as some awkward wallflower. You’re hot and you have what it takes to make men gawk and stop to stare at you on the streets. Even if you were oblivious about it. Even if you didn’t care. Plus you were a new, young face to the campus. And what do college boys with raging hormones love more than some new, hot, fresh meat?

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. I mean, yeah, Jake was cute, but you weren’t going to entertain the idea of him eye fucking you across the room from your very tipsy friend who definitely should take it slow with the alcohol. You came here to accompany your friend, not for some popular boy. And that’s what you were going to do. At least that’s what you told yourself.

You couldn’t help sneaking another glance in his direction. Sure enough, his eyes met yours for probably the hundredth time that night. Your breath caught for half a second as he smiled. Not a quick, polite one, but the kind of cocky and sly smile that made it seem like he knew something you didn’t.

“See?” Ava whispered, “Told you.” Before you could argue, Jake excused himself from his group of drunk friends and started making his way towards you. Your instinct was to bolt, but Ava was quick to grab your arm, holding you in place. “Oh my god, he’s coming over here.”

“Shut up. Don’t make it weird,” you hissed under your breath.

“Me? Never,” she said, but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story.

Jake stopped a few feet away, holding a red solo cup in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice so smooth but unassuming that for a second you didn’t know if he was talking to you or Ava, until his eyes eventually met yours. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake.”

You hesitated for a moment, your throat dry. But Ava on the other hand, ever the social butterfly, was already beaming with her response. “This is _____. She’s a freshman. And she’s my new roomie.”

“Ah, Jake said, his smile widening as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Freshie huh? Welcome to the chaos. If you ever need a hand settling in, don’t hesitate to ask. I know Ava over here wasn’t exactly the most put-together during her freshman year,” he playfully teased.

Ava rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” she replied in defeat. You could tell they shared some history together, though the details weren’t something you cared to uncover at the moment.

You shook his hand, feeling his strong grip and his overwhelming gaze. “Thanks,” you managed to mumble, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ava, clearly delighted, nudged you again before stepping back. “I’m going to find another drink. You two have fun.” She shot you a not so discreet wink, one Jake clearly noticed. He responded with a low, undeniably attractive chuckle that stirred something inside you, something you knew you shouldn’t be feeling.

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone with him.

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you want to fidget. “So, what do you think of the party?”

“It’s… loud.”

He chuckled and you awkwardly laughed in return. “Yeah, not really my scene either,” he admitted. “I was actually about to head out. Want to join me? I know a quieter place where we can talk.”

You hesitated, something about his directness caught you off guard. You’d been in similar situations like this before—situations where boys had tried to talk you into following them to their rooms and the like. Now, you weren’t inexperienced when it came to men, but a one night stand with someone you’ve been conversing with for about 45 seconds didn’t seem like something you were interested in at the moment. But that wasn’t what Jake was implying. You could tell he wasn’t like other guys in the past, the ones who were all too eager to make their intentions clear. There was something different about the way he carried himself.

And something different, there definitely was. But we’ll get to that part later.

Jake was patiently waiting for your response while you contemplated. You looked up at him and he smiled again, that disarming, perfect smile, and for a moment, you forgot why you were even questioning it.

“Sure,” you replied, not realizing then that this was the moment that everything in your life would change.

#jake fanfic #enha x reader #jake sim smut #enhypen #jake fic #jake sim #jake sim fic #enhypen jaeyun #jaeyun x reader #jake sim smau #stalker yandere #enha #enhypen fanfiction #enha imagines #enhypen jake #jake x reader #jake sim x reader #jake sim fanfic

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mychemicalaromanticism · 2 days ago

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He gets a chance to guess when he meets a man with fiery hair and a white leather jacket.

Val Velocity is constantly tense, with crossed arms and an ever-present furrow to his brow. He is distrustful and bitter, but his crew doesn't seem too bothered about it. They talk and play around him with comfort that only comes from a strong bond. Cherri notices the empty space they still subconsciously leave in their circles, and a purple mohawk flickers in and out of his vision.

He doesn't make the connection immediately. He gets flashes that don't mean anything to him; a slightly younger Val with solid blonde hair, no jacket, and an empty expression on his face; a young child holding what could only be a Scarecrow's hand. Val was a guarded person, inside and out. Cherri was visiting the Diner when he first had the thought.

Kobra was laying in the pile of pillows and blankets that lived on the cafeteria floor, inspecting his arms with a bored expression. "Oh, yeah, Val totally- Val totally, uh, totally freaked it on Ghoul last week."

Cherri raised an eyebrow, leaning a little more on his hand from his seat at a booth. "Did he, now?"

"Yeah, he like- like, shoved him. Knocked him over. Knocked him over." His face didn't change.

"Did they deserve it?" Fun Ghoul was known to be annoying, known to enjoy being annoying. It was still surprising to hear that Val had succeeded in knocking them over, if that was true. He must have pushed them pretty hard.

"Yyyyyeah. I guess." Kobra rolls onto his side, facing Cherri. He stretches his arms over his head lazily, making his face squish against a pillow. "Ghoul was all up- all in his space, in his space with- with his arms around him 'n shit. Guess it freaked him out," comes his mumbled reply. He smirks. “Party punched- punched him in the face, though.”

Cherri smothers his first thought, his brain's desperate attempt to find and connect with people like him. No one likes being grabbed. Val's especially hot-headed. He wills himself to stop thinking about the way Val distances himself, the way he clings to his jacket like it's his only defense against the world, the way he apparently reacts violently to touch, to being restrained.

"You good?" Kobra asks. Cherri snaps back to attention, focusing on Kobra's repeated question. He gives a weak "Yeah" and a thumbs up. An echo appears standing just behind Kobra, a kid with short brown hair and glasses wearing a plain red long sleeve shirt and jeans. The most generic, ordinary child Cherri could probably imagine, but his face is tensed in suppressed anxiety. He feels a pang of regret for whatever memory he's triggered for Kobra and tries to look more relaxed. The echo disappears, and Kobra starts talking about his and Ghoul's latest adventures in rewiring C.A.T.

None of the Four seemed too concerned with the altercation. It happened, it ended, and people moved on. Even Party, who was the most upset with Val, had dropped the subject. And then the next time he sees them, Ghoul tells him about Val’s apology and that Vinyl likes to cook. Cherri can’t see anything on Val. His crewmates flicker with memories and apparitions around him and his form is unwavering, stubbornly locked down.

Cherri’s sitting in the Diner again. The Girl is on the floor next to the booth he’s in, playing a card game with Jet and Vamos. Party and Kobra are talking over each other with Vaya while Ghoul sits off to the side interjecting every so often.

Val is sitting where he always does, on the barstool against the wall and closest to the door. He’s accompanied by Vinyl this time, talking to him quietly.

The Girl leans back, pressing her head into Cherri’s thigh. “Hey. It’s not cheating to hide how many cards I have, is it?”

“It totally fucking is!” Jet exclaims.

“But we’re supposed to hide them in the first place!”

“We still need to know how many you have!”

Cherri puts a hand on The Girl’s head and ruffles her hair absent-mindedly. “What are you even playing?”

“Uno,” The Girl says, leaning into Cherri’s touch.

Jet throws his arms up, exasperated. “The game where card count matters, it’s called Uno, for fuck’s sake!” Vamos snickers as he stops to catch his breath.

A foreboding feeling fizzles along Cherri’s skin, and he looks up. Val is glaring daggers at him. He startles and leans behind Vinyl when Cherri catches him.

“I think you’re cheating, Girlie,” Cherri concedes, taking his hand off of The Girl’s head and trying to shake off the sick feeling that’s come over him. The three players seem satisfied with his answer, The Girl muttering under her breath but still pulling her cards from under her thigh, and the game continues. Anyone paying attention to the discussion goes back to their activities, and Cherri stares forward at the space behind Val.

There’s an echo, a Val slightly shorter but so much younger than the one sitting at the bar. His hair is solid blonde and the same length, but shaggy in an unintentional way that makes him look more disheveled than wild-hearted. He’s missing his leather jacket, a plain blue t-shirt in its place, and jeans that probably came with him from the City.

His eyes are red-rimmed with fresh exhaustion and he has small, rounded, dark red and purple marks along his neck.

The impressions, the echoes, whatever Cherri wants to call the visions he receives when looking at people, he learns to decipher and interpret them. He can tell if someone carries the grief of a long-dead family member, he can tell when someone has experienced a significant feeling of being out of control. He can tell when someone is haunted by their past, and he can make a good guess as to what's haunting them. It comes to him in gut feelings, in the shifts in the air when people get lost in thought. It comes to him in images- ghostly glimpses into the past that cling and drag behind a person.

He tries not to stare when they appear. They aren't ghosts, not in the traditional sense, but accidentally making eye contact with them when they aren't even aware of their existence is unsettling to say the least. Most of the time they just stand there, stuck on loop in whatever moment they manifested from. He's seen too many battered children to ever sleep well again.

They're not all bad, of course. He'll see a child holding a toy that must have been important to them. Or someone with a fresh haircut and dye, dressed extravagantly with a gleam in their eyes. He's even seen a second figure accompanying some echoes- a family member, a friend, a teacher, he presumes. Someone important enough to appear alongside their memory.

He wonders, sometimes, what his own echoes look like.

#posts #hey guys remember this post.#it was always just a portion of a larger document i have written #i havent actually added to it since around when i posted this originally. it is languishing in my files #but yeah the whole point of this has been to make a ''cherri and val both have sex trauma'' fic. i just never finished it #lore

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sweet-afternoon · 9 hours ago

Text

Summary:

A lively night in the common room turns tense when you joke about marrying Theodore for their Sacred 28 power and "beautiful kids." The group laughs, but Mattheo’s jealousy simmers beneath the surface, his playful facade slipping as the teasing hits too close to home.

C.ia bot: https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/gy5vh61p

N/A: This is my first fic, hope you enjoy it!

⊹₊ ⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹₊ ⋆ ᡣ𐭩

The common room buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the warm shimmer of enchanted fairy lights. Perched on the armrest of Theo’s chair, drink in hand, your playful smirk held everyone’s attention as you joked about “marriage plans.”

“You know, Theo,” you began with a teasing lilt, “we’d make an incredible couple. With both our family names, we’d be unstoppable—top of the Sacred 28, powerful, and honestly…” A dramatic pause let your gaze sweep the room. “…our kids would be gorgeous.”

The group erupted into laughter. Blaise leaned back on the couch, smirking. “Can’t argue with that logic. Power couple of the century, clearly.”

Even Theo played along, grinning up at you. “She’s not wrong,” he added in a mock-serious tone, winking.

Across the room, Mattheo’s jaw tightened. Sprawled in a chair, he feigned indifference, but the white-knuckled grip on the armrest gave him away. His dark eyes darted between you and Theo, each playful word landing like a jab.

“You’d be a terrible match,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the laughter.

Your brow arched, eyes narrowing in challenge. “What was that, Riddle?”

“I said you’d be a terrible match,” Mattheo repeated, louder this time, with a teasing edge that couldn’t quite mask the irritation simmering underneath. “Theo’s too dull for you. You’d be bored in a week.”

Theo chuckled, raising his glass in mock surrender. “He’s got a point. I’d never survive her fiery temper for long.”

With an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you shot back, “Oh, please, Riddle. What’s it to you? Jealous you’re not my first choice?”

The room fell silent, tension crackling like a storm about to break. Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained, while Pansy hid a knowing smile behind her glass.

Mattheo leaned forward, his smirk sharp but his voice calm—too calm. “Jealous? Of Theo?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “Hardly. Just saying you’d need someone who can keep up with you—not…” He waved dismissively toward Theo. “…someone who’ll let you walk all over them.”

Theo let out a low whistle, clearly unbothered. “Careful, Mattheo. You’re starting to sound a little possessive.”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked to Theo, then back to you. “I just call it how I see it.”

Curiosity and challenge gleamed in your eyes, but you kept your response measured. “Interesting,” was all you said, your tone deliberately unreasonable.

Laughter slowly resumed, the group easing back into conversation. But Mattheo stayed quiet, his brooding gaze following every movement you made.

As the evening went on, you couldn’t ignore the weight of his silence. It clung to the air, thick and charged, each stolen glance a silent plea.

The party continued, the air buzzing with lighthearted chatter and clinking glasses, but Mattheo’s mood simmered beneath the surface, dark and brooding. His jaw clenched every time your laughter rang out, especially when Theo or Blaise earned it. You weren’t doing anything unusual—just being your captivating, magnetic self—but tonight, it felt to Mattheo like every smile you gave someone else was a deliberate jab.

You noticed, of course. You always noticed when Mattheo was in one of his moods. And you couldn’t resist poking the bear just a little more.

Sliding into the chair beside Theo, you let out a dramatic sigh. “So, Theo,” you began with an innocent grin, “if we were married, what would you name our first kid? Something classic? Or bold—like Atlas?”

Theo smirked, leaning back lazily. “Atlas? Ambitious. I was thinking more timeless—Cassius, maybe. Or Helena. You know, something that screams legacy.”

Before you could respond, Mattheo’s glass hit the table with a sharp thud, drawing all eyes. His jaw tightened as he glared at Theo, then at you. “Planning your whole bloody family now?” he drawled. “Merlin’s beard, maybe we should all start picking out wedding gifts.”

Blaise snorted into his drink. “And here we go…” he muttered, earning a smirk from Pansy.

You turned to Mattheo, amusement tugging at the corners of your lips. “What’s your problem, Riddle? Feeling left out? Don’t worry—I’ll send you an invitation to the wedding.”

“An invitation?” Mattheo leaned forward, his smirk sharp. “Sweetheart, if you’re settling for Theo, I’ll RSVP with a big, fat no.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was calm, but your narrowed eyes warned him he was treading dangerous ground.

Mattheo shrugged, leaning back like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just saying, you’re not exactly the ‘settling’ type. You need someone who can handle your spark—not smother it.”

The words hung in the air, charged with something heavier than their usual banter.

Theo, ever the diplomat, raised his hands. “As flattered as I am to be the subject of this riveting debate, I’ll bow out and let you two… sort this out.” He gave you a teasing wink before retreating to Blaise and Pansy, who were thoroughly enjoying the show.

You turned back to Mattheo, crossing your arms. “Alright, Riddle. What’s your deal? You’ve been acting like a complete prat all night.”

For the briefest moment, his smirk faltered, replaced by something raw and conflicted. He hesitated, then muttered, “Maybe I don’t like the idea of you marrying someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The air shifted. Your playful demeanor softened as his words landed, heavy with unspoken meaning. “Deserve me?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with curiosity.

Mattheo ran a hand through his messy curls, avoiding your gaze. “Forget it,” he said, his voice low. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t do that.” You leaned forward, your tone firm. “You don’t get to say something like that and then brush it off. What are you really trying to say, Mattheo?”

The group pretended not to eavesdrop, but the stolen glances betrayed their curiosity.

Mattheo’s eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, all his usual bravado crumbled. “I’m saying…” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. “That maybe I’m tired of watching you joke about being with someone else when I—”

He cut himself off, the words caught in his throat. The vulnerability in his expression hit you like a wave, but before you could respond, he forced a smirk back onto his face.

“Forget it,” he said, standing abruptly. “Too much firewhisky. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

And with that, he walked away, tension evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.

The group stared after him, the silence finally broken by Blaise’s low whistle. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Pansy nudged you, her grin teasing. “You’re not just going to let him storm off like that, are you?”

Your gaze lingered on the doorway where Mattheo had disappeared. The weight of his words—and everything left unsaid—settled over you.

“No,” you said softly, standing. “I’m not.”

Without another word, you followed him, leaving the rest of the group exchanging knowing looks and hushed bets about how long it would take for Mattheo Riddle to finally confess what everyone else already knew.

You followed Mattheo down the dimly lit corridor, your steps quiet but purposeful. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the arched windows, illuminating his figure as he leaned against the wall. His silhouette was framed by shadows, the light catching his sharp features and the messy curls that fell across his forehead. He looked every bit the brooding troublemaker people gossiped about—but to you, he was simply Mattheo. And tonight, he was avoiding you.

“Running away isn’t really your thing,” you said, crossing your arms as you closed the distance between you.

His head snapped up, dark eyes meeting yours, though he said nothing. That unreadable expression of his—equal parts maddening and intriguing—held your gaze, and for a moment, the silence between you stretched.

“Not running,” he muttered eventually, turning back toward the window. “Just needed some air.”

“Right,” you said, your tone dripping with disbelief. “Because brooding by a window screams fine. Not sulking at all.”

He let out a low chuckle, though it lacked his usual charm. “I’m not sulking. What would I even have to sulk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, taking another step closer. “Maybe the way you’ve been acting like a jealous prat all night?”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t deny it. His fingers drummed an uneven rhythm on the windowsill, his silence doing little to ease the tension swirling between you.

“Mattheo,” you said gently, your voice softening as you closed the final gap. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s nothing. Just… drop it, alright?”

“No,” you said, the firmness in your tone catching his attention. You stood directly in front of him now, blocking his view of the window. “I’m not dropping it. You said something back there—something that felt real. Don’t brush it off like it doesn’t matter.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability lurking beneath his guarded exterior. “Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked quietly.

“Because it’s you, Mattheo,” you said, your voice soft but unwavering. “And because I think… I think I know what you’re trying to say, but I need to hear you say it.”

He huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head as though trying to brush off your words. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, taking another step closer. “But I’m here anyway.”

His gaze lingered on you, and slowly, the bravado that he clung to so tightly began to crumble. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost trembling.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? Watching you laugh with everyone else, hearing you joke about marrying bloody Theo—when I’d give anything to be the one you actually choose?”

Your heart stuttered, the weight of his confession sinking in.

“I’ve liked you for ages,” he continued, his voice growing steadier as the words tumbled out. “And it terrifies me, Y/N, because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted—and I’m the guy everyone warns you about. But pretending I don’t care? That’s impossible. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The distant hum of the party felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

“Mattheo…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off with a hand running over his face. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything. I probably just ruined everything—”

“Mattheo,” you interrupted, reaching out to grab his hand. The movement startled him into silence, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

His brows furrowed, confusion and hope mingling on his face. “What?”

You smiled softly, a nervous flutter in your chest. “Because I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say something. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

His lips parted, a mixture of disbelief and relief spreading across his face. “You have?”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “Yeah. You drive me crazy, Riddle, but… I think I like that about you. I think I like you.”

For once, Mattheo seemed at a loss for words. He stared at you, the walls he’d built around himself crumbling one brick at a time. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—something soft, real, and full of a quiet kind of relief.

“Well, if we’re both a little crazy,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I guess I’m okay with that.”

You stepped even closer, heart racing. “Yeah, me too.”

The moment hung between you two, fragile and perfect. And before either of you could second-guess it, Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“Godric, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You laughed, the sound light, carefree. “Good thing I’m good at fixing things, then.”

And with that, the world outside seemed to disappear. The faint echoes of the party, the distant laughter, the hum of music—all faded away as Mattheo leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of everything. Something you’d both been waiting for, hoping for, all this time.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours again, his smirk returning but softer this time. “So, does this mean Theo’s out of the running?”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Oh, he never stood a chance.”

#mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x y/n

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lazylyz · 2 years ago

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Mmmm my little 5 +1 lay on hands fic about Xenk and the party has already gotten out of hand so to speak.

#xenk yendar #xedgin #me to myself: this will just be a few short scenes #😑#and then it wasn't #exploring how he shows affection is fun #especially when the party starts to notice

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mayasaura · 9 months ago

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I'm seeing a lot of people afraid that Kabru is going to make fun of Laios, bully Laios, or turn around to mock Laios behind his back, and that's understandable. Especially since he did lie to Laios by pretending to like his omlette right after the Toshiro nightmare scenario of pent-up resentment.

But guys. Kabru hasn't actually done any of that yet. The bullying or mocking? It isn't there. Kabru has done some wild stuff. He contemplated killing Laios to get out of an awkward social situation. He thinks Laios' interest in monsters might make him dangerous in the future. But at the point we're at in the anime, he has never once secretly mocked Laios, undermined Laios to someone else, or thought of Laios as a person he can't respect. If that's how Kabru is secretly thinking about Laios, he hasn't shown his hand yet.

It does seem like that's where he might be going, with his fake ass bitch encouragement about eating monsters and inscrutable motivations. I totally get feeling anxious or defensive about the potential, but if you let that anxiety fill in the gaps of what we don't yet know about Kabru's feelings and intentions, you might end up missing a lot.

Or you might be right, and I just want people to wait until he actually does the thing to condemn him for it. I'm not gonna tell you where this is going.*

*Unless you're anxious enough about it to want me to, in which case my dms are open.

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi episode 17 #dm ep 17 #kabru dungeon meshi #kabru of utaya #like I'm seeing people acting like kabru has already started a mean girls campaign against laios when he most certainly has not #when Rin was still pissed about the theft thing Kabru (correctly) gave laios and his party the benefit of the doubt #i get being afraid of him especially if you have a history of getting burned by situations like toshiro #but I don't think a lot of people haven't noticed that their anxiety is making up feelings and intentions to assign to kabru #he hasn't told us his intentions yet

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malcolmschmitz · 2 days ago

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@eternalfarnham asked me to elaborate, so!

There's a problem you get with game writing sometimes where the game's traditional narrative doesn't keep track of the worldstate. You make a choice, and the world changes because of it! But for whatever reason, that choice isn't reflected in the traditional writing- the dialogue, the characters' arcs, or the broader narrative.

You could call this a lot of things- 'worldstate agnostic writing' might be a good term for it? Me, I tend to call it the Shipgirl Problem. (I started noticing it in my writing when I was working on an anime shipgirl game; I complained about it to my partner using that phrase enough that the name stuck. )

The Shipgirl Problem can take a number of forms- try to spot how many of them exist in Three Houses!

A character grows as a person- they change how they see the world, how they act, how they talk, or what have you- but that character growth is confined to their personal questline. In the Main Quest, or in other characters' quests, they act the way they always have.

A character has a relationship with another character that is mediated in a game mechanical way- love points, Supports, etc. - but the relationship only changes very specific lines of dialogue or cutscenes. At every other point, the characters' relationship stays at their baseline state.

The player is given a number of narrative choices that should change the worldstate in a minor or major way- characters dying or betraying you, time-travel-children being born, Large Political Choices with knock-on side effects- but the game only changes in a major way at specific, clearly flagged points.

You're given a gameplay formula that makes sense for one point in the narrative; the narrative has a major shift, but the gameplay formula remains, despite no longer making narrative sense.

(in order: many of the support/paralogue missions (especially Petra's)/ ditto, especially Edelgard-Hubert and Dimitri-Felix/ the whole game; the major choices you make are your choice of House and your choice of whether to support the Church, and the rest of the big choices mean nothing; YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE GARREG MACH AS YOUR BASE IN CRIMSON FLOWER.)

To be clear: these problems are not unique to FE3H, they're inherently a part of choice-driven interactive writing. Traditional writing is static- you write something, and it happens. The more choices that the player can make, the more writing you have to do, and the more expensive and difficult to implement the worldstate becomes. The entire history of the interactive fiction medium is figuring out how to mitigate or remove the Shipgirl Problem.

There's a reason that most of the best narrative games are either linear experiences without much player choice (Ace Attorney, GRIS, Chants of Senaar, Spiritfarer) or are time loop games (Majora's Mask, Outer Wilds, Elsinore). In a linear narrative experience, you're in the characters' shoes, but your choices don't change the narrative; in a time loop game, the game only has to remember the changes you make in the loop, and can reset after (to pick a TOTALLY ARBITRARY number) 22 minutes.

I'm mad that Fire Emblem has it so badly, and has so few points where Byleth has dialogue that could meaningfully impact the narrative - I am starting to loathe how Byleth's character was implemented, but that's a whole nother rant- because unlike a lot of the games I mentioned, it doesn't have serious budget or technological limitations. FE3H isn't an indie game! FE3H is running on modern consoles! FE3H clearly has mechanisms to keep track of who is in your party and who has relationships with who! They just... didn't manage, for whatever reason, to hook those mechanics into the dialogue engine, and so the game suffers for it.

The only game I have ever played that has meaningful player choice without any Shipgirl Problem is @blacktabbygames ' Slay the Princess. In Slay the Princess, every choice you make is meaningful, has a clear and major impact on the narrative, and sticks with you the whole playthrough. If you want to see game narrative done right, go check that game out.

I still love Fire Emblem: Three Houses, I love the characters and world, and I think it's fun and engaging.

.... But I've learnt a LOT about writing for games since I played Three Houses for the first time, and the cracks in it from a craft perspective are a bit noticeable.

And I'm not even talking about the story structure/mystery stuff or the fact that some of these kids are incredibly compelling and some are... Ferninand... or anything about the writing itself. It's all about how they've chosen to present that story as a game.

#on writing #ludonarrative #game writing #fe3h #fe3h critical #(But Not Like That)#shipgirl problem #slay the princess

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crayolascribblz · 2 years ago

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been thinking about a very specific possession idea for will recently!!

a really slow possession, like henry slowly altering will's body to look more like his own before he got banished to the UD. over the months, will starts noticing that his hair looks different, blonde streaks showing up out of nowhere. his eyes start shifting to bluey green too, instead of normal hazel. he has more nightmares and some nosebleeds, too, and realises that they're indicators of henry messing with his body.

he's literally being transformed into henrys perfect vessel and he can't even fight it.

anyways he's my fav char and I do promise I love him 😭 he'll get his boy b4 he dies

#stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things 5 idea ?#will byers #henry creel #if he touches my son..#the party + extended start noticing and when he explains what he thinks is going on to them #theres ALOT of tears #el jon and joyce especially obv

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reignpage · 3 months ago

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College student!Sukuna

21:47pm: his dirty secret

Warnings: 18+ mdni, panty stealing, panty sniffing, masturbation, dubcon, yandere themes

college student!sukuna is infamous around campus. every girls’ wet dream and every man’s competition. he just so happens to run in the same circle as you; close friends with a friend of a friend, you can’t help but see him everywhere.

college student!sukuna is a huge guy, with hulking muscles, tattoos that peek from his torso, and bright pink hair. you could never miss him. no one could. not with his shit-eating grin or deep laugh that always makes you feel like he knows something no one else does.

you and him are kind of friends. once in a while, when gojo says something stupid or toji inevitably picks a fight with some random guy, you find yourself sharing a knowing look with college student!sukuna , who flashes you a grin that sends shivers down your spine.

college student!sukuna is touchy as hell. he brushes past you with a hand on your waist and a pat on your hip. he leans in close, breath warm against your cheek, as his lips graze your ears in a whisper, a snarky comment about how the guy you’re talking to has a small dick so don’t waste your time with that loser.

and although college student!sukuna is known as a ladies’ man and there doesn’t seem to be a single girl on campus who hasn’t fucked him, you never actually see him with a broad. doesn’t bring a date to gojo’s party, not a single mention of his latest fuck when the guys are bragging, and he certainly doesn’t seem to notice the hoard of girls begging for his attention.

no, college student!sukuna only has eyes on you. he watches the way you sway your hips to the shitty techno music, how your hair flips with every twist and turn, and sees the flutter of your eyes when you meet his gaze through the thick crowd of gyrating bodies.

it’s only recently that you started to let yourself feel something for college student!sukuna . before that, you chalked up the lingering stares and heated sweeps down your body as alcohol induced lust. but now, you allow yourself to entertain the idea that the pink haired man might actually like you.

college student!sukuna does. he doesn’t want to cave first; his ego can’t take the hit, is what he tells his dumbass best friend, toji. the real truth is that he doesn’t want to be rejected. not when you’re the only girl who laughs at his jokes and knows that he never means the cranky and sarcastic comments.

especially not when you’re the girl he envisions every time he needs to cum. he wraps his big hand around his even bigger dick and strokes it to the pace he thinks you’ll use against him when he finally brings you to your knees. when he strokes his tip, thumb running across the slit, he thinks of your plump lips wrapping around his head, stretching to fit as much of him as you can.

when he shudders through an orgasm, he imagines you sticking your tongue out as he spurts all over your face, the pearly white droplets painting your skin, and it has him groaning into his fist to keep quiet, lest you find out he’s snuck into your room when the whole gang had come over to celebrate your roommate/best friend, shoko’s, birthday.

college student!sukuna doesn’t know what he’d do if you burst into your room and stumbled upon him with the hem of his shirt tucked between his teeth, jeans unzipped, one hand wrapped around his dick and the other holding your dirty panty to his nose.

hell, maybe you’d like it. maybe it’ll make you soak the ones currently between your legs. perhaps you’re just as dirty as he is, just as deprived and desperate. but he’ll have to find out another day, because you’re all in the living room dimming the lights and setting the cake down.

so college student!sukuna settles for the fantasy of you and he pockets the soiled fabric, and another from the laundry basket for good measure, saving the thrill for another lonely night wishing his fist was your pussy.

#Sukuna x reader #Sukuna fluff #Sukuna angst #Sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna drabble #sukuna oneshot #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you

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aerialmirrorss · 1 month ago

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𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! a kickback on the beach involving both kooks and pogues turns ugly after rafe sees jj maybank talking sweetly in your ear..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , mentions of underage drinking , violence (fist fighting) , toxic!rafe , sexual content + rough unprotected car sex! , choking , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 6.7k

notes: thinking about making this into a series but it just depends on how we all like it so lmk!

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“you’re a fucking idiot,” kie says through a burst of laughter, watching jj attempt to shotgun two beers at once. instead of drinking, most of the beer spills straight onto the sand, leaving him grinning like it was all part of the plan.

a soft giggle slips past your lips as jj smashes the crushed cans together dramatically, then thumps his chest like he just pulled off something incredible—even though he couldn’t have failed more miserably.

you shake your head, pointing at the two crushed cans lying in the sand. “don’t give him any more if he’s gonna pull shit like that!” you say, half-serious, half-amused.

jj’s grin fades into a mock frown, his brows furrowing as he throws his hands up dramatically. “what? i was just getting started!” he protests, though the beer-soaked sand beneath him says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, ready to fire back at jj, when the vibration of your phone in your hand distracts you. the name on the screen makes your stomach flip, and you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to keep a smile from slipping out where your friends could see.

kook devil: wya?

you: beach kickback on the cut

kook devil: omw

this time, the smile wins. you glance down at the screen, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. it wasn’t the first time rafe cameron had texted you late at night, asking where you were. but no one else knew that. and you weren’t about to admit it to anyone—especially not to your friends.

friends who hated kooks with a passion. and everything, and everyone, that came with them.

“what are you smiling at?” sarah asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as she and john b stroll over, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. her amused grin only makes you more nervous.

you lock your phone instantly, still smiling but scrambling for an excuse. “my package just got delivered,” you say quickly, trying to sound nonchalant.

sarah hums in response, the suspicion in her tone subtle but enough to make your stomach tighten. you don’t notice, too busy avoiding eye contact and silently thanking the chaos that erupts when jj and pope start arguing about something ridiculous, as usual.

you knew what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, especially to sarah. if she ever found out you and rafe were hooking up behind everyone’s backs, she’d lose it. they all would. and not just because he’s a kook.

it’s because he’s rafe fucking cameron.

it was kind of a blur how it all started with rafe. you remember being at a party—not sure if it was here on the beach or in figure 8—but of course, he was there, lingering in the crowd. all night, his eyes kept finding yours, holding your gaze just a little too long.

a couple of tequila shots later, you found yourself in his truck, attempting to ride him as he fucked you senseless, leaving you a trembling mess of moans and breathless curses.

ever since that night, you’d fallen into a rhythm—friends with benefits, if you could even call it that. except you weren’t friends. not even close.

you and rafe both knew the deal—just sex, no strings attached. it was made clear the second time you hooked up. after somehow getting your number, rafe texted you at 1 a.m. asking to meet. if it had been anyone else, you would’ve said no without a second thought. but rafe cameron always gets what he wants.

afterward, it was rafe who spelled it out: just sex, nothing more. and you agreed, even though the words stung more than you cared to admit. you told yourself you were fine with it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you played along long enough, he’d change his mind.

except he hasn’t.

and what really reeled you in was just the other day, you spotted him on the golf course with stacy thornton, topper’s cousin of all people. and of course he knew you’d see him—you work the country club as a bev girl. how could you not?

still, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pretending not to care even as your chest tightened. you quietly asked a coworker to handle his table, murmuring something about being swamped, and then buried yourself in busywork to avoid the sting of watching him laugh with her.

since that day, he hasn’t called or texted. not a word. until tonight.

because surely, stacy was busy.

“yo, y/n! come shotgun a beer with us!” kie and sarah call out, snapping you out of your thoughts. you force a small smile, pushing everything about rafe to the back of your mind as you stand up from the driftwood branch you’d been perched on. joining your girls, you grab a beer and do your best to play along.

as the night rolls on, the beach fills up with more people—kooks, pogues, and everyone in between. the music gets louder, and the air becomes a chaotic mix of laughter, shouting, and waves crashing in the background. drunk teenagers stagger through the sand, passing bottles and shots around, but so far, there haven’t been any issues. yet.

but you know how these nights go. when kooks and pogues show up to the same party, trouble is inevitable. it’s only a matter of time before someone says or does something to spark it. like clockwork.

bright headlights pierce through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as a familiar truck pulls onto the beach. your stomach tightens at the sight, but you force yourself to stay calm, laughing along with your friends as if you hadn’t noticed. even as the kooks around you start murmuring and shouting, announcing rafe’s arrival, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him.

your gaze flicks to sarah, catching the way her jaw tightens when she sees her older brother greeting her old friends with effortless charm. the tension is palpable. it’s no secret that sarah and rafe are far from good terms, and the thought of what she’d do if she ever found out about you and him is enough to make your chest ache. she’d hate you—no question about it.

and you didn’t want that. not now, not ever. so tonight, with enough liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’d finally do it. you’d end whatever this thing was with rafe. it was time. it had to be.

“hey, sweetheart,” jj slurs, suddenly draping an arm over your shoulders, his familiar, lopsided grin plastered across his face. the smell of alcohol lingers on his breath, and you can’t help but laugh. drunk jj was always clingy and affectionate, a far cry from his usual chaotic self.

“how are you? you good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, his blue eyes lazily scanning your face for any hint of something wrong.

you nod, patting his knee where it rests against yours. “i’m fine, jay. what about you? having fun?”

he grins wider, squeezing your shoulder as if to reassure you. “always. especially now that you’re here.” his words are lighthearted, but his presence, warm and grounding, makes the knot in your stomach ease just a little.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, maybank,” you tease, your tone playful, something that’s always been a part of your dynamic with jj. it was harmless, never anything more than friendly banter. jj was like a brother to you, and you both knew it.

his smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “oh, i always finish what i start,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with mock confidence. the comment makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself, and you nudge his side with a laugh.

“relax, jj,” you say, still grinning, but he just laughs along with you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

then his tone drops, more conspiratorial now, as he leans in closer. “can i tell you a secret?” he slurs, his voice low and exaggeratedly serious.

you play along, tilting your head toward him as he cups a hand over his mouth like he’s sharing classified information. “i’m so drunk right now,” he whispers dramatically.

a laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended, as you push him off of you. “no shit, jay,” you say through your giggles, watching him sway slightly before laughing along with you. moments like these made everything feel lighter, even with the weight of everything else hanging in the air.

suddenly, the laughter dies in your throat as a familiar voice cuts through the noise, instantly tightening the tension in your shoulders. “i wanna laugh too,” rafe drawls, his tone sharp and laced with something dangerous.

your head snaps up, and sure enough, there he is, standing a few feet away with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. but his stare is locked on you, unwavering, intense. your stomach churns as you quickly look away, pretending not to notice.

“what are you doing here, rafe?” sarah asks, her voice cold as ice, glaring at her brother like she wanted him gone before he could stir up trouble.

he shrugs nonchalantly, though the slight clench in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor. “well, last time i checked, you don’t own the beach, sarah,” he retorts, his tone sharp enough to cut. the sunset casts a fiery glow on his face, highlighting the tension in his features. he’s angry—at what, you don’t know, but it’s obvious.

sarah opens her mouth to snap back, but before she can, jj suddenly stands to his feet, his drunken bravado kicking in full force. “what’s your problem, man?” he slurs, his voice rising as he steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s ready to fight.

your heart pounds in your chest as the energy shifts sharply, the tension coiling tighter with every second. it’s like the whole beach can feel it, the calm before the inevitable storm. you glance around nervously, noticing the kooks starting to make their way over, drawn by the brewing conflict like moths to a flame.

what had been your comfortable little corner with your friends now feels suffocating as more and more people gather, the divide between kooks and pogues growing thicker with every step they take. rafe doesn’t move, his stance unbothered but his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they dart between jj and you.

you can hear your friends muttering behind you, tension spreading like wildfire. this wasn’t going to end well—you could feel it in your bones.

john b, ever the peacekeeper, steps in with a steady hand on jj’s shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze. “hey, bro, take a walk,” he says softly, his tone measured, trying to de-escalate before things spiral further.

but jj shakes his head, his expression twisting with frustration. “nah, nah, nah,” he says, shrugging john b’s hand off. his voice is louder now, sharp and angry, fueled by alcohol and pent-up resentment. “i’m so tired of these fuck-ass kooks ruining our fun. everything was fine before they got here.”

he turns to rafe, his eyes blazing with defiance. “so answer the damn question, rafe. what the fuck is your problem?”

the words hang in the air, cutting through the murmur of onlookers as more kooks and pogues close in around you, their postures rigid and ready for whatever’s about to unfold. the tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. your stomach twists as you glance between jj, who’s practically vibrating with anger, and rafe, whose jaw is locked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

rafe suddenly lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he swipes a finger under his nose, his signature tell that trouble is coming. before anyone can react, he steps forward and throws a punch, his fist connecting squarely with jj’s jaw.

the sound of the hit echoes over the beach, silencing the chatter and gasps from the growing crowd. jj stumbles back, catching himself before falling, his hand flying up to his face as he spits blood into the sand.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” john b mutters, stepping between them instinctively, trying to keep jj from lunging forward. but jj’s already shaking with rage, shoving john b aside as the crowd erupts around you.

the once calm beach party turns chaotic, the tension finally snapping into chaos, and you’re frozen in the middle of it all, unsure of what to do as your heart pounds in your chest.

mayhem erupts around you as everyone starts shouting, the noise almost deafening. jj and rafe are swinging at each other, fists flying with raw anger. john b and topper try to break it up, but their own simmering tensions (sarah cameron) boil over, and soon enough, they’re throwing punches at each other too.

“alright! alright!” you, sarah, and kie yell, your voices cutting through the chaos as you rush in, desperately trying to pull the four boys apart. it’s a mess of flailing arms, insults, and drunken fury, but with the help of the other pogues and even a few kooks who seem equally tired of the drama, you finally manage to separate them.

jj stands a few feet away now, chest heaving as he wipes blood from his lip, glaring daggers at rafe. rafe, meanwhile, is being restrained by two kooks, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on jj like he’s ready to go again at any second. john b and topper aren’t much better, breathing heavily and throwing venomous insults back and forth as they’re held apart.

you step back, your heart still racing as the crowd buzzes with murmurs and tension, the air thick and electric. this was far from over, and you could feel it.

“yeah, stay the fuck off our side of the island!” jj yells, his voice sharp and unwavering as the kooks start retreating. rafe lingers, of course, making direct eye contact with you. his gaze burns, but you glare right back, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. whatever you needed to say to him was definitely happening tonight after the shit he just pulled.

“take jj to the chateau. i think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” john b instructs kie and pope, his tone calm but firm. they nod, each grabbing one of jj’s arms to help guide him away. jj, still riled up, mutters under his breath about how much of a pussy rafe is, his words slurring slightly from the drinks and adrenaline.

sarah walks over to you, concern etched across her face. “hey, you okay?” she asks gently. her voice is soft, but the sincerity in her eyes almost undoes you. you nod quickly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“yeah, i’m fine. just anxious,” you respond, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. it’s not entirely a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth. sarah offers you a small, understanding smile, her hand rubbing your arm soothingly.

“coming?” she asks, gesturing toward john b, who’s waiting for her a few feet away.

“i think i’m just gonna head home,” you say, your voice a little rushed. “my mom texted—she got off work early, so…” you let the excuse hang in the air, hoping it’s enough.

sarah nods slowly, her eyes flickering with a mix of understanding and suspicion. “john b and i can walk you,” she offers.

“no, it’s okay. i kinda need a moment,” you reply quickly, your voice firmer this time. you hold your breath as her gaze lingers on you, studying you for a beat too long. but thankfully, she doesn’t press it.

“okay, babe,” she says finally, her concern softening into a warm smile. “let me know when you get home, yeah?”

you nod, watching as she walks back toward john b, the two of them eventually disappearing into the growing shadows. only when they’re far enough away do you exhale, the weight of the night pressing heavy on your chest.

with one last glance at the party starting to settle back down, you turn and walk in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where you’re going—and who you’re going to face.

you make your way over to the truck, its headlights dim now but still parked exactly where he left it. crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the back door of the truck, waiting. it’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the beach where no one can see you.

the sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention, and there he is. rafe cameron, calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos he caused. he’s holding a red solo cup against his cheekbone, the faintest shadow of a bruise forming. but even so, you have to admit—he doesn’t look nearly as bad as jj does. of course he doesn’t.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the tension between you is thicker than ever, the air heavy with unspoken words. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you came here to do.

“i can’t see you anymore, rafe,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is firm, but you can feel the ache behind the words, threatening to betray you.

rafe doesn’t move. instead, a small, almost smug smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “get in the truck,” he says, his tone low and even, like it’s not up for debate.

your brows knit together, your frustration bubbling up. did he not hear you? or worse, did he just not care? “no, rafe,” you snap, shaking your head. “what you did today—” you pause, letting out a sharp sigh as the memories replay in your mind. your gaze shifts over his shoulder to the road, watching cars pass by, their headlights a welcome distraction. “you hurt my friends,” you continue, your voice quieter now but still steady. “i care a lot about my friends. and that shit you pulled back there?” you point toward the spot on the beach where the chaos unfolded, the tension still lingering in the air. “wasn’t cool.”

rafe follows your gesture with a glance, his expression unreadable. but when his eyes flick back to you, there’s something in them—something dangerous, something unshaken. he doesn’t respond, just waits, like he knows you’re not finished yet.

“why would you do that?” your voice cracks despite your best effort to keep it steady. the words hang heavy in the air, and you curse softly under your breath, furious with yourself for letting your emotions bubble over. you promised you wouldn’t let him see you like this—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. but now, the tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

rafe’s face doesn’t change, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise calm, almost detached. it’s like he’s weighing his words, deciding what to say—or if he’ll even bother answering at all. the silence feels suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest.

“are you fucking him?” rafe finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but the accusation behind the words hits you like a slap. you stare at him, wide-eyed, like he’s just grown three heads.

a laugh of disbelief escapes you as you shake your head, running a hand through your hair to keep yourself from losing it. “are you serious right now?” you ask, your voice teetering between anger and shock.

“are you?” he presses, his tone sharper this time, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting.

“oh my god,” you mutter, another laugh bubbling out, this one laced with frustration. “is that why you did that? you think i’ve been fucking one of my best friends? are you shitting me, rafe?” you shake your head again, the absurdity of the accusation almost too much to handle.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, his gaze still burning into yours like he’s waiting for you to crack. but you don’t—at least, not yet.

“well, since we’re just accusing each other of shit now,” you say, your voice sharp as a knife, “how’s stacy doing?” your eyes flicker between his, and just like you predicted, his confidence falters. there’s a moment—a flicker—where his gaze drops, and you pounce. “i assume she was busy tonight, right? that why you texted me?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” rafe snaps, his chest rising and falling heavily as he steps closer, his frustration spilling over.

“oh, don’t give me that shit, rafe,” you fire back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. your eyes dart away from his, landing anywhere but on him. “i saw you at the country club,” you continue, your voice cold, the memory still fresh.

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence only fuels your anger. “and even then,” you add, spinning back to face him, your words cutting like glass, “what if i am fucking jj? what is it to you? you’re the one who said no strings attached, right?”

you see the way his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might snap. his eyes darken, and you know exactly what he’s thinking—the thought of jj seeing you the way rafe has, touching you, hearing the sounds you make. it’s killing him. but he won’t say it. not out loud.

“you’re mad, rafe,” you say, your voice quieter now but still firm. “but you don’t get to be. not after the rules you set.”

you push past him, deciding you were done—done with the accusations, the games, all of it. but, of course, you don’t get far. rafe’s hand closes firmly around your wrist, yanking you back toward him with enough force that you stumble. before you can steady yourself, you collide with his chest, the hard press of muscle against you taking your breath away.

his lips crash against yours without warning, rough and demanding, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. the intensity of it sends a jolt through you, but it’s not enough to freeze you in place. your fists fly up, pushing hard against his chest, trying to shove him off.

“rafe,” you manage, your voice muffled against his lips, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. instead, your resistance only seems to fuel him, his free hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, not too tight, but firm enough to hold you there.

his lips move hungrily against yours, his breath hot, his grip unwavering. you can feel the frustration, the anger, and something else tangled in the way he kisses you—something you can’t name, something overwhelming. your heart races, torn between wanting to fight and the way your body reacts instinctively to his touch.

you hated it. hated how easily your body betrayed you, handing itself over to him without a second thought. and the worst part? rafe knew it too. he always did.

he used it to his advantage every time, just like now. the second your resistance began to falter, the tension in your fists loosening as your body instinctively softened against his, that familiar smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. he could feel it—the way your resolve was slipping, the way the pull between you was overtaking every logical thought in your mind.

the familiarity of him started to seep through, clouding the anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago. rafe’s grip on your neck relaxed slightly, his fingers brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d wanted to end this in the first place.

and god, you hated him for it. but you hated yourself even more. no matter how much you told yourself to walk away, to end it, your body always seemed to betray you the moment his hands were on you.

before you even realized what was happening, you were in the back seat of rafe’s truck, straddling his lap. his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding your movements as you instinctively rolled against him. the friction of his hardened, clothed cock pressing against you sent shivers up your spine, a traitorous whimper slipping past your lips.

his breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he let out a low groan of satisfaction. you hated how easily he got to you, how the anger you felt just moments ago melted into something entirely different. but no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body moved on its own, craving the familiarity of him, the intensity only he could give you.

his hands move from gripping your hips to trailing up your back, his fingers deftly finding the string of your bikini top. with a quick tug, the knot unravels, and the fabric falls between you, exposing your chest to the cool night air. the intimate sound of your breathing mixes with the muffled noise of the distant beach party, but all you can focus on is him.

rafe wastes no time, leaning in to pepper kisses across your chest. each press of his lips ignites a trail of goosebumps on your skin, the sensation making you arch closer to him. his mouth finds one of your hardened nipples, pulling it into his mouth as his hand cups the other, his fingers teasing and rolling with practiced precision.

a moan slips from your lips, filling the still air around you. rafe hums in satisfaction, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. his grip on you tightens as he continues, clearly intent on drawing every reaction out of you that he can.

“fuck, i missed you,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged as he pulls back just enough to let the words slip past his lips. before you can even process them, his mouth is back on you, his lips and tongue working their way across your skin, pulling a broken whimper from your throat.

you shake your head weakly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. “no, you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the words more of a desperate plea than an accusation.

rafe pauses, his lips hovering over your collarbone. his hands tighten their hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he meets your gaze, his blue eyes blown out. “yes, i did,” he mutters, his tone firm, almost defensive, before dipping his head back down to kiss you again, as if he could erase the doubt you so clearly feel.

with one hand, he makes quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down just enough to give himself better access. his hand slips past the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing against your heated skin. the low groan that escapes his lips when he feels how soaked you are sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“not surprising,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

you gasp, your head falling back slightly as his fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before starting slow, deliberate circles against your clit. the sensation sparks through you, making your hips instinctively rock against his hand, chasing the friction.

rafe’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his free hand gripping your waist tighter to keep you steady. “that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with control. “just like that.”

a moan escapes your lips when his fingers pick up their pace, his breathing becoming heavier against your neck. “think that pogue could get you to cum like i can, huh?” he taunts, his words cutting through the haze of pleasure. before you can respond, his fingers dip into your entrance, filling you to where you feel the cold metal ring wrapped around his finger, while his thumb presses firmly against your clit. the double stimulation sends a shockwave through you, your hands fisting his shirt as you struggle to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction he craves, but it’s so hard—he knows your body too well.

“i know he can,” you finally manage to retort, your voice breathless but defiant. the second the words leave your mouth, you see it—the flicker of rage that darkens his eyes. his movements grow rougher, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to make you eat your words.

you sob out a moan, your body trembling as his pace remains relentless, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath. “the fuck he can,” he growls, his voice low and feral, watching with a smug satisfaction as you struggle to keep yourself upright. his smirk deepens as he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation, swallowing your broken cries.

your hands cling to his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body arching into his touch. his fingers work you expertly, his movements precise and unyielding as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “let me hear you.” his words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

you feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. the waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak. rafe keeps going, his fingers guiding you through every pulse of pleasure, not stopping until your body begins to twitch with hints of overstimulation. but there’s no tenderness in it—not that you deserved any, not after what you said.

your earlier comment still burned in his mind, fueling a fire in his chest, the thought of you with jj maybank making him see red. it wasn’t about trust—it was about possession, and rafe couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching what he considered his.

without warning, he grabs your waist and flips you around, pressing your head against the leather seat, your ass in the air. your shorts and bikini bottoms are gone in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed. you barely have time to react before you hear the sound of his zipper, his own clothes hitting the floor of the truck in a mess.

“you wanna talk about jj?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with frustration as he positions himself at your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you. “let’s see if you’re still thinking about him when I’m done with you.”

before you can process his words, he thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, punishing motion. the stretch is overwhelming, a cry slipping from your lips, quickly muffled as you press your face into the seat.

rafe doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, setting a relentless, eye-rolling pace that has your body jolting with every thrust. his hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips, his frustration evident in the way he moves.

“you feel that?” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he leans over you, his chest grazing your back. “that’s all me. no one else, you hear me?” his words mix with the sound of skin against skin, every syllable driving him deeper, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

you nod dumbly, unable to form words as your body reacts to his every movement. a gasp tears from your lips when his arm snakes around your neck, pulling you upright slightly and holding you firmly in place. the pressure makes your head spin, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body.

the truck fills with the obscene sounds of wet slaps and desperate moans, each one louder than the last. your cries mix with rafe’s rough groans, the intensity between you reaching a fever pitch. you briefly thank your lucky stars that his truck has fully blacked-out windows, shielding this mess of tangled limbs and raw need from prying eyes.

rafe moans in your ear, his voice thick with possession, his breath hot against your skin. “all mine. no one else gets to have you like this.” his pace never falters, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, leaving you gasping and trembling under his control.

just when you think the pleasure is close to consuming you whole, rafe’s fingers snake down between your thighs, finding your clit with infuriating precision. he rubs quick, tight circles, the added sensation pulling a choked cry from your lips as your body jerks in response.

your arm flings back instinctively, your hand finding the back of his neck, clutching onto him desperately as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, matching the force of his thrusts.

“fuck, baby,” he groans softly, his voice laced with satisfaction as he feels you trembling against him. “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“rafe—“ you moan, your grip on his neck tightening as the overwhelming mix of sensations sends you spiraling, your body teetering on the brink. every snap of his hips, every movement of his fingers, pushes you closer, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fight to keep from collapsing back into the seat.

your body trembles uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip. rafe grunts, his breath ragged and uneven as he feels you squeezing him, the sensation tipping him over the edge.

“shit,” he moans, his voice low and strained, giving one last stuttered thrust before he stills, his release spilling into you. the warmth of him floods your core, the weight of his body pressing against yours as he rides out his high, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

the air in the truck is thick, the only sounds now the mingling of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the world outside—so distant it feels like it doesn’t even exist. rafe’s hand loosens its hold on your hip along with the arm around your neck, his thumb lazily brushing your skin as he finally starts to come down.

rafe’s forehead, damp with sweat, rests against your shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and weak-kneed. Sensing it, he carefully guides you to sit on the seat, his touch surprisingly gentle now, as if trying not to shatter the fragile silence between you.

but it doesn’t last long. the haze starts to lift, post-sex clarity hitting you like a wave. your heart pounds—not from pleasure anymore, but from the weight of everything that just happened. you don’t look at him, don’t say a word. instead, you scramble off the seat, your eyes scanning the floor of the truck as you rush to gather your clothes. the humid air clings to your skin, suffocating you, making it feel like the walls of the truck are closing in.

“y/n,” rafe starts, his voice softer now, but you don’t respond, just shake your head. You tug your shorts on with shaky hands, your bikini top still tangled in your grasp as you turn your back to him, your only thought being how fast you can get out of this damn truck.

as soon as you adjust your bikini top, you’re scrambling for the door handle, slipping out of the truck as quickly as you can. the door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, cutting off the heavy silence inside. rafe’s voice calls after you, his tone somewhere between frustration and confusion, but you don’t look back. you don’t even slow down.

his words echo faintly in the humid night air as you trudge across the sand, but you block them out, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you hated yourself in this moment—really hated yourself. how could you be so weak? jj was probably back at the chateau right now, an ice pack pressed to his bruised face, joking it off like he always did. meanwhile, you were here, tangled up with the very person responsible for putting him there.

it made your stomach twist. you felt pathetic.

the guilt gnawed at you, making every step away from that truck feel heavier, like you were sinking further into something you didn’t know how to escape. you wrap your arms around yourself, the night air cold against your skin, and silently vow—never again.

as you step into your home, the soft glow of the television catches your eye. your mom is asleep on the couch, the faint sound of some late-night show playing in the background. you pause, the sight of her peaceful face tugging at something inside you. quietly, you grab the nearest blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her frame before turning off the TV.

you make your way to your room, your body heavy with exhaustion. pulling out your phone, the screen lights up with countless missed calls and texts—all from him. rafe’s name stares back at you, the words call me back and where did you go? flashing among the messages. with a sigh, you open the contact and quickly silence his notifications. blocking him would feel too final, too harsh, and you know it wouldn’t stop him anyway. rafe knew where to find you—where you lived, where you spent your time, even your favorite food spot. blocking him would only provoke him further.

you drop your phone on the bed and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower dial as cold as it would go. the icy water hits your skin like needles, but you welcome it, hoping it’ll wash away everything—his touch, his words, the feeling of his hands on your body.

but no matter how long you stand there, no matter how hard you scrub, the memories resurface, unrelenting. the way he looked at you. the sound of his voice. the pull he always had on you. you press your forehead against the cool tile, biting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

how did it get this far?

the muffled vibration of your phone stirs you from sleep, the name sarah 🐚 lighting up the screen. groaning, you fumble for the phone and press it to your ear, voice still thick with sleep. “hell—”

“is it true?” sarah’s voice crackles through the static, sharp and tense, jolting you fully awake. your eyes shoot open, the confusion and dread hitting you all at once.

“sarah, what—” you begin, but she doesn’t let you finish.

“got it,” she says curtly, and before you can protest, the line goes dead.

you pull the phone away from your ear, staring at the dark screen as if it could offer you answers. confusion twists in your chest, but then you see it—a new message notification from her.

your hands tremble slightly as you unlock your phone and click the message. the screen shifts to a video file, sent from an anonymous number. you hesitate, the dread creeping up your spine like ice, but you press play.

the blood drains from your face as the video begins. it’s you—you and rafe. the footage is grainy, but it’s unmistakable. you see yourself pressed against the back door of his truck, his hands gripping you as you melt into the heated kiss. the angle shifts slightly, shaky and invasive, capturing the moment he pushes you inside the truck. and then—cut.

the video ends abruptly, leaving you staring at the black screen, your heart racing so hard you can feel it in your throat. you drop the phone onto your bed, your blood running cold as the weight of it crashes over you.

someone had seen. someone knew. and now sarah did too.

#⋆ ˚𝐚𝐫𝐢𝜗𝜚writes #drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine

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i-love-ptv · 5 months ago

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Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe, leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter—Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly shifting due to this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.

#lee’s writing! ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks #obx x reader #obx x you #outer banks imagine #Spotify

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