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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Text

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.2k words

At five thirty in the morning, you send Sirius a text.

Be on time, and there’s a caramel latte in your future. If you’re late I’m giving it to Marcello.

Marcello is the guy who comes in early every morning to resurface the ice. You actually ordered a drink for him, too, but Sirius doesn’t need to know that.

The morning air is cool and refreshing, sweeping across your cheeks in the self-made breeze of your brisk steps. You can only have one hand in your pocket with the other holding the drink carrier, but you don’t mind the bite of cold on your fingers. You’ve always loved the sharp, clean feel of winter weather. Though Sirius complains this time of year about leaving practice just to encounter yet more cold outside, the chilly air has always made you feel alive, invigorated. It wakes you up as you walk to the rink.

Marcello leaves the staff door open for you every morning so that you can practice early. He’s still out on the Zamboni, so you leave his drink on the front desk where he’ll see it. You know you’re not the first person to the rink, but it surprises you that you’re not the second.

It surprises you even more to find your new coach in the off-ice room.

Remus is lying on the floor, one knee bent and the other ankle crossed over it in a stretch you recognize. His eyes are closed and his expression pinched. His chest rises and falls with deep, measured breaths.

“Hi.”

You try to announce your presence softly, but Remus' eyes fly open like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You find yourself taking a step back as though to avoid frightening him.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, and automatically, Sirius’ For what, doll? sounds in your head like an overplayed song. You set your shoulders back and walk over to Remus, crouching to set his drink beside him on the floor. You’ve wagered your bets on a plain tea; he seems like the no-nonsense sort. “I didn’t expect anyone else here this early, but this is for you.”

“Thanks.” Remus grunts quietly as he sits up, and you pretend you don’t hear. He takes a tentative sip from his cup. You deduce that you’ve wagered correctly when his eyes close blissfully. “I can go if you want the room to stretch.”

“That’s alright. Plenty of room for both of us,” you say awkwardly.

But as soon as you set your foot up on the ballet bar, you second-guess yourself. Is it difficult for him, watching you do things he can no longer do himself? You knew about Remus’ injury—everyone does—but seeing his face creased in pain doing such a simple stretch is another thing entirely.

You watch him covertly as you bend over your leg, feeling the pleasant strain in your muscles, but Remus’ expression doesn’t change. He only stands, taking his ankle in one hand and wrapping the other around the bar as he stretches his quads.

Remus has long fingers, you’ve noticed. Pianist’s fingers. They make you think of every routine of his you’ve seen a million times, arms and hands always outstretched to emphasize the facile grace of his movements. He was art in motion, in his day. Now you’re not sure what he is. Still lovely, but something else.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Remus’ voice breaks into your reverie so gently that at first you think you’ve imagined it. You look up at him, bemused, and his gaze is steady on yours. It’s that skater’s poise. Quiet, resolute.

“I didn’t mean to shout at you yesterday,” he says. “I was frustrated because I feel like you really could get past that jump with just a tiny adjustment—” his face tenses as some of that frustration seeps back into his voice now, but Remus quells it “—but I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Sirius was right, I wasn’t telling you in a way that was helpful.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to, but the air in the room feels thick and awkward. You’re not used to needing to have these conversations with people on your team. You, Sirius, and your coach used to be a unit. There was no need for shouting matches and make-ups. You had years of history together; you knew how to handle each other. You miss that ease terribly now.

“What I should have said,” Remus goes on, “is that I’ve noticed you hesitating before a lot of higher difficulty jumps. You’ll be about to go into it, and then you second-guess yourself and under-rotate. That doesn’t work on the ice.”

You drop your gaze, nodding. “I know,” you say as you swap legs on the bar. “I’ll try to stop.”

“We’ll work on it.” Remus’ voice softens, and you glance up to find a sheepish sort of kindness in his eyes. One corner of his mouth lifts tentatively. “And I’ll work on giving better feedback the first time around.”

You return his smile, a heavy load in your chest lifting just slightly. It feels like the return of your cautious optimism from before yesterday’s practice, like flirting with the possibility of everything being all right after all. Maybe you can salvage the season after all.

Sirius practically stomps into the room, dark circles under both eyes and looking like he hates the world and everyone in it. Remus’ almost-smile evaporates.

“Here you are.” You pass Sirius his coffee magnanimously. “Thank you for being on time.”

He takes a long sip. Once he’s finished, he says gravely, “This can’t continue.”

“You’ll get used to it,” you promise as Remus lets his foot drop and steps away from the bar to make room for Sirius.

“Ten minutes of stretching,” your coach says gruffly. You feel your lips purse dissatisfiedly; you take this to mean that although he’s apologized to you, he’s not over his tiff with Sirius from the day before. Remus turns from the room. “I’ll see you out there.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You manage to get through practice without bloodshed. Remus is short and businesslike, but while his pointers don’t leave much room for conversation he does take the time to make sure you understand him and he praises you when you improve. Sirius doesn’t spare many words for your new coach, though you know him saying little is likely an improvement over what he’d have to say if he did speak up. Still, he’s not exactly thorough in making sure Remus doesn’t see the smirks and derisive looks he sends your way every time your coach’s voice reaches you across the ice. The other boy pretends not to notice.

It doesn’t escape you either that Remus has far less critiques for Sirius than for you. Sirius is more likely to get ahead of himself so that he falls out of sync with you, whereas you’re more likely to fall in general.

You didn’t used to be like this. Just a handful of weeks ago you and Sirius were an equal match, but recent events have planted an anxiety in you that makes you bail out of your risker jumps and sabotages your routine. Remus is right; you’re hesitant. Sirius throws himself into every move, full-bodied and artful, but you just can’t do the same. Until you can catch up and get back to where you were, you’re a liability.

You land most of your jumps, fall on more than usual, and by the time practice wraps up you know you’ll be bruised all over. If Remus is frustrated with you again, he’s better at hiding it. He only instructs you to work on whatever mental block is hindering you, promises to see you both tomorrow, and goes.

Then Sirius can’t contain himself any longer.

“God, what a prick,” he fumes as he puts guards on his skates. He starts undoing his laces, nails cut short for the season but still painted a shimmery black. “I hate that stupid line he gets between his eyebrows right before he lays into us. He’s like a sixty-year-old schoolteacher stuck in a twenty-something body.”

You look down to hide a smile. “He was nicer today, though. That’s something.”

Sirius scoffs. “Yeah, so was I. Did you lay into him, too?”

“Didn’t have to,” you say complacently. “He apologized himself. You know, like adults do.”

“Don’t be daft. He’s not taking the high road, he just doesn’t want to lose his job.”

You turn to give Sirius an exasperated look, only he’s looking back at you with a similar expression.

You know Sirius thinks you’re being too trusting of your new coach. He only wants to protect you, both of you, but something he’s never been able to grasp is that optimism doesn’t have to be blind. You can be wary of Remus, can have that same desire to protect the team you and Sirius have built together, and at the same time be hopeful that he really will be the thing you need. You’re desperate to make this work for the both of you. You’re a pair in repair, and though it was your former coach that broke you, if there’s a chance that Remus could fix things you’re ready to welcome him with open arms.

Peter was Sirius’ friend before he was yours. He fell into coaching you both almost by accident, it felt so natural. Both you and Sirius had coaches throughout your childhoods, but it was nice to have someone around your own age, who viewed skating through the same lens as you did and could talk to you on a more personal level. Peter was your friend in a way your other coaches hadn’t been. That made his betrayal sting all the worse.

There had been a hearing, when Peter’s texts came out. The International Skating Union had gotten involved. He’d been sharing things—tips, secrets, videos of your entire routine from start to finish—with another team. It felt odd, reading about it in the news. Almost invasive. It felt like something you should be discussing back at Sirius’, the three of you sat in your usual places around his living room, hashing it out the way you always did. But you weren’t a unit anymore.

Sirius didn’t want another coach at all after that. You could keep each other in check, he said, and realistically anyone you hired would know all about your recent disaster with Peter. Your names were attached to one of the largest figure skating scandals the community had had in years. You saw the logic in your partner’s reluctance, but you still thought you needed an outside perspective to tell you when you both were going wrong. You needed a real coach. Then, you’d thought of Remus.

You wish you could say it was Remus’ illustrious figure skating career that drew you to him. He was the golden boy of the sport for nearly a decade, shooting up into stardom at an unprecedented age. He earned enough medals to likely break whatever shelf his family tried to put them on, and he took home gold for Britain at just seventeen. But truthfully, it was his isolation that appealed to you.

Remus Lupin left the figure skating community entirely after his injury. He’d returned to his hometown in Wales, reportedly to be with his family but more likely to heal—physically and mentally, from the hip dislocation that cost him Worlds and then the rest of his career. By all accounts, he would have been the last person to follow your hearing or any of the ensuing gossip everyone else you spoke to seemed to take as gospel. You had to fight tooth and nail to get Sirius to let you hire Remus, and even still he’s resistant to the addition to your team. But it’s in Sirius’ nature to expect people to hurt him; you have to be the opposite to compensate.

“He said you were right,” you say lightly.

Sirius blinks. “Pardon?”

You shrug, feigning insouciance. “I don’t think it’s likely he’ll ever say it to your face, but this morning Remus told me that you were right, and he does need to communicate his feedback better. He seemed better about it today, right? I think it’s sweet that he’s trying.”

Sirius scowls, standing while you finish packing up. “He’s kissing your ass because he knows you were the one who wanted him. He doesn’t give a shit about us.”

“I didn’t mention anything,” you reply. “And he may not, but he definitely gives a shit about skating. I walked in on him stretching in the off-ice room this morning. It was…sad.” A small part of you feels wrong for sharing this, even with Sirius; it felt like a private moment you’d intruded on, although Remus had been stretching in a public place. “You can tell he really misses it, you know?”

Sirius is quiet for a beat, and when you look over he’s sucking his teeth. Peering at you in that way of his, like he’s got you all figured out.

“You should have a heart-to-heart with him about it,” he says blankly. “He seems like the sort of bloke who really enjoys a pity party.”

“Prick.” You stand, bumping your shoulder into his roughly. Sirius wraps an arm around them to bind you to his side, walking you towards the exit. “We’re stopping for donuts on our way home. You owe me after I bought your coffee.”

“Oi, bribery’s no good if I have to pay it back. And what would your new favorite coach say about us eating those during the season?”

“The same as any coach; nothing, because we’re not gonna tell him.”

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nadvs · 8 months ago

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cam girl (part ten)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe is on your mind constantly. At this point, you’ve accepted it. There was something about the way he looked at you in his car last night. Possibly. Hopefully.

You stand in a quiet aisle, eyeing merchandise while you hold the charm on the necklace he gave you, the metal warm under your fingertips.

You’d never been in a sex shop before. The guys you hooked up with before Rafe were nowhere near as kinky as him and you bought all the stuff you needed to be a cam girl online.

But seeing all the possibilities makes your stomach twist with excitement. You want to try absolutely everything with Rafe.

You’ve been thinking about coming here throughout all your classes today with one thing in mind. Rafe loves to use toys on you, but you’ve never used anything on him.

With Rafe’s need for control, you assume he won’t be all that open to using a cock ring, but you want to do something special for him. Maybe you can introduce him to something for a change.

You find a vibrating ring that you know will fit him, then decide to send him a photo of the toys in the aisle behind you and text him: this is a great place to meet guys.

Before you’re even at the register, your phone buzzes.

Rafe: dont joke like that

Rafe: buying something for yourself princess?

He sends you $100.

You reply: something like that :)

You check out at the register and head home, already looking forward to tonight. Your phone buzzes again.

Rafe: when can i come over?

You smile at your phone.

You: what about our cam session?

You get a notification that he sent $1000. The alert makes you wonder if he thinks you’re just doing all this solely for the money and gifts.

You’d do it all for free.

Rafe: i won’t wait that long

Not just can’t. He won’t.

You reply: like 8ish?

Rafe: ok

It starts to rain close to 8 and when Rafe arrives at your place, his hair is wet and his face and jacket are peppered with raindrops.

“Is the valet not working today?” you joke, knowing full well he had to find street parking on your busy road.

He breathes a chuckle, stepping into your apartment with his usual ease. You’ve noticed that he walks into every room like he owns it.

Rafe shakes off his jacket and places it on the back of one of your kitchen table chairs while you grab a clean hand towel out of your hamper.

“Sorry this towel’s not a million thread count,” you tease, meeting him to dab the towel over his face.

His blue eyes search your face with a hint of something new. Confusion?

You realize you didn’t even think about it; you thoughtlessly started to dry him off. It was such a mechanical response. Your impulse is to take care of him, make him comfortable.

It’s official. This man is not just a fuck buddy to you anymore.

“What?” you ask, knowing you need to crack a joke to break the tension. “I’m just drying off my seat.”

“Oh, my God,” Rafe groans, trying to act annoyed, but you know he’s not. You laugh and lower the towel, squeezing the cotton in your hands.

“What’d you buy?” he asks, clearly eager.

“I’ll show you later. I wanna hear what you have planned,” you say. “You always have something planned.”

“You first,” he says.

“Rafe,” you whine, dropping the towel to rest your hands on his firm shoulders. “Can’t I surprise you for once? What do you want to do to me tonight?”

“I wanna see what you bought,” Rafe solidifies.

You suck your teeth in frustration, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Please?” you breathe. “I’m always the one waiting. Why don’t you wait for once?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head in disbelief like he can’t believe he’s giving in, but he gives in.

“You ever been tied up?” he finally asks, his voice so deep that it reverberates through you. The air is suddenly thick and any impression of humor that was floating between you has been dismissed by his words.

“Like… bondage?” you say in a short breath, mulling it over as blood rushes to your cheeks. “No. I haven’t.”

He closes the already minuscule distance between you, cradling your jaw in his cool hand.

“I want your hands tied up while I fuck you,” he says. Your mouth goes dry. Just when you think he can’t get any fucking hotter.

Rafe’s hand drops and you hear his belt unbuckling while his hot breath spreads across your cheek.

“Why the fuck are you still dressed?” he rasps. You’re reeling as you strip down to nothing but the necklace he gave you. You hear the clang of his belt buckle falling onto your kitchen table beside you.

Rafe’s hands drag over your hips, pinching down when he turns you to face the other way. He’s still in his boxers, his cock jabbing against your ass. His warm chest is pressed on your back, rising and falling.

“You’re always the one waiting?” he mutters. The belt buckle drags off the table top, and when you feel him roughly grab both your wrists and wrap the thick leather around them, the familiar need for him between your legs aches.

“You’re always waiting,” he repeats with a scoff. “I’m the one who’s always fucking waiting.”

You want to know what he means, but the belt is suddenly tight around your wrists, your chest jutting out. Rafe pushes you by the back of your neck so that your front is down on your table, your cheek flush against the hard plastic.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

The muscles in your thighs are strained and your hips burn against the hard table from the way he has you bent over. He couldn’t even spare the few seconds to go to your bedroom.

You feel his tip press against you, making you wonder which hole he wants to fuck.

“Beg for it,” he orders. His fingers tighten around the back of your neck. Your arms are already burning from being bound like this.

“Please fuck me,” you moan, lips flanged from how hard your cheek is being pushed against the table.

��Say my fucking name,” he tells you.

“Please, Rafe,” you obey. He groans in response, hands settling on your hips.

He stretches your cunt out so fucking slowly that you want to scream. You push back against him, and you swear, he laughs at your desperation.

Rafe finally bottoms out in you, his hips against your ass. He puts his hand over your bound wrists, starting to drag out again.

“This pussy is fucking mine,” he says. As if you need the reminder. He owns you completely.

When he picks up the pace, driving into you, your breath hitches. With every thrust, your hips grind against the hard table, making you ache in pain.

“Ow,” you snip before you can stop yourself.

Rafe immediately pulls out of you, making you writhe in frustration.

“What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you lie, wanting him more than you want the pain to stop. “Keep going.”

“What hurts?” he repeats sternly.

“My hips,” you admit. “I’m fine, it’s just ‘cause of the table. Please just-”

“I’m not making you cry again,” he snaps. He cups a hand on your shoulder. “Go to your bed.”

“Rafe, it’s fine.” You feel oddly ashamed, like you’re not doing your job pleasing him how he wants you to.

“Go,” he mutters. His hand pulls you up and you have no choice but to let him push you into your bedroom.

Your wrists are still bound at your lower back when he bends you over your bed. You sink onto your stomach, feeling Rafe’s fingers spread you open before driving his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Your arms strain against the constrictions of his belt, the sensations so fucking perfect.

“Shit, I’m…” he groans, and you know he’s close, so you try to tilt up your hips so he can get as deep as possible.

Rafe shakes through his orgasm and you think how you could never tire of this feeling, of being the one he finishes inside of and reaches this feeling with.

He’s panting when he pulls out of you. Your wrists burn against the belt as he loosens it. His hand smooths over your ass before he spanks you and collapses beside you.

“Show me what you bought,” he says. “It better make you cum.” You tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Have an open mind, okay?”

“Damn, what the fuck is it?” Rafe asks with a curious laugh.

You’re sore as you get up on your knees and shift to grab the white ring you already took out of the packaging and placed in your nightstand.

When you settle back on the bed and hold it out in front of him, his brows furrow.

“Is that…?” He can’t finish the sentence, his tone apprehensive.

“It might feel really good,” you say with a small smile. “I got a vibrating one.”

Rafe sits up, glancing down at your purchase before looking up at you again.

“Come on,” you laugh. “You surprise me all the time. I can’t surprise you?”

He clears his throat.

“I don’t know,” he says simply, blinking fast. It sounds like a hard no.

“Oh,” you say. You’re shocked he’s not at least a little open to it, considering how kinky he is. “Okay. Sorry.”

You turn to put the toy away, but his next words stop you.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Fine.”

“Really?” you ask, meeting his eyes again.

“You just look so fucking sad,” he groans.

“You don’t have to do it.”

“Let’s just try it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “After everything I do to you…” You smile in response.

Rafe sits up against the head of your bed frame and you straddle him, dipping your head to kiss him. It’s strange how with him, making out feels more intimate than sex does. As good as the sex is, nothing gets your heart fluttering quite like when his lips are on yours.

Your hands settle on his shoulders and you tug at the ends of hair as you kiss him passionately.

Rafe smiles under the kiss, your lips molding together, his tongue tumbling with yours. You feel him getting hard again.

You pull back to slide the ring down his cock and he sighs in a way that tells you he can’t believe he’s actually doing this before he takes you in to kiss you again.

Rafe’s hands roll over your ass, squeezing and kneading as you sit on his naked lap. This is the longest you’ve ever kissed. It feels crazy to realize that, considering everything you’ve done together.

“Shit,” he shifts beneath you. His cock is growing, the ring starting to squeeze around him.

“How’s it feel?” you ask.

“Good,” he breathes, eyes low. It makes your heart swell with pride. “Ride me.”

You sink down on him slowly, feeling the ring against you once you’re fully seated. You find the button at the top of it to turn on the vibration.

You both exhale in pleasure at the same time. He skims his hands up to your waist, looking at you while you grind on top of him.

In the dim light of your quiet bedroom, the toy buzzing against your clit, how deep he is inside you, the way his eyes are locked on yours… it’s all so perfect. Everything with him is so fucking perfect that it can’t be true.

The fact that you ended up here all because of a part-time cleaning job and a cam website feels insane.

Your palm is against his hot chest. He looks down at it and his dimples dip into his cheeks as he smiles smugly.

“Your hands are so fucking cute,” he teases. The non-sexual compliment sends you into a tizzy.

“Yours are huge,” you retort, trying to keep cool.

“What else is huge?” he asks.

“Your ego.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs.

“Okay,” you tease, starting to sit up so he’ll slip out of you. He roughly pulls you back down by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafe mutters. You laugh and start to fuck him faster, your hips rolling in circles.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “I… Fuck, I need to get on top.”

You shift to let him settle over you, your head resting on your pillow. Rafe’s hand runs up the side of your bent leg and he grabs your calf to pull it towards him, silently inviting you to wrap your legs around him.

You hook your ankles together, your entire body hugging him.

You fuck for at least twenty straight minutes, both of you sweating and panting and shaking. You knew he’d last extra long with the cock ring tight around him, but this is unbelievable.

You cum twice underneath him in the span of the session, earning a string of “good girl”s from him. By your third orgasm, he starts to tremble, too.

When Rafe cums inside you, his name tumbles out in his groan. Not princess, not baby, not good girl, but your name, and it gives you a knotted feeling in your stomach that you haven’t had with him yet.

Maybe it’s because he’s elated over coming down from a new level. Or maybe it’s more.

He pulls out, still dripping.

“So… you like my present?” you ask when he falls in your bed next to you.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans. “That was…” He doesn’t seem to have the words, but neither do you. How do you even begin to describe something this unreal?

“I need water,” you say, unsure of how you’re going to even stand up. “Want some?”

He shakes his head in response.

You stand at your kitchen sink, leaning against the counter and swallowing down cold water. On your way back to the bedroom, you notice a lit up screen on your kitchen table.

Rafe must have left his phone here before you moved to the bed. Through pure instinct, you look at the screen. By the time you realize you’re accidentally snooping, it’s too late.

You don’t see the contact name in time, but you do see the message.

bro where are you? too many bitches here for just me lol

A chill rushes through your body. It must be one of his buddies waiting for him at a party.

Of course. It’s a Friday night and you’re pretty sure all the rich people on the island have to do is party.

You feel like an idiot. Expecting exclusivity from Rafe in the arrangement you’re in was ridiculous. Of course he’s fucking around on the side. Someone like him, with his sex drive, can’t be satisfied by one girl.

At this point, you just want him to leave, so you collect his clothes off the kitchen floor.

Thankfully, Rafe’s already sitting up in your bed when you reenter your bedroom. Surely eager to go.

“Here,” you say coldly, handing him his jeans and t-shirt. You don’t look at him when he takes his clothes from you. “Are you gonna head out?”

You realize when you ask the question, it’s like a secret test you’re putting him through. If he stays, he gives a shit about you. If he leaves, he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I should,” he says. He should. Yeah, he really should go look at and flirt with and fuck other girls.

“‘Kay.” You start to collect some clean clothes from your dresser, covering your body with them, feeling strangely insecure around him now.

“You pissed off or something?” he asks behind you as he gets dressed.

You clench your jaw. Honestly, you’re more hurt than anything. But are you even allowed to be? Just because he acts like your boyfriend sometimes doesn’t mean he is.

“No,” you reply. You swallow down the painful feelings and turn to look at him. “Just tired.” You think back to your texts yesterday about how often you’ve hooked up. “Lost count, right? I might need a break.”

You don’t mean it. At this point, you’re just defensive. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt you.

Rafe’s face flashes in displeasure.

“What - why? What the fuck happened in the last fucking minute?” he asks.

“I’m not allowed to be tired?” you respond.

He dips his head, nodding as he buttons his jeans. He seems silenced by his own anger. Your eyes sweep down his muscled body, wishing he’d just hug you and ask you what’s wrong one more time and reassure you that you’re more than just sex to him.

You can tell he’s pissed off and you know you’re not being fair, but you let him leave without any more words exchanged between you.

After a long shower, you lie in bed and wish Rafe didn’t leave his smell on your pillow. You browse your phone, trying to distract yourself.

You tell yourself you’ll go to sleep in five minutes over and over again. You’re working at the estate tomorrow. You need to get up early. But you know the moment you close your eyes, you’ll be trapped in your thoughts. You don’t want to think about him.

It’s nearing midnight when a text comes in.

Rafe: princessssssdsssss

You look at your screen in confusion. Is this a drunk text?

Rafe: ur mean

Rafe: but ypur pussy is sooo niiice lol

Yeah. He’s plastered.

Rafe: ans you have cutehands

Rafe: you akwyas smell good how the fuck is fhat possibke

You hate that your heart warms at the fact that he’s clearly fucked up but his instinct is to text you.

You reply: i think someone’s drunk…

Rafe: yes iam

Rafe: idk what i’m gona do with yiu loool

You: what do you want to do with me?

You get an alert that he sent you $69.

Rafe: that

Rafe: looool

Sex. Of course.

You: are you going to make me do every position?

Rafe: you’r efreaky as fuck. i know youd like it

You: true…

Rafe: lowkey ur all i think about

Goddamn it. Your heart is pounding at this point. You try to play it off.

You: oh only lowkey. cool

Rafe: don’t be maddd

You: i’m pissed

Rafe: we should fuck aboutt it :)

You know the answer to your next question, that he sees you as a booty call and that’s all, but you know the confirmation.

You: is that all you want to do rafe? fuck?

Rafe: YES

Rafe: what if i come over again tonigjt lol

You: i work tomorrow. i need to sleep

Rafe: you need this dick

You: omg

Rafe: do you likw this skng

Rafe: song

You: ??? what song

You can’t stifle your laugh at how shit-faced he is.

Rafe: irs good

Rafe: u should giveme a lap dance

You: you’re drunk as hell. i’ll see you tomorrow, ok? goodnight

You think back to the way he looked when you snapped at him earlier and decide to send one more message.

You: sorry i was mean

He doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s better that way.

Your body is heavy the next morning. You barely make it to the Camerons’ estate. You don’t see Rafe at all in the morning. You’re guessing he crashed at whoever’s party he went to.

You wonder how many bitches, as he and his friends say, he talked to last night.

When it’s time to turn over his bedsheets, you take a moment to take in the familiarity of his bedroom. When you pull over a new fitted sheet, you realize just how exhausted you are.

There’s no reason for another maid to come into this room. It’s on your list only. And Rafe is gone.

So, what’s the harm in lying down to rest, just for a little bit? You’ll do a better job when you’re not exhausted.

You won’t close your eyes.

You lie on his pillow. Okay, maybe you can close your eyes for a minute. You’ll count to sixty then stand back up.

The numbers quickly melt away and you slip into a slumber.

When you wake up, nuzzling your face into the pillow, Rafe is in bed with you, his back to you.

It takes a moment to remember where you are. You sit up and he notices the movement, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

{ read part eleven here }

author’s note: shoutout to my readers for being so creative. thank you to this anon and this anon and to another reader (you know who you are) for your contributions to this chapter! ILY!

#we are FINALLY getting rafe’s pov in the next part 🫡#also dont hate me for the cliffhanger pls #two more parts and the series will wrap up!!! hope you’ve liked it 🥰#im excited to give this fic its ending but honestly sad its almost over #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic

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ba9go · 4 months ago

Text

two smart cookies

bakugou katsuki x reader

u.a.!bkg and reader, exam stress and study sessions, bkg comforts reader, soft bkg hours, fluff (sfw)

part 2/3 of the cookie craving collection (completed!)

more cookies for you? part 1 (sfw) 🍪 part 3

you were never the best at academics. sure, you came to your classes on time, paid attention during lessons, took down notes, and did your homework on time.

still, you were never the top of your class, and you didn’t mind it, really. i mean, u.a. was full of brilliant students! you never let your grade or rankings deter your efforts from trying your best.

katsuki, on the other hand, has always been an all-rounder. back in junior high, he berated izuku for being a shitty nerd, but the truth is, katsuki was quite the nerd himself. even now, in u.a., katsuki studies hard to get perfect grades — and he does, every single time. because katsuki deserves it, you think.

you know katsuki like the back of your hand. you know that he wants to do well, to become the number one pro hero, to be the damn best. and anything that katsuki wants, you knew he would get. katsuki has always been relentless like that, unshakeable resolve and unwavering determination. that’s the stubborn katsuki that you knew and loved.

sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if you’re falling behind.

sighing, you close your laptop, burying your face in your hands. you rubbed at your eyes drearily, willing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. there was a huge test next week, and you wanted to ace it, wanted to be able to show off to katsuki, wanted to make him proud of you for once.

it’s only 1am. classes start at 8 tomorrow. you got this. you gulped a few mouthfuls from your water bottle (katsuki banned you from drinking coffee; “stay off that shit! it makes ya all jittery! s��not healthy for ya, idiot!”). you opened your laptop, and continued studying until you fell asleep at your desk.

you barely managed to stay awake during your 8am class. the bell rings, and it’s time for recess. but instead of leaving to grab lunch, you fold your arms under your head to lay down on your desk. your eyes fluttered close, and you drifted off into sleep…

meanwhile, katsuki’s frowning, waiting for you at the canteen. he looks down at his phone. no new notifications. he scowls. normally, you’d text him when your class overran. his frown deepens when he sees a few of your classmates stream in to queue for their food.

he tries to stay calm and rational. maybe you went to the restroom? maybe you had questions, and stayed back after your lesson? maybe you’re already on your way? but it’s already been almost 10 minutes and— “fuck this shit,” katsuki swears, and starts walking in the direction of your block.

katsuki’s worried. his hands are clammy with sweat, balled up into fists in his pockets. he’s walking briskly down the hallway, stressing about what might’ve happened to you.

he freezes at the doorway of your classroom.

for a moment, he’s angry. katsuki glares at your sleeping frame, then at your messy desk, stacks of paper and sticky notes strewn about, and he’s thinking god, you’re so irresponsible, you’re clearly overworking yourself, the fuck are you even that stressed for—

katsuki walks over, and he’s fuming.

he notices the eyebags under your eyes, notices the sticky note pasted right on the front of your laptop.

katsuki’s pissed off, partially at you, but mostly at himself. how did he not realise?

katsuki taps your shoulder gently. you stir awake, and his heart aches as he watches your tired eyes blink open. he walks to your side and kneels next to you.

“‘suki?” you mumble, raising your head to look at him. “oh god, i’m so sorry, i forgot to…” you words trail off as katsuki places his face in your lap.

“fuck that,” katsuki mumbles.

“huh?”

katsuki’s quiet for a while. he’s so still, until his shoulders start to shake and you feel him trembling against you and you feel wet, hot tears on your legs. you start to apologise, but katsuki speaks again.

“s’not a total victory,” katsuki says, and his voice cracks halfway. “i can’t win…” he finally looks up at you, shaking his head, and it hurts, seeing your katsuki break down in front of you like that. “not when you’re not okay…”

you hold katsuki’s face gently in your hands, thumbs moving to wipe across his tear-streaked cheeks. tears of your own start to cloud your vision. “katsuki, i’m sorry,” you whisper shakily, but katsuki shakes his head again, prying himself away from your hands. he leans forward to bury his face in your tummy. your wrap your arms around his shoulders instead, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“i can’t,” katsuki hugs your waist tightly. “don’t want to see you suffer like this, i can’t, y/n.” you feel a pang of guilt. “please.”

“i’m sorry, katsuki,” you sobbed. “i.. i just wanted to do good, for you. wanted you t’be proud of me.”

katsuki looks up at you slowly. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“my grades suck—”

“hah? we havin’ the same conversation right now? what the fuck does that gotta do with anythin’?!”

“i’m stupid! and i can’t be your sidekick if i stay stupid!” you whine.

katsuki stands up. he claps your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks between them. he’s frowning, glaring daggers at you.

“what are you,” he asks dryly.

“…an idiot sandwich.”

katsuki sighs, letting go of your face. without warning, he traps you in a loose headlock, his free hand ruffling your hair roughly.

“damn right you are,” katsuki scoffs. “but yer not stupid. ya got that?” he kisses your forehead. “the smartest girl i know. my girl. ya got some nerve, callin’ my girl stupid. ya wanna die?”

as he continues drowning you in his affection berating you, you’re reminded again of just how much katsuki loves you.

“yer already smart. don’t gotta do anythin’ to prove shit to me, or any other fucker. someone been tellin’ ya things, behind my back? what’s gotten into you, hm?”

“no. got myself stressed ‘bout my test next week, s’all,” you admit with a pout.

“next time yer fuckin’ stressed, ya come to me, got it?” katsuki pulls you into a tight hug. “no more of this overworkin’ yourself bullshit. ya need sleep to focus in class, damn it!”

“i knoooow—”

“ya clearly don’t,” katsuki scolds. then, he rests his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes seriously. “take better care of yourself.”

“mm,” you hum.

he kisses your lips. “i’m serious. i need my future sidekick in tiptop condition, ya hear me?” you frown at his words.

“am i really good enough?” the question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

katsuki kisses you again. he pulls back with a smile, the one that’s reserved just for you.

“yer the damn best thing that’s ever happened to me,” katsuki says easily, confidently.

you smile.

“thank you, hero.”

dynamy has my whole heart

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha #mha

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luveline · 8 months ago

Note

hiii could I please request miguel walking in on reader crying in secret?? ty!! :)))

thank you for requesting! fem!reader, 1.2k

It takes Miguel half an hour to fix your spider suit, but when he picks his head up from his work desk with a brag waiting on his lips, you aren’t there. He hadn’t noticed you slinking away. Perhaps he should’ve, given his fantastic sixth sense and his habit of awarding you special attention, just you’re quiet when you want to be.

He sends you a short message through his wristwatch. Where are you? delivered 7:58PM.

No response. Miguel folds your suit into a square and holds it under his arm, flicking off his workbench light as he rolls his neck from one side to the other. He wanted to finish the repairs before nightfall so as not to disrupt your routine. He quite likes your routine together. In a stressful life, time spent with you is peace he doesn’t deserve. You aren’t a peaceful girl, of course, you’re his idiot, but he knows the stark difference of having you versus not having you.

He can’t track you without your suit on and your watch he’d found in the laboratory (you should not be taking it off), but he can ping your phone.

You’re in the building still, at least.

He texts you. Where did you go? I fixed your suit. It’s dinner time soon.

Loosely translated, it means, Why did you leave? We always eat dinner together.

Miguel sighs and decides to check the most obvious places first. The alcove of the hallway leading to the laboratory where you like to hide, the arts lounge, the atrium where your friends hang out, and the outdoor area right at the surface of the society. By 8:30PM he’s agitated wondering where you’ve gone, because he should probably know, but he’s not a great boyfriend and you’re not always as honest as you claim. You could be anywhere. You could be with someone nicer.

He’s pissed. With no choice but to admit defeat, he decides he’ll head up to bed (he’s not going to bed, he’s gonna find you, because you can go wherever you like whenever you like but it’s been a long time since you disappeared without telling him). He cares about you too much, even if he wishes sometimes he didn’t. Not because of you.

He sulks into the apartment (his apartment, your apartment, you were never supposed to live with him but here you tend to stay), throwing his phone and command pod onto the made sheets of the bed.

The shower drips in the bathroom. He can hear the plink of water dripping onto the floor, a slow, dysrhythmic pattering. Two seconds, a drop. Three seconds, your breathing.

He startles. You’re shuddering, a sharp inhalation, that strange sound you make when you’re overwhelmed without being smothered by his shoulder. “Stop,” you say under your breath. Another harsh breath, and a pained whine to follow.

Miguel has never crossed a room so quickly. For a moment he thinks there must be someone else there, not a fully realised theory but an instinct —you’re telling someone else to stop, because someone is hurting you, because you aren’t alone. But he can hear only your heart, and your breath. So he stops cold by the door without bursting in and forces himself to knock.

“Mi cielo?” he asks, aiming for tenderness, roughness seeping through. He knocks the door. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Miguel doesn’t realise the door is locked until he’s cracked the doorframe.

You stare at him in shock. Tears fall fast but quiet down your cheeks, thick streams of them, the kind to accompany gutted sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he says, his chest falling. “What’s wrong? Y/N, tell me. Tell me,” he prompts, secretly terrified at your tears and your quiet. He sounds demanding instead.

“I’m fine,” you say.

“No you’re not.” He speaks before you can deny it again, not sure what to make of your teary voice or the way you’re smiling; trying to hide.

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, mi cielo,” —he takes your hand if only to be touching you— “you're crying.”

“You weren’t supposed to see,” you say, closing your eyes.

Tears squeeze their way out unbidden. Miguel reaches to his right for the toilet paper and pulls off a few sheets, bundling them in his palm. Careful, hesitant, he brings the corner to your face and begins to dry your tears from your cheeks, your chin, the wet line running down to your t-shirt and then back to your eyes. He shushes you as you shudder, “Shh, lovely. Everything will be fine. Everything… Todo va a estar bien.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper tightly.

“It’s fine,” he echoes, much more kindly, though he’s no closer to understanding why you’d locked yourself away to cry so intensely. “Tell me what’s wrong, yes? You tell me what’s upset you.”

“It’s nothing–”

You try to persuade him but end up sounding even more upset than you had, shaking your head from his touch, receding backward toward the sink.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asks gently.

“It’s so stupid, Miguel, you weren’t supposed to know.”

He’d say it was unlike you to be secretive with your feelings. You love loudly, tease louder. You’re spirited and petulant when you feel like it and you’re constantly barraging him with cheerfulness he doesn’t deserve, so why doesn’t your unwillingness to share this with him surprise him?

“But I know now,” he says, bending to be your height, to meet your tired eyes, “and I want to know what’s wrong so I can make you feel better. Can you let me do that?”

“I don’t feel very well.”

Miguel can only handle so much. He uses some of his added strength to wrap you up in a full body hug, your toes struggling to stay on tiptoes and then completely off the ground as he leans back under your weight. “I know,” he says, though he hadn’t, “it’s okay, cariño, I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You’re all softness in your off-duty clothes. The rolled neck of a worn t-shirt, your naked arm curling behind his neck and your thighs to his. He doesn’t keep you up for more than a few seconds, just enough to take your weight and hopefully save you the energy it’s taking to stay upright. You sag against him as your socks touch down again. He’s the one thing keeping you standing, and he doesn’t mind. You should know that already.

“Please,” he says emphatically, “don’t cry by yourself. You have to let me know.”

“Sorry.”

He moves his head from one side to another slowly, his nose rubbing along your hairline. “Don’t be sorry. But if I don’t know, how am I supposed to fix it for you?”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Are you kidding?” He encourages your head back tenderly to meet your eyes. “That’s what we do, hmm? What do you think?”

You smile. Still sad, still watery-eyed, but a real smile. “Yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go sit down, okay? I’ll get you a drink.”

“So weird,” you murmur.

“I’m weird?”

“You’re being really nice to me.”

Miguel squeezes your arm. “Don’t get used to it, Spider-Girl.”

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evanpeterspeter · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober day 3

Peter Maximoff - phone sex/sexting

Cw: lewd content. That’s it

———————————————————————————

It was a foggy Thursday afternoon, Peter was at home in his messy unkept Room (Basement), just playing Pac-Man and eating that garbage sponge cake with artificial cream in between, just finding a way to waste away the day. You were at your house, stuck studying for your big exam tomorrow. You sat crisscrossed at your desk, eyes dozing off at your mindless textbook of anatomy. You were abruptly awoken by the buzz of your phone. You grabbed it, seeing your favorite speedster had texted you. You couldn’t help but smile ear to ear, happy to hear from your boyfriend.

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Heya babes! wyd?

You

Just studying. You?

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

You should be studying me.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his cheesy comment, though you did let out a small scoff of a laugh.

You

You’re so dumb, you know that right?

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Just for you.

You shut off your phone and tossed it onto the bed, standing up from your chair, stretching your arms over your head, and letting out a lion like yawn. You were wearing a silk sleep tank top with a matching pair of silk shorts. As you finished your stretch you pounced onto the bed, hugging your bat Squishmallow under your chest, and picking your phone back up. 8 notifications from Peter? It’s been less than 2 minutes, you thought to yourself.

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

BABEEE!!!

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Facetime meeee!

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

IMYYYYY!

And there were 5 missed FaceTime calls. “My god..This boy is gonna be the death of me.” You decided to FaceTime him, like one ring in and he immediately answered.

“Babe! I’ve missed you!”

“Peter, I put my phone down for less than 2 minutes.” You said giggling

“You know that’s a century for me babes…whatcha’ wearing?” He said with a dumb smirk on his face. You looked down and saw that your cleavage was out, you scoffed and picked up your silk tank. “BOOOO! I was enjoying that.” Peter exclaimed in a whiney pout.

“Well, I’m wearing my silk set you got me.” You smiled, standing up, propping up your phone, then stepping away to do a small twirl, showing off the skimpy silk material Peter gifted (Definitely stole) you. He whistled at you and smiled.

“What a beaut! My gorgeous girl.” You couldn’t help but blush and giggle, walking towards the phone, picking it up, and pressing a kiss at the camera. You took him to your vanity, placing the phone in front of the mirror and sitting in the frame of the camera. You opened your mini fridge that held your skin care products and started applying them. “Remind me why you need all those?” Peter said.

“Helps my skin stay clear and fresh.” You said while applying the cool cream to your cheeks. The cold of the cream made your body shiver, giving small goosebumps throughout your body.

As you looked at the frame you saw Peter’s eyes fixated on the bottom of the camera. You inspected closer to the camera and noticed he was staring at your hardened nipples. You quickly hugged your elbows together and gasped. “Peter! I saw that!” “What? I wasn’t lookin’! I saw nothin’!” He said lying through his teeth. “…Okay, Okay! I was looking, but you can’t blame me! You look stunnin’, babes.” You shook your head and unraveled your arms, to continue your routine.

You noticed how awfully quiet Peter was being, so you looked back down at the frame, to your surprise (Not really) you saw the silver-headed boy moving his lower half. His eyes were closed, gently biting his bottom lip, and the phone bouncing. “P-peter? What are you doing?” Something about that visual of his, made butterflies appear not just in your stomach, but lower. Peter smirked at the camera. “You wanna see babes?” You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded slowly. Peter flipped the camera, to show his large shaft in the grasp of his palm. You unintentionally bit your lower lip, seeing how blush pink of his tips was, and the glistening of his precum dripping onto the mid of his cock. “Can I see ya’?” He said in a charming tone. “I-I don’t know. I’m kinda shy…” you stuttered. “Come on babes, I’ve seen her before. So beautiful and petite.” “I know, but I’m camera shy.” You said hiding your face. “Why be shy? No one is here to see except me.” You thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Okay, but no screenshots okay? Promise me, Peter.” “I pinky promise, with Twinkies on top.” You giggled and plopped over to your bed.

Propping your phone on the foot of your bed, you sat up on your knees, slowly grasping your silk garment and pulling it suggestively over your head, letting your soft and plush tits bounce free. Peter let out a soft groan at the sight of your soft perky nipples. You then shimmied off your silk bottoms, wiggling your hips to tease Peter. As you pulled them off, you laid onto your back showing your cute, plump pussy lips. They were freshly shaved and moisturized from that afternoon. “F-fuck you’re so beautiful.” You were already wet from the sound and view of him and how you wish he was touching you right there and now. You slid your fingers in between your slick folds, and spread your soft lips apart, reviling a pink ombre with a glisten of slick on your entrance and clit. “God, I just need a taste of that,” Peter said as his breathing had quickened. You used your two fingers to start rubbing yourself in a circular motion, just squirming at the thought of Peter eating you out. You let out some small petite mewls, as you grinded against your fingers, eager for Peter’s touch. You let out some gasps. “P-peter..mmmm” Something about that almost made Peter explode. He started jerking off at a faster pace. “Fuck babes… You’re gonna make me cum.” You picked up the pace and started rubbing side to side at a quick speed, feeling your core tighten. Peter was holding off as much as he could but miserably failed as he came all over himself. You weren’t too far after him as you also came, you let out a messy moan, moaning Peter’s name as your entrance tightened with each convulse of your orgasm. “That’s my girl.” He spoke with a soothing tone.

After collecting your thoughts you sat up on your knees, smiling looking at the camera to see Peter wasn’t in the frame. “Petey?” You said tilting your head like a lost puppy. You pouted seeing he wasn’t there, and silently put your clothes back on, feeling embarrassed and slightly ashamed, like as if you felt used. You knew Peter would never use you, but you were kinda used to it from the other guys. You felt your eyes well up and you hung up the phone. As you tuck yourself into bed the phone dings.

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Babe? Where did you go?

You saw the notification light up the ceiling but then turned the other way and hid under your blanket. Letting out soft cries as you hugged yourself feeling empty and used.

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Hey, Is everything okay?

🏃🩶Speedster⚡️🥰

Don’t make me go over there.

Next thing you know you felt a heavy body on the end of your bed. Peter was there. He lifted your duvet, to see you curled in a ball, hugging your Squishmallow. “Babe, Hey, what’s wrong?” He scooted closer, scooping you into his arms. You hiccuped and cried. “I-I thought you used me.” You gasped in between cries. “Hey, baby. I would never do that to you. You are the world to me, Y/n” “I’m so annoying, I’m sorry Peter.” Peter pulled you to his chest, shushing you in a calming sense. “You are not, babe. I was cleaning myself up and I was preparing for a potential movie night on the phone with you. But since I’m here, we can watch something together, Yeah?” You lifted your heavy head looking at him. He wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. “Yes, my starshine?” You smiled and pressed a tender kiss on his lips. “I love you, Petey.” You said caressing his soft stubble jaw. “I love you more.”

———————————————————————————

Taglist: @evansonlylove @xrag-dollx @warrenlipkaswife @jazz-berry @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @fear-is-truth

#evan peters #evan peters imagine #evan peters fanfic #evan peters x female reader #kinktober #peter maximof x reader #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff #X-men

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lovelookspretty · 1 month ago

Text

lies for lunch

rafe cameron x reader

— in which y/n returns to her hometown, the outer banks, to work as ward cameron’s assistant at cameron development, but living under his roof for the summer leads to unexpected tension with his son, rafe.

warnings: animosity, rafes daddy issues, safe !!

authors note: for the sake of the story i need y/n or you or whatever to have a person of familiarity whos hung back in obx to act like you’ve known each other for years, SO U HAVE A FICTIONAL BROTHER 😭

for the past ten months, you’ve been working at cameron development, helping ward negotiate deals and obtain permits. it’s been almost like being his assistant through everything. what started as an internship turned into a full-time job with actual pay after all this time.

they were right—hard work and determination can really pay off. you just didn’t expect to get so lucky with how quickly things moved. after a series of private meetings where ward discussed traveling back to north carolina to work in his hometown, he suggested you come along.

the relationship isn’t weird or inappropriate. you’re one of the few employees ward genuinely appreciates, which is more than he can say about the burnouts that float through the company. since you’re from the outer banks yourself, ward thinks it makes sense to bring you along to continue working for him and the company for as long as possible.

but anyway, you’re absolutely thrilled to be back in the outer banks. it’s more than just a job opportunity—it’s a chance to reconnect with everything familiar, everything that’s been tugging at your heart since you left.

the occasional visits have been fine, enough to keep the homesickness at bay for a while, but that constant, quiet longing for the place you grew up never really goes away. but now? now you’re staying in obx for the summer. no more fleeting weekends, no more rushed goodbyes. you’ll have time to breathe, to soak it all in. to be home.

the airport air is still fresh in your lungs when you slide into the backseat of the car, your bags dumped beside you. before the door even clicks shut, your fingers are already scrolling through your contacts. there’s only one person you want to talk to right now—your brother.

“hey,” you say, stretching out the word, a grin tugging at your lips as you hear the familiar click of him picking up.

“hey,” comes his easy, laid-back reply, his voice filling the small space around you like it always does. like home. “did you land?”

you bounce slightly in your seat as the car hits a bump, your grip tightening on your phone for a second. “yeah,” you confirm, digging through your bag absentmindedly. “i’m about twenty minutes from figure 8, so i’ll be there around noon. are mom and dad home?”

there’s a slight pause on his end, the sound of him shifting around, probably sprawling lazily on the couch back home. “nah, they’re not,” he finally says. “i swung by to check, but i guess mom’s out at lunch with her friends, and dad’s working today.”

you let out an involuntary groan, the disappointment settling in your chest. of course, it would work out like this. “this is what i get for trying to surprise them.”

his voice comes back, laced with mild amusement. “it’s your fault for not announcing you’re coming a day earlier.”

he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. instead, you plow forward. “look, can you at least call mom and ask if she can be home soon? ward wants me to head straight to him as soon as i land, but i really wanna stop by as soon as i can. i can’t be there later than two.”

on the other end, you can almost hear the exaggerated sigh that you know is coming. the kind that’s loaded with all the typical dramatics. he’s probably rolling his eyes too, even though you can’t see him. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, clearly unable to resist playing up his irritation. “i’ll take care of it. just text me when you’re on your way. still can’t believe you’re working for wc.”

with that, the call ends abruptly, and you pull the phone away from your ear, blinking down at the screen in mild confusion. wc? who calls him wc? you furrow your brow, lips tugging into a slight frown as you shoot off a quick text to your brother.

‘ 1st, nobody calls him wc. and 2nd, what??? ’

your phone buzzes again. his reply is as cryptic as ever.

‘ just a coincidence that in ny u ended up working for someone from obx still. don’t u remember him growing up? ’

you stare at the message, trying to piece together what he’s talking about, until another text follows almost immediately.

‘ he has like 3 kids. rafe, sarah, wheezie. i saw rafe down at the pier a few weeks ago. we used to see them at parties when we were younger. ’

rafe? sarah? wheezie? none of those names ring a bell. you rack your brain, searching for some kind of recognition, but you come up empty. a soft laugh escapes you as you quickly type back, ‘idk who that is lmao sorry’ and lock your phone, leaning back in the seat with a sigh.

ward cameron has three kids. it’s a strange thing to realize, that the man you’ve been working for these past couple of years has an entire family you’ve never heard of. but then again, work was always work. personal details were rarely exchanged unless necessary. and now, you can’t help but think—would you meet them? would they be anything like ward?

your brother mentioned seeing one of them recently, so you can assume at least one of ward’s children still live here. you wonder if the rest do too.

your thoughts wander as the car turns down another road, bringing you closer to the heart of figure 8. it’s been a long time since you’ve been back here, long enough for some of the details to feel fuzzy, but the feeling of the place—that never changes. the salty air, the warmth of the sun filtering through the car windows, the sense of familiarity that sits low in your chest, almost like relief.

you try to imagine what the next few months will be like. working for ward in the outer banks is worlds apart from working for him in new york. for one, the pace is different—slower, more laid-back. and for another, you won’t be disappearing into a faceless crowd when the workday ends. you’ll be here, surrounded by people who might actually know your name. or at least remember your face.

the car slows down, the gravel beneath the tires crunching softly as you near the cameron estate.

“thank you!” you call out, waving as the driver pulls away, leaving you standing on the driveway with your bags at your feet. for a moment, you just stand there, taking it all in. the cameron house looms in front of you.

you bend down, grabbing the straps of your bags and hauling them up, careful not to drag them across the grass. even though this isn’t your home, there’s an odd comfort in the way it feels.

you’ve been here before—well, not here exactly, but close enough. working summer jobs in figure 8 as a teenager had given you a glimpse of this world. a world where you were always on the outside, always temporary. back then, you were just a girl from the cut, doing what you had to do to get by.

no one looked at you twice. but now? now you’re here for something more. wanted, even.

the thought of it makes your stomach twist with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. you adjust the weight of your bags on your shoulder and step up to the door, knocking firmly before dropping your things to the floor with a soft thud.

a small sigh of relief escapes your lips as you straighten up, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness from the journey. you’ve been lugging these bags around for hours, and your arms are starting to feel like lead.

as you wait, you take a moment to fix your hair, fingers smoothing back stray strands that have fallen into your face. it’s only then that you hear a rustle in the bushes to your left. your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, mid-motion, your eyes flicking toward the sound. you stretch your neck slightly, peering over your shoulder, but there’s nothing. just silence. your pulse settles again, and you let out a quiet laugh at yourself.

the door suddenly swings open, and you drop your hands to your sides, your face breaking into a smile. standing in the doorway is a girl, and instantly, you’re struck by how put together she looks.

her long blonde hair cascades down her back, and she’s dressed in a cozy white knit sweater paired with shorts. it’s casual, effortless, but there’s something about it that screams figure 8 wealth. but what really catches your attention are her socks—brightly colored, with little monster faces peeking out from the tops.

you smile a little wider at the sight. you’re starting to like her already.

“hey, i’m y/n,” you introduce yourself, stepping forward and extending your hand.

“it’s so nice to meet you! i’m sarah,” she replies, her smile just as warm as she reaches out to shake your hand. her grip is firm but friendly, and before you know it, she’s ushering you inside with a wave of her hand. “come on in! my dad isn’t here right now, but i can actually show you to our guest room. it’s, like, right next to mine. it’s so homey. you’ll love it.”

her energy is almost overwhelming, but in a good way. she’s excited, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved.

“i mean, yeah, sure,” you say, bending down to grab your bags again. but before you can get a good grip, sarah is already stepping in to help, lifting one of the bags with ease. you follow her inside, the door clicking shut behind you as you enter the home.

it’s everything you expected and more—bright, airy, with high ceilings and tasteful decor. it’s the kind of place that feels almost untouchable, like something out of a magazine.

as you make your way toward the stairs, you can’t help but glance around, taking it all in. the house smells faintly of lemon and clean linens, and the soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound that breaks the quiet. it’s beautiful, but it’s also a little intimidating.

“so, is there anyone else home that i should worry about if i, like, wanted to shower?” you ask as you follow sarah up the steps.

sarah shoots you a smile over her shoulder as she leads the way. “i think you’re good. my brother and sister are here, but they won’t bother you. wheezie’s doing her homework, and rafe . . . well, he’s probably not even home.”

her tone is casual, like she’s talking about the weather, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity. you remember your brother mentioning a rafe in his text earlier, but the name still doesn’t mean much to you. maybe you’ll meet him later, maybe not. either way, it’s not something you’re too concerned about right now.

you reach the guest room door, and sarah twists the knob, pushing it open with a flourish. “here! this is your room for the summer.”

you step inside, and your breath catches in your throat. it’s . . . gorgeous. simple, but elegant, with soft cream-colored walls and wide windows that let in streams of natural light. the bed is large, with crisp white sheets that look impossibly inviting, and there’s a small sitting area in the corner with a plush chair and a side table. it’s more than you ever expected.

“wow,” you breathe, your eyes sweeping over the room. “this is . . . really nice.”

sarah grins, setting your bag down on the chair. “told you! if you’re gonna shower, i’ll leave you to it. but if you need anything, my room’s right next to yours.” she gestures vaguely toward the door. “the bathroom’s across the hall from mine. my dad will probably be home in, like, half an hour? him and rose just ran out to do something before you got here.”

you nod, but your mind snags on the name—rose. ward’s wife. it’s funny, now that you think about it, how little you actually know about ward’s personal life. you’ve worked with him for years, but he’s always kept things strictly professional. it’s only now, standing in his home, that you’re realizing just how much of his life is a mystery to you.

sarah gives you one last smile before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. and just like that, you’re alone. you let out a long, slow breath, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the rings on your fingers as you take a moment to center yourself. it feels surreal, being here. like stepping into someone else’s life for a while.

you cross the room and pull back the curtains, revealing a stunning view of the island and for a moment, all your worries melt away. it’s beautiful here. peaceful. maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all.

you grab your bathroom bag and a fresh set of clothes, the weight of the morning starting to press on your shoulders as you make your way to the bathroom. you pause outside the door, hearing the muffled laughter of sarah and wheezie from across the hall.

their lighthearted chatter pulls a soft smile onto your lips, a sense of warmth in this house. it's comforting, in a strange way, to be surrounded by family—even if it's not your own.

the bathroom is sleek, modern, almost too luxurious compared to what you're used to. you lock the door behind you and let out a long, relieved breath. the hot water feels like an escape, like it's rinsing away the tension of the trip, the awkwardness of being in someone else’s home, and the nerves tangled in your chest about what comes next.

as the minutes pass, you try to calm the buzz in your mind. you know you need to hurry—the last thing you want is to be caught mid-shower when ward and rose return. you quickly towel off, pulling on your new clothes with an urgency that betrays your attempt to stay calm.

you grab your bag off the counter, unlock the bathroom door, and step back into the hallway. as you cross toward your room, you stop abruptly. there, by the door, are three guys, clearly in the middle of something. confusion furrows your brow—who are they? why are they here?

one of them has his back to you, looking into the room, while the others glance in your direction, the closest one nudging the other to signal your arrival. great. more people.

the one in the doorway catches your eye. his hand is rubbing his jaw, his stance casual, like he owns the place. for all you know, he does. his other hand is stuffed in his pocket, his expression unreadable as he turns toward you.

you can feel the weight of their stares, but you offer a polite smile, trying to act unbothered even though you feel a little out of place. honestly, the house is big enough for all of them, and you're too new to figure out who’s who just yet. you’re not even sure who lives here or if they’re just guests like you.

before any introductions can be made, ward’s voice booms from the front of the house, pulling you from the awkwardness of the moment. “is she here?”

you move past the tall boy, dropping your bag off in the guest room, and make your way downstairs. your heart leaps when you spot ward and rose. the grin that stretches across your face feels genuine, a relief after navigating the uncertainty of the last few hours.

“hey,” you say, stepping off the last stair to shake their hands. “thank you for letting me stay in your home, by the way. i met sarah. she’s great.”

ward gives you a friendly nod, his demeanor warm but business-like—he's already familiar with your work ethic and you know that he expects the same here.

“yeah, wait ‘til you meet rafe and wheezie, though,” he says, glancing at rose, who’s already inching away, clearly not interested in small talk, and it stings more than you’d care to admit. but you brush it off, focusing on the fact that you’re here for work, not approval.

“did sarah show you your room?” ward asks, guiding you toward the kitchen.

“yeah, she did!” you nod, falling into step beside him. “it’s really nice. i also used the shower, honestly. also super nice.”

he chuckles lightly, gesturing to the open space around you. “help yourself to anything while you're here. bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room—whatever you need as long as you're working with me here.”

when you reach the kitchen, ward turns to face you, and you're about to answer his question when the boys from earlier walk in, their presence shifting the energy in the room.

the tall one—who you now realize must be rafe—moves with an air of familiarity, heading straight for the fridge without so much as a glance your way, though his friends have sprawled out on the couch nearby, keeping half an eye on the situation.

“you grew up here?” rafe asks, pulling something from the fridge with a nonchalance that borders on arrogance. his tone isn’t rude, exactly, but there’s a challenge in his words, like he’s testing you.

you shift your weight slightly, feeling his attention on you now. “yeah, i did.”

“humor me,” he says before his father can talk, smirking as he continues, “figure 8 or the cut?"

there it is—the divide. figure 8, the land of privilege and wealth, versus the cut, where people like you are from. it's a question loaded with judgment, but you stand your ground.

you hesitate, unsure whether to entertain your boss’s son. “that’s . . .” you begin saying, noticing the small hint of a smile on his lips as he twists the bottle cap off. “i lived in the cut.”

ward quickly steps in, raising a hand to ease the tension. “y/n,” he says, using your name in a way that reminds you you’re under his wing here. “you don’t have to answer his questions.”

there’s a quiet pause before he officially introduces rafe, confirming what you already suspected. “this is rafe,” he says, nodding toward his son, who watches you intently. ward pauses as he brushed over it quickly, “and his friends,” like he doesn’t want to say it.

you give a small wave in return, feeling the awkwardness creep back in. you’re not sure what to make of the boys yet, but the dynamic between them feels . . . off. guarded. like there’s more going on than meets the eye.

ward claps his hands together, breaking the silence. “time for lunch. rafe, can you please tell sarah and wheezie to come down?” he asks, already heading toward the patio doors. “y/n, feel free to find a seat at the table.”

you murmur an ‘okay’ and follow ward outside, the breeze hitting your face as you step onto the patio. you take a moment to scan the setup, unsure where to sit, but ward motions for you to pick any spot. the table looks inviting, the outdoor space just as luxurious as the inside. it’s surreal, really, being here—like stepping into a different world entirely.

the table outside is a lavish spread, every dish meticulously placed as though the meal is a display of the cameron family's status. some of the food is freshly prepared, you can tell by the steam rising from the platters, while other dishes have clearly been delivered, probably from some upscale restaurant.

everything is pristine, almost too perfect for a casual lunch, but you remind yourself this isn’t just any ordinary lunch. this is a welcome—to ward’s world, to his home, and into the lives of the camerons.

this lunch wasn't really about you, though. it’s more of a formality for ward’s return to north carolina.

as you sit at the table, alone for now, your gaze drifts to the patio, the large windows giving you a glimpse into the house. your thoughts wander to art, and you can almost hear his voice in your head—his dry humor, his sarcastic quips. he’d love this, probably have a million things to say about the whole setup.

the camerons, so far, seem nice. well, most of them. sarah is definitely the easiest to get along with, the type of person you instantly feel comfortable around. but rose? you're not even sure she’ll show up for lunch. and rafe . . . you’re still figuring him out. there’s something about him, something unreadable that leaves you on edge.

as your eyes sweep around the room inside, they land on rafe. he's with his friends, the same group from earlier, laughing and talking like they don’t have a care in the world. there’s an ease about him when he’s with them, like he’s more at home in their company than anywhere else.

you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him feels . . . dangerous? no, maybe not dangerous, but unpredictable. like he could switch from charming to something much darker in the blink of an eye.

and then it happens—he looks at you. directly at you, like he knows you’ve been watching him. the way he smiles is almost smug, as if he’s aware of the effect he has on people, on you. your heart does a small flip, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze.

then, just as quickly, he says something to his friends, who erupt into laughter, and you feel the uncomfortable prick of self-consciousness. are they laughing at you? god, you hope not. the last thing you need is to be the butt of some joke you don’t understand.

you pull your focus away, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your cheeks, and you shift in your chair, suddenly too aware of how out of place you feel. this isn’t your world, not yet at least. you’re still figuring out the rules, where you stand, who you can trust. it's like being in a play without knowing your lines.

“i know my kids are going to be a handful when they’re all together, so . . . be prepared for that,” ward’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. there’s a warmth to his tone, something almost paternal. “but they’re good.”

you force a small smile and nod, though you’re not sure how much you believe him. you have a feeling ‘good’ might mean different things in the cameron household.

“you’re a year or two older than sarah,” he continues, and you turn back to face the table, focusing on the clean lines of the polished wood, the way the sunlight catches on the glassware. “you’re not that far off in age with rafe, either. sarah’s probably going to be your best friend. she can’t help it.”

there’s a lightness in his voice, and you get the sense that sarah is the glue that holds this family together, the one everyone relies on to keep things civil. “but rafe . . . he’ll warm up to you.”

will he? you can’t help the slight lift of your brows, amusement flickering in your expression as you consider his words. you don’t agree, but you can’t say that. something about rafe feels like he’s not the type to easily ‘warm up’ to anyone, especially someone like you—an outsider stepping into his territory.

“yeah,” you murmur, your tone filled with doubt, “i’m sure of it.”

the cameron family finally gathers at the long, polished table outside, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns across the plates. you take in the scene quietly as everyone finds their places, the quiet shuffle of chairs pulling out, scraping slightly against the patio stones.

it’s a family affair, but rafe’s friends have tagged along—an addition that seems unsanctioned by ward but tolerated nonetheless. ward positions himself at one head of the table, with you and sarah flanking either side of him like you’re all part of some carefully orchestrated tableau.

rafe is at the opposite end, far enough that the distance feels intentional, deliberate. you can’t help but notice how he’s checked out, his gaze drifting, uninterested. to your right, one of his friends, the blond one, settles beside you, and his presence feels awkward, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible, aware of the invisible tension in the air.

on the other side of him, the other friend sits, both of them quiet for now. down sarah’s side, wheezie sits next to her sister, then rafe at the very end. the empty chair beside wheezie feels like a gap. technically it’s rose’s chair if she were to have changed her mind.

“so what are you?” wheezie asks, breaking the initial silence, and you can see sarah’s immediate reaction, the quick glance she shoots her sister, a mild scolding in her eyes.

the phrasing is blunt, too blunt, but then again, wheezie is a kid—still learning the art of conversation, still figuring out the way words land.

before you can answer, ward steps in, his voice calm but authoritative. “y/n is my assistant,” he says, filling in the blank you hadn’t yet decided how to describe. you pause mid-chew, a small bite of food lingering on your tongue as you listen to him explain. “she’ll be working with me here in north carolina for cameron development over the next few months.”

you nod slightly, not sure how to react to being discussed like you’re not there. you’ve been in situations like this before, professionally at least, but it feels different now, being talked about in front of his family. a piece of you wants to assert yourself, to explain your role in your own words, but it feels like there’s no room for that right now. so, you stay quiet.

“that’s cool,” sarah says, her voice warm and genuine as she glances over at you, a small, encouraging smile on her face. she seems like the type who would get along with almost anyone, a natural mediator. “what do you do? as his assistant and all.”

from the corner of your eye, you catch rafe’s subtle shift, his gaze flicking toward sarah, his expression sharp for a moment, like he’s not interested in this conversation but is still somehow annoyed by it. you wonder what’s behind that look, what tension simmers under the surface.

you swallow and clear your throat, aware that everyone’s waiting for your answer now. “uh, yeah,” you start, your voice sounding more casual than you intend, like you’re trying to downplay your actual responsibilities.

“your dad has his job—he oversees the projects, handles the big picture stuff. i come along when he needs help with negotiating contracts and leases, hiring architects, engineers, contractors, all that. i also scout available land for potential developments.” you pause, glancing around the table. “just stuff like that.”

there’s a moment of silence, and for a second, you think maybe your explanation was enough. but then, like a crack in the veneer, rafe speaks, almost mockingly, “do you also get him coffee whenever he asks? do you fuck him, too?”

his words hit like a punch, unexpected and crude, cutting through the air with a kind of reckless confidence that leaves you momentarily stunned. for a second, the table feels frozen, like no one’s quite sure how to react.

the blond boy next to you nearly chokes on his food, a strangled half-laugh escaping before he catches himself, suddenly aware that rafe’s comment shouldn’t be funny.

your stomach twists, a flush of heat creeping up your neck as you force yourself to stay composed, staring straight at rafe from across the table. his gaze is fixed on you, unflinching, like he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll respond.

it’s infuriating—the audacity of it, the way he tosses out the insult so casually, like it’s no big deal.

ward sets his fork down with a soft clink against the plate, his fingers intertwining as he leans forward slightly. the tension shifts, thickening around the table, and you can feel every set of eyes on you, but your focus remains on rafe.

“rafe,” ward’s voice is calm, measured, but there’s a warning in it. and yet, rafe doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. he stays locked onto you, like you’re locked in some kind of silent standoff, and part of you wonders what he’s trying to prove.

after a beat of silence, ward adds, “can i talk to you inside the house?” it’s not really a question, more of a command, and finally, rafe moves. slowly, he pulls the napkin from his lap, tossing it onto the table before rising from his seat.

ward turns to you, his expression softening into something apologetic, and you nod slightly, acknowledging his silent apology even though you’re not sure what to do with it. as they disappear inside, the tension lingers, heavy and uncomfortable.

you force yourself to take another bite of food, though it feels like chewing cardboard. the uneasy feeling coils tighter in your chest. this is off to a rocky start, to say the least. sarah and wheezie seem fine, but rafe . . . rafe’s going to be a problem.

sarah reaches across the table, her hand brushing lightly against yours, and you glance up to meet her eyes. there’s sincerity in her expression, a quiet kind of empathy. “i’m so sorry for him,” she says softly. “rafe has a tendency to act like an idiot on a daily basis. don’t let anything he says get to you.”

before you can respond, the blond boy—topper, you think—finally speaks, his voice quiet but carrying a hint of amusement. “he doesn’t have a tendency to act like an idiot every day,” he says, shaking his head slightly as he takes another bite of food, a small smile playing on his lips. it’s the first thing he’s said to you directly, and the casualness of it surprises you.

“oh, he absolutely does,” sarah retorts with a light laugh. “and i’m sure you get yours from him.” she turns to you, smiling again. “y/n, this is topper and kelce, if you hadn’t already been introduced.”

before you can say anything, wheezie pipes up quickly, almost as if she’s sharing a secret, “sarah and topper used to date.” her voice is soft, but the reaction from sarah and topper is immediate—they both look over at her, like this was something she wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

“what?” wheezie says, glancing around the table innocently.

you can’t help but smile at the sibling dynamics playing out in front of you. it reminds you of your own relationship with your brother, the way siblings know each other’s secrets, their histories, the things that outsiders wouldn’t catch unless they were paying attention. in this brief moment, amidst the tension, you find a sliver of familiarity, of something you recognize.

you pull your napkin off your lap, rising from your seat, feeling the tension still clinging to your skin like humidity. you adjust your clothes, smoothing down fabric that doesn’t need smoothing, but it gives your hands something to do.

“where’s the nearest bathroom inside?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you can feel the strain in your voice, the way your words almost trip over themselves.

“once you’re in the kitchen, it should be the door in the hallway if you just keep walking straight,” sarah tells you, offering a small smile. you nod in response, forcing yourself to return the gesture, though it feels hollow.

you step away from the table, and sarah seizes the moment to nudge wheezie, probably to scold her for spilling her relationship drama with topper.

as you make your way toward the bathroom, your steps slow. it’s not like you really need to go. you glance behind, making sure no one’s paying attention, before diverting your path to the front door instead. the knot in your stomach tightens with every step.

the front door is slightly ajar, and through the opening, you spot rafe. he’s leaning back in a chair on the porch, his head tilted toward the sky as if it’s the only thing he can stand to look at.

ward’s standing near him, mid-conversation, and their voices pull you in, despite knowing you shouldn’t eavesdrop. you lean against the doorframe, just out of sight, your heartbeat quickening.

“you didn't have to fly out some girl that works at the company just because she’s doing good,” rafe says, lifting his head from the chair, his voice tinged with frustration, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “i could've taken the job, especially because i’m already here.”

there’s bitterness in his words, but beneath that, you catch something else—something raw. rafe’s trying to understand why he’s being left out, why he’s not the one ward trusts.

“exactly, rafe,” ward replies, his tone firmer than before. “you're twenty-one and you’re still here. she’s twenty and she's been working with me for nearly two years. don’t you think that says something?”

his words land heavily, and for a moment, there’s silence. you feel the weight of the comparison ward’s making, and it sinks into you too, even though it shouldn’t. rafe chuckles, standing up, but it’s not out of amusement. it’s a defense mechanism, a way to shield himself from whatever hurt ward’s words are causing.

“y/n is here because she’s good at what she does,” ward continues, his voice steadier now, trying to end the conversation.

“alright, dad,” rafe says, nodding, but his expression betrays his words. “let's say i believe that—because i don’t—why am i not in her place?”

ward sighs, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand how rafe isn’t getting it. “rafe, think about what kind of job she has. how could i trust you with that?”

the words sting, and even though they aren’t directed at you, you feel a strange sense of guilt crawling under your skin. you know you’ve earned your place, worked hard for it. but hearing it spelled out like this, in such a stark contrast to rafe, it makes you feel . . . uncomfortable.

rafe rubs his chin, his fingers brushing against the stubble there. he doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s processing it all, or maybe pretending to. he turns to head back inside.

and that’s when he sees you, standing there, caught in the act of listening.

his eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you don’t know what to do. your throat tightens, but you force yourself to keep your head high. you can’t apologize. you don’t need to. this is your job, after all, the one you’ve worked damn hard for.

still, the silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. rafe doesn’t say anything, just turns away, walking back out toward the patio. you exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath. the knot in your stomach only tightens as you push yourself off the doorframe and head toward the bathroom, your footsteps almost echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

you stop in front of the bathroom door, staring at it like it might hold some answers you don’t have. your hand reaches for the knob, your fingers curling around it, but you don’t turn it. instead, you stand there, replaying the conversation in your head, trying to make sense of what you’ve just heard. rafe’s resentment, ward’s trust in you—it’s a lot to take in, and you wonder if you’re supposed to feel . . . what? proud? guilty? it’s hard to pin down.

before you can figure it out, you hear footsteps approaching. your hand drops from the doorknob just as ward’s voice reaches you.

“hey,” he says, his tone softer now, though there’s still an edge of frustration lingering there, probably from his conversation with rafe. “you and the girls getting along good?”

you plaster on a smile, nodding even though your thoughts are still tangled from the scene outside. “yeah, we’re good.”

ward mutters a small ‘good, good’ as he walks past you, heading back to the patio. you watch him go, your arms crossing over your chest as if that’ll hold you together. you follow behind him slowly, a quiet unease settling in your chest. this family, with all its complications, feels like a storm you’ve just walked into.

and then there’s rafe. if he already resents you, you can only imagine how his friends—topper and kelce—will react. boys like them, they stick together, and you know that dynamic all too well. the chances of them giving you a fair shot seem slim.

you brace yourself as you step back outside, a small sigh slipping past your lips. this job, this place—it’s not going to be easy. but nothing worth it ever is, right?

“so you're from the outer banks?” sarah asks as soon as you sit back down. there’s an edge to her voice, like she’s making an effort to seem casual but is still trying to figure you out. you can’t blame her. she’s probably just trying to get a feel for who you are, maybe ease the tension that’s been hanging in the air since you got here.

“where from?” she adds, glancing at you over the rim of her glass.

you pause, fork hovering just above your plate, feeling a flicker of unease. it’s a simple enough question, but you can already feel the weight of your answer.

“near quinton,” you say, cutting into your food with deliberate care, keeping your tone light. “a little south.”

you don’t look up as you speak, focusing on the neat little slices you’re making in your lunch, as if perfecting that action could keep the conversation from slipping into uncomfortable territory.

“i’m surprised we haven’t met before today,” you continue, the lie slipping out so smoothly you almost believe it yourself. “my friends and i knew just about everyone before i left the island.”

but the truth sits heavily in your stomach. you don’t know them. sure, your brother mentioned that your families had crossed paths when you were younger, but the memories never stuck. whatever brief moments there were, they’ve faded into the backdrop of your childhood.

rafe, however, doesn’t let your words slide by as easily. he latches onto them like a dog with a bone, straightening in his seat, eyes gleaming with interest.

“your friends?” his voice cuts through the air, almost too eager, too sharp. it’s like he’s waiting for you to say something wrong, give him an opening to tear into you. sarah watches him warily, her eyes flicking between you and her brother. she’s looking for help—maybe from her dad—but the tension is palpable, thickening by the second.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration pulls you from the uncomfortable scrutiny rafe’s casting in your direction.

“who do you know here?” he presses, and his tone is challenging now, like he’s daring you to prove something to him. to justify your place here, in this house, at this table.

you lift your gaze then, meeting his eyes with a steady look, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. but there’s something in the way he’s staring at you that makes your skin crawl, like he’s already made up his mind about you, about what kind of person you are.

it’s fucking exhausting.

“hate to interrupt you, ray,” you say, letting a mocking lilt creep into your voice as you rise from your seat. you keep your movements controlled, measured, not too rushed. “but i have a phone call.”

you pull your phone from your pocket, waving it slightly, feeling a small rush of satisfaction when rafe’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. “let me just take that really quick so we can continue our conversation.”

you don’t wait for his response, because you know whatever he says will just add to the irritation simmering beneath your skin. as you step out of the way, you hear him mutter, “it’s rafe,” under his breath, like correcting you is somehow important to him.

“it’s actually my brother!” you whisper-yell back, flashing the screen of your phone in his direction, making sure he sees the call.

as you walk away, you feel the tension ease just slightly, but it’s still there, humming beneath the surface. this place—figure eight, tannyhill—it’s like a tangled web, and you’ve just stepped into it, with people like rafe already ready to watch you stumble.

you press your phone to your ear as you step out of the patio and into the cool air of the home, and you try to calm yourself, leaning against the wall as your brother’s voice greets you on the other end.

you know you’ll have to go back in there, face rafe again, but for now, you allow yourself a brief moment to breathe.

considering making this a few-part series (maybe) !! let me know if you’d be interested thru replies, anons, or dms <3

@tiaamberxx

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persevereforahappyending · 5 months ago

Text

A Legacies Secret |4|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Hey,” Chad said softly, poking his head into the room, offering Tara a kind smile. He pushed open the door the rest of the way to reveal the others, Mindy, Amber, and Wes trailing in behind him.

You internally grimaced at the sight of them. You knew they were Tara’s friends and they cared about her. That was all that mattered at the end of the day, it was just, you knew they weren’t your biggest fan. You were only a few years older than them, but they all thought Tara could do better. Out of all her friends though you liked Chad the most. Chad might not have fully approved of your relationship with Tara, but he never seemed to complain about you or was bothered by your presence like some of the others.

Chad gave you a nod as he walked over to Tara. “Liv’s sorry she couldn’t make it,” he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. Tara gave him a grateful smile before moving away, allowing the others to say their hellos, throwing himself in one of the chairs in the other corner of the room.

Mindy rolled her eyes at her brother, she did the same, walking over to Tara and giving her shoulder a comforting rub. Amber ignored your presence as she made her way to the other side of Tara’s bed, reaching for her uninjured hand, holding it as she asked if Tara was okay.

“Is it true Ghostface attacked you?” Wes said, coming up behind Amber. You flicked Wes a glare, ready to toss him out of the room yourself but Amber smacked him upside the head. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Wes whispered, smiling at Tara. You knew Wes had a crush on Tara, but you couldn’t be too mad, he was sweet, and you knew you had nothing to worry about.

“We all are,” Amber added.

“Thanks,” Tara whispered, smiling up at her friends. “And thanks for coming.”

The room got quiet after that, no one knew what to say. They all clearly cared about Tara and came as soon as she texted, but they clearly had questions. You had all grown up in Woodsboro, of course you all knew the story of Sidney Prescott and Ghostface. You were older than the others, so you remembered hearing about the 2011 attacks, you remembered parents being afraid to send their kids to school. The others probably wouldn’t remember it as much, they were only seven or eight. Tara might have some memory of it, she would have been almost nine and her sister was a freshman at the time, if you remembered correctly.

“Just ask,” Tara finally sighed.

Wes quickly opened his mouth, but nothing came out, his eyes remained on the floor. You glanced around seeing Chad and Mindy also had their eyes glued to the floor. The only one not looking at the floor was Amber; she was staring daggers right at you. You tilted her head, staring right back, you were ready for whenever she decided to open her mouth, point out how this was all your fault somehow.

“I heard my mom leave last night,” Wes spoke softly, being the first to break the silence. “She rushed out of the house so fast, all I caught was your address.” Wes finally looked up at Tara, tears in his eyes. “I waited up all night until she got home early this morning.”

“He kept messaging us,” Mindy said. “Saying something happened and wanting to know if we knew.”

“The incessant texting finally woke me up,” Chad said, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I didn’t wait before I was barging into Mindy’s room.”

“We refused to go to school until we got word you were okay,” Amber said, smiling softly when she focused her attention back on Tara. “How are you feeling?”

“The meds definitely help,” Tara chuckled, but you could see the pain in her eyes, and she kept having to shift positions to get comfortable.

“Was…” Wes opened and closed his mouth a few times, you could see him debating the right way to ask whatever it is he wanted to ask. “Was it really Ghostface?”

The entire room got quite, or more quiet, if that was even possible. You rested a hand on her shoulder when you noticed her eyes tremble slightly. She looked over at you, you could see the fear that now seemed to be ever-present in her eyes. You gave her a comforting smile; you were right there and weren’t going anywhere. If she wanted to tell her friends what happened you would support her, if she didn’t want to talk about it, you’d kick them all out yourself.

“Yes,” Tara said whispered.

It was almost like there was a temperature shift in the room, the way everything seemed to get so much colder. Wes straightened his back, taking a barely noticeable step back. Wes already knew it was Ghostface, that’s why he asked, he overheard Judy on the phone or something, getting confirmation from Tara that it was Ghostface was another thing entirely. Chad’s entire body went rigid, he looked like a statue sitting in the hospital chair, his hands folded as his head rested-on top of them. Mindy was in a similar position; her hands were folded together as she stared down at the floor. The only parts of her that moved were her eyes, darting back and forth as her mind most likely replayed everything, she knew about Ghostface, the Stab movies, and who knew what else.

Amber had the least reaction out of all of them, almost no reaction at all. You narrowed your eyes slightly. Amber kept her hand in Tara’s, her eyes cast down to the floor. She placed her other hand on Tara’s shoulder, giving it a comforting rub. Maybe it was your paranoia getting to you but to you it almost seemed like Amber wasn’t surprised by the fact that Ghostface was back and that he attacked Tara.

You still couldn’t wrap your head around that, you couldn’t figure out why he would attack Tara. Judy said there was no logic to these things but that wasn’t fully true. The reasons behind Ghostface killings were always debatable, sometimes no logic at all, but the attacks themselves always made sense, for the most part. Everything always went back to Sidney Prescott.

Over the years, there was always a group of kids that would think it would be funny to make a call to an unsuspecting classmate, using the Ghostface voice changer to scare them. The prank calls never ended in murder though, not in Woodsboro. You had seen a few reports on TV or pop up online talking about a Ghostface attack, but it was never real news, it never involved Sidney, it always ended up being some crazed fan trying to take over the mantle and kill a friend or some random person. Those instances always ended the same though, with the wannabe serial killer behind bars within a day. This was different though, you knew that. The attack on Tara was deliberate, you just didn’t know how or why.

You guessed, when you thought hard enough about it, Tara was sort of connected to those involved in previous attacks. A connection was a stretch though, you would barely call it a connection. Mindy and Chad’s uncle was Randy Meeks, who was involved in the first killings and then was killed in the second-round while at college. Wes was Judy’s son, and she was sort of involved in the 2011 killings, she was just a cop at the time, but she was part of the investigation. They were the most connected to anyone from previous killings, but Tara wasn’t at all, it didn’t make sense for her to be attacked first. It also didn’t make sense for her to be alive, you never heard of Ghostface allowing one of his victims, his first victim, to get away, you weren’t ready to go down that rabbit hole though.

“And where were you?” Amber asked, disrupting your thoughts. You glanced up to see her arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

You could almost laugh at the fact that she suspected you, as if you’d ever hurt Tara. “Work,” you said.

Amber scoffed. That got you clenching your jaw, you didn’t like the fact that she didn’t seem to believe you or was trying to get the others to doubt your answer. “You got something to say?” you asked, glaring at Amber.

“No,” she said innocently, holding up her hands in surrender. “I just think it’s interesting that the one night you’re not with Tara, she gets attacked,” she shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You shot up from your seat, the chair scraping against the white tile from the force.

“You’re always at her place,” she stepped forward, raising an eyebrow as she continued to accuse you. “How would the attacker know she was alone? How did they even get into the house?”

You unclenched your jaw, shaking your head, as you let out a humorless chuckle. “Enough,” Tara interrupted before you could say anything. “Y/N didn’t do this.” She had that determined look in her eye as she looked up at Amber. “I talked to her while she was at work.”

“She could have left early,” Mindy mumbled.

Your head snapped to where Mindy sat, sending her a glare instead of Amber. You got it, they didn’t like you, but to think you would ever hurt Tara was ridiculous. “I trust her!” Tara snapped. Her hands shaking as she lightly gasped for breath.

“Hey,” you said softly, your tone doing a complete one-eighty from how it was just a second ago. “Easy.” You crouched down next to her and handed her her inhaler as you gently rubbed her shoulder.

Tara took a puff of her inhaler, letting out a shaky breath as she calmed back down. “Thank you,” she mumbled. You let out a sigh of relief at seeing her okay.

Before anyone else could say anything or start anymore fighting Tara’s phone started to ring. You looked around before finding the phone on the table beside her bed. You grabbed her phone with the intent to hand it to her when you paused at the sight of the name across the screen.

“Who is it?” Tara asked. You looked up to see her eyes unblinking as she stared at the phone, her hand began to lightly tremble. You handed it to her and silently sat beside her as she answered. “Mom?”

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe a call from Ghostface would have been better. You watched Tara’s expression as she talked to her mother, ready to be right there if the conversation started to go in a direction you didn’t like. Amber rolled her eyes and moved across the room to lean against the wall furthest from Tara. She shook her head as Tara continued talking to her mom. The one thing you and Amber agreed on was that Christina Carpenter was not a good mother, she never did anything for Tara out of the kindness of her heart. You were actually surprised she managed to call her daughter, you figured she was off in some other country drinking all her problems away.

“Oh, okay,” Tara’s disappointed voice cut through your thoughts. “No, it’s fine. Y/N, Amber, and the others are here.” She nodded at whatever her mom was saying. “Yeah, lo-” the words died in her throat, her mouth still partly open.

You reached across her body, gently pulling the phone out of her hand. You clenched your jaw when you saw her blinking away the tears that had quickly begun to fill her eyes. The next time you saw Christina, you didn’t even care if it were a year from now, the next time you saw her, she would feel your wrath.

“She’s not coming?” Amber’s voice cut through the quiet. You held in a sigh as you glared at her, you might have shared her opinions on Christina, but you didn’t feel the need to force Tara to talk about it.

“She’s not in town anyway,” Tara said, shaking her head. “Her work is really important.” She smiled at all of you but only Chad was able to offer her a sad smile in return.

“More important than her daughter?”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared at Amber.

“Enough!” Wes snapped just as Amber opened her mouth.

Everyone in the room jumped at Wes’s outburst. Wes was usually the calm one, the one that always tried to find a peaceful solution, even if he disagreed with the argument. You all dropped your heads and went back to your respective corners. You slumped back down in your seat by Tara’s bedside and Amber walked over, pushing Wes out of the way to take her place on the other side of Tara once again.

You scrolled through your phone as the others talked. Occasionally you would glance at each of Tara’s friends. All of them were acting normal, they were joking around, they were all clearly worried about Tara, but one of them could have been the one to attack her. You couldn’t imagine any of them as someone wanting to dress up like Ghostface and go around trying to kill people. That didn’t mean you could trust any of them though, Tara said someone turned off her alarm, maybe Ghostface hacked her system, or, the easier scenario, therefore more likely, was that whoever Ghostface was knew her alarm code, the only people outside of Tara and her mom who knew her alarm code was you and her friends.

You tensed, your eyes snapping to the door when you heard it begin to creak open. You sucked in a breath when you saw Sam, Tara’s sister, walk in, followed by some guy right behind her. Everyone else had a similar reaction, their conversation pausing mid-sentence as all their mouths dropped open, each of them standing up from their seats, Chad even folded his arms in front of him.

Sam froze for half a second, looking at all the eyes on her. She quickly got over whatever was going through her head and was at Tara’s side in a second, crouching down next to her. “How are you feeling?” Sam asked. It might have been five years, but you definitely didn’t miss the relief in Sam’s eyes and in her voice at seeing her sister alive.

“You came,” Tara said, sounding in disbelief. You couldn’t blame Tara for being shocked, to say the least.

Sam took off without so much as a goodbye five years ago and was never heard from again. You hadn’t met Tara yet when Sam left and you only sort of casually knew Sam from school, you had been a freshman when she was a senior, the two of you crossed paths, you both had been troublemakers. You recognized Tara’s last name when she had introduced herself when she happened to be in one of your classes a few years later. She had almost shut down when you asked if she was related to Sam, but you quickly changed the subject and just talked to her about the class. After a few months of being friends she had opened up about Sam and even five years later you still heard Tara mention her. Sam stopped responding to calls and texts, she even deleted all her social media, she was a ghost, but Tara still hoped one day her big sister would come back.

“Of course I came,” Sam said. She looked a little hurt that Tara would even ask that. “This is my boyfriend Richie,” she turned, introducing the guy who entered the room with her.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Richie said, leaning down to greet Tara. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

While Tara greeted Richie, Sam made the rounds, hugging Mindy, Chad, and Wes. “These are Chad and Mindy, the twins, and Wes, I used to babysit them,” Sam introduced them to Richie. “And Amber, hey,” Sam shifted nervously.

“Hey,” Amber greeted coldly, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi-Hi, I’m Richie,” Richie introduced himself, mostly to Amber. You scrunched your eyebrows, maybe he was just awkward around so many new people, but you were going to keep an eye on him.

“And Y/N,” Sam said, trailing off as her eyes landed on you. It seemed this was the first time since entering that she truly noticed you. “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she gestured between you and Tara.

“Oh, they more than know each other,” Amber mumbled but everyone in the room had heard it.

You could see Sam’s body physically tense at the implication from Amber, she gave an uncomfortable smile towards Tara but didn’t say anything. You were sure when she got you alone you were certainly going to be hearing judgement from Sam, she probably agreed with the rest of the friend group, you weren’t any good for Tara and she could do better.

“Hey,” Richie greeted, holding his hand up in an awkward wave, either he didn’t know how to read the room, or he was failing at breaking the tension.

“Hi,” you said, giving him a small nod. Your greeting might have been even colder than Ambers, not that you really cared about that.

“Where’s mom?” Sam asked. You held in your eyeroll, that truly was the question. Tara’s sister who has been gone, without a word for five years, could come back to town after she’s been attacked by a psycho, but their own mother could barely be bothered to call Tara.

“She’s stuck at a conference in London,” Tara answered. “She called.”

“Yeah, for all of ten minutes,” Amber mumbled. You held in a sigh; she really didn’t know when to shut up sometimes. “Look, Tara’s really tired, maybe we should just give her some space.” It wasn’t posed as a question as Amber glanced around the room at the others who quickly nodded in agreement.

“Not you Sam,” Tara said when Sam began to follow the others out the door. “I want you to stay.”

Sam quickly nodded, unable to keep the small smile off her face. You watched Sam carefully, you had nothing against Sam, but you knew what her leaving did to Tara, you just didn’t want Sam to give Tara false hope if she was just going to take off again.

“If it’s okay with you,” Sam said hesitantly. “I could sleep here tonight.”

“I’d really like that,” Tara smiled up at her sister.

“Are you going to be, okay?” Amber asked in a caring tone as she leaned closer to Tara.

“Yeah,” Tara nodded.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I won’t leave her side,” you smirked at Amber.

Amber lifted her head, glaring at you. “Cause you did such a good job protecting her last time?” Amber snarked.

Your smirk fell, you ignored the way Sam’s eyes landed on you after Amber’s words. You stood up from your chair, stepping face to face with Amber across the hospital bed. “As long as I’m standing,” you said, your tone dangerous. “No one is laying a hand on her.”

You and Amber continued to glare at each other, each of you waiting for the other to break. “Seriously,” Tara said, interrupting the stare down. “I’m fine. I have,” she raised her good arm gesturing around the room, mostly at you and Sam. “Enough protection.” Amber didn’t seem thrilled with Tara’s answer, but she left the room anyway.

“Do you want me to give you two a minute?” you asked softly. You didn’t want to leave Tara’s side but if she wanted time with her sister then you’d happily step out into the hall.

Tara nodded. “Okay,” you whispered. You leaned down giving Tara a long kiss on her forehead, ignoring the way Sam’s eyes never left you.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Tara asked when you got to the door, her voice shaking.

“I’ll be right outside this door,” you pointed at the door. You gave her an encouraging smile as you slipped out the door. The last thing you saw was Sam sitting down at Tara’s bedside and the last thing you heard was Tara beginning to silently cry to Sam.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream v #scream 5 #a legacies secret

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slut4chriss · 7 months ago

Text

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

(𝐩𝐭.1)

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader.

summary: you and chris have been together for 8 months but his parents don’t like or approve of you. so, instead of asking for you to come over, he sneaks you over.

warnings: another high school au, smut, dom!chris, p in v, fingering, stomach bulge, a little degrading, a little praise, little use of y/n, petnames.

a/n: can y’all tell i love high school chris?? 🥰🥰. this based off one of my fav songs so yayy! anyways, hope you enjoy! ily. proofread

word count: 1,174

it’s 1AM and you’re about to close your eyes when your phone buzzes. you groan and pick it up, seeing 2 texts from your boyfriend, chris. a smile forms on you face as you read them.

chris:

hi baby!!

you should come over. but go through the window please, i’m sorry, my parents are home.

y/n:

i’m on my way, i’ll be there in 10.

and with that you got up, put on a little makeup and a cute but comfy outfit. you wore one of chris’ hoodies and sleep shorts. you grab your phone and go downstairs quietly. you open the door quietly, closing it just as quietly and start making your way down the road to chris’.

about 8 minutes later you arrive at his house. you hop his fence. his room is on the second story so you climb the electrical box. you knock on his window softly.

chris jumps up from his bed with a smile when he hears your knock. he opens the window and helps you in. once you’re in he embraces you tightly. “you made it! i missed you, baby.” you smile softly, “i missed you too.” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and smiles, “you’re so beautiful, you know that?” your face flushes, “thank you, chris.” he nods.

he cups your face and brings you in for a passionate kiss. one of his hands goes around to the small of your back, pressing you against him more. the kiss slowly becomes more passionate, his other hand slipping to your waist. he moves his hand that was on the small of your back to your ass, squeezing it slightly. you gasp and he take this as the perfect time to slip his tongue in your mouth. you moan softly as his tongue explores your mouth. he slips his hand on your waist to under your hoodie. you “coincidentally” have nothing but a bra under your hoodie.

he pulls away for a second. his voice is horse and deep, “take this off.” you nod and start removing your hoodie. he stares at your body once it’s off. he hooks his fingers on your bra clasp and looks up at you for approval. “may i?” you nod, “you may.” he removes your bra, throwing it aside.

he cups your boobs immediately and flicks your nipples. you moan softly as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. the other being massaged by his hand. his tongue flicks around with your nipple and he sucks on it. this makes you moan loudly and he brings his hand up to cover your mouth.

he detaches from your nipple and speaks sternly, “i told you my parents are home, y/n. quiet down.” you gulp and nod. “i- i’m sorry, it just feels so good.” he smiles softly and kisses your forehead. “i know, baby. just try and stay quiet, okay?”

you nod and he picks you up, laying you on the bed. he pushes your legs open and whispers, “let me take off your shorts?” you nod, “go ahead.” he removes your shorts and sees you’re pantieless. he smirks, “no panties? slut.” your face flushes and he licks his fingers, inserting them in you. you moan softly and he covers your mouth. “what did i say? quiet down.” you nod and he starts plunging his fingers in you at a rapid pace.

“you gonna be a slut and wear no panties? then you’ll be treated like one.” you whimper and start closing you legs. chris pushes your legs open and starts moving his fingers even faster. you whine loudly. your words are muffled by his hand but he can hear them. “c- close.” he smirks, “yea? you close? cum on my fingers like the slut you are.” and just like that, your hot liquid shot out of you, all over his fingers. he groans at the sight and licks his fingers, covered in your juices. “mm, tastes good, baby.”

he starts unzipping his jeans, he pulls them down and you see his huge cock imprint. you and chris have had sex 3 times before this but his size never fails to stun you.

he takes down his boxers, letting his cock spring free. it hits the bottom of his stomach and he strokes it a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. he quickly removes his shirt then pushes his cock in you slowly. you wince from the slight stretch.

he bottoms out and you both moan from the feeling. he gives you a minute to adjust to his size before he starts moving. he starts slow, kissing your neck softly. as the starts feeling the stimulation he begins moving faster. “god, baby you fit around me like a glove. it feels so good.” his groaning becomes louder and he starts thrusting into you like there’s no tomorrow.

he’s so deep there’s and imprint of his cock in your stomach. he smirks and presses on your lower stomach. “you see that baby? my cocks so deep inside you.” you nod and his tip continuously kisses your g spot.

you feel a familiar knot in you stomach and start moaning louder. you yell out, “holy fuck.. i- im gonna cum!” he covers your mouth again and shakes his head. “shut the fuck up before my parents head you! and hold it, don’t cum without me.”

he starts thrusting even faster. he’s chasing his high and before he knows it, he’s about to cum. his thrust gets sloppier and his groans get louder. “cum for me, baby.” you scream from the insane amount of pleasure going through you and cum all over his cock. he follows shortly behind you, cumming deep inside you. his hot liquid fills you to the brim and he plops down beside you, breathing heavily.

he slowly pulls out and kisses your forehead. “you did amazing, sweetheart. let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” you nod, “thank you.” he smiles and gets up, grabbing a wash cloth from his bathroom and wetting it with warm water. he comes back over to you and cleans your thighs. he throws the wash cloth in his hamper and kisses your forehead again.

he grabs another one of his hoodies and helps you put it on. he also puts you in a pair of his boxers. “i want you to stay here tonight, don’t go.” “what about your parents? they’ll get mad if they see me here.” he shakes his head, “they won’t see you, trust me.” you nod.

he puts on a new pair of sweatpants and stays shirtless. he jumps into bed with you, pulling you into his arms. he puts on your favorite movie and lays you on him. your heads on his chest and you start getting sleepy. your trying so hard to stay away, eyes droopy and almost shut. he smiles and whispers, “go to sleep, sweet girl. you deserve it.” you nod and close your eyes. “goodnight, chris. i love you.” his face flushes and he kisses your forehead, “goodnight, baby. i love you too.”

you smile at his words and close your eyes, quickly falling asleep in your loving boyfriends arms.

a/n: part 2 where chris’ parents heard yall?!? 😧

#Spotify #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #boop o meter

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biolumien · 5 months ago

Text

keep you safe

reno ichikawa x gn!reader existing, established relationship. a bit of described gore, but its all kaiju guts word count: 1841

you and reno ichikawa were like night and day. reno had always been a bit reserved, and you’d been his bright counterpart, the extrovert that had adopted him as the two of you became fast friends. he’d opened up to you slowly, bit by bit, and the two of you were usually inseparable.

on your end, at least, friendship turned to admiration, something like adoration. you liked touching his face sometimes, brushing your knuckles across his hand and watching him flush a bit, turn away from you with a mumbled excuse on his lips. eventually, he’d dared to be a bit bolder, intertwine his fingers with yours, lean into touches with a soft, shy smile across his face.

“i want to become a defense force officer,” he’d said shyly, to you. he spun the straw of his drink around, not looking at you.

“oh?” you’d asked, leaning on the railing of the small apartment you lived in. “isn’t that dangerous work?”

“well, yeah,” reno murmured. “but i want to do it. i’ve wanted it for forever. to be out there protecting the people i love.”

he’d smiled at you, then, and you laughed.

“are you confessing to me, reno?”

reno’s violet eyes met yours, and you realized there was largely sincerity behind those eyes—you say largely, because he also seemed nervous—hesitant. almost worried.

“… yeah,” reno said. he fell silent for a moment. “i—i just wanted to, because—well, you know. i could-i could die, out there… and i think i would’ve beaten myself up if i got into a situation and realized that my one regret was not telling you how i feel. because that can so easily be changed if i—just… yeah, since i just told—”

you leaned up close to kiss the words out of his mouth, and he startled a little bit, his hand shifting, not sure where to put it, but you clasped his hand soon after, and you smiled into the kiss, realizing how sweaty his palms were—he must have gotten in his head about the confession, but you were so happy he’d gotten over the hurdle and just—said it, put it out in the open.

“i love you too, silly,” you responded against his lips. “i’m not gonna stop you from becoming a defense force officer if that’s what you want… but…” you raised your arms up, wrapping them around his neck, resting your forehead against his. his breath was shuddering, warm against your lips. “don’t forget me when you make it big, okay?”

reno laughed.

“of course not. how could i forget you?”

you spent days sitting alongside him as he studied for the entrance exams, watched as he applied for the cleanup crew job in preparation for the second phase of the exam.

his face was alight with determination that you couldn’t help but admire—reno had always been quiet, kind of forlorn. you’d tried your best to bring him out of his shell—and he always seemed to, around you, but now there was something different. a burning desire to become stronger? to chase after a tangible, difference-making dream? whatever it was, you wanted it to pull through.

“you’re okay, right? i heard that kaiju no. 8 attacked the hospital you were staying in,” you murmured. you stared out the window, at the faintest eruption of smoke in the distance. “and there was a honju attack, too—one after the other… are you really okay?”

“yea,” reno sounded a little sleepy from his side of the phone. he’d texted you that he’d ended up in the hospital on his first day of work—a yoju had attacked his coworker, and in an adrenaline-infused rush, he’d ran up to protect him, and both of them had barely gotten away with their lives, or so it seemed. “i’m okay. don’t worry about me.”

“but i do,” you replied. “all the time, you know that.”

“i know.” you heard the rustling of sheets. “if you don’t want me to—”

“no. no, you should. i want you to,” you replied. “don’t let my worry stop you from doing this. you helped your coworker, right? i’m sure you were super cool. i’d love to see you in your uniform.”

reno sounded flustered for a moment on his side of the phone, before he shifted again.

“today’s just been crazy,” he said. “but i really want to protect people. it just feels like—like it’s what i’m supposed to do. i guess it sounds kind of—embarrassing, now that i’ve said it, like i believe in fate or something, but—”

“i don’t think it’s embarrassing at all,” you said fiercely, squeezing a pillow on your bed close to your chest. “you’re super cool, reno. i’m happy my boyfriend’s the coolest guy around.” the last sentences are teasing, and you hear reno make another strangled sound.

“come on, you’re flattering me,” reno sounded muffled, as if he’d shoved his head into his sheets. “i’m not that cool. you could’ve done so much better than—someone like me, who got super reckless and thought he-he could take a yoju down with a street sign.”

“that sounds like literally the coolest thing ever, reno,” you replied.

you fell silent for a moment, adjusting your phone.

“i wish you were here,” you admitted after a moment. “i want a hug.”

“you know i’d be there if i could,” reno replied, sounding hesitantly shy. “once i get discharged?”

“sure,” you replied, the smile clear in your voice. “i’m looking forward to it.”

you wonder who’s going to save you now.

a large honju, its bulging eyes fixating on the fact that you’re horribly alone and isolated, the rubble collapsing around you making it impossible to run away and hide—but even if you could hide, there’s too much open space. you’d sprained your leg trying to run away the first time, before you’d underestimated just how fast this damn thing could fucking run.

it had pushed you into this corner, practically—toying with you as you realized far too late that you’d been completely backed into an area you couldn’t escape, about to become this honju’s next meal—though maybe that was inaccurate. you doubted you could even be a meal at all—just a tiny, insignificant snack on this monster’s rampage.

you wished fervently that you were stronger. maybe if you were a defense officer, too—but could you really kid yourself, thinking something like that? you rose up on shaking legs, trying desperately to control your breathing. you weren’t going to die. you couldn’t die. that would break reno’s heart, wouldn’t it? you didn’t want to break reno’s heart, you didn’t. you didn’t want to imagine a future where reno’s face would screw up with pain—a future where he might shed tears over you. he didn’t deserve that.

you remembered, desperately, for a moment, that they’d sent out the third division to deal with the current kaiju threat. surely that meant—no.

it’s not like civilian casualties weren’t common. you shudder to think of the possibility that you’d end up as another statistic—but you shuddered, terrified of the possibility that reno would find your lifeless body. you wanted to be alive to hug him, to press your head into the crook of his neck as he held the back of your head, just desperately glad that you were alive. you wanted some kind of happy ending—not death from some fucking honju.

the honju’s gigantic hand reached out for you, and you braced yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut—

the resounding bang that rang through the air made your ears ring, and you felt something wet hit your face—as you opened your eyes, you touched your face, pulling it away to find your hand stained with blood—but not your own.

the honju shrieks, doubling back—and you realize with belated horror that its hand had been completely blown off, viscera scattering across rubble. the sight of the gore makes you collapse, practically, as your knees gave out.

“i’m sorry i’m late,” a familiar voice says, and you blink hard as—

“reno,” you say, almost dazedly.

he looked—good, in any case, dressed in the defense force suits you’d seen on television once in awhile when you’d watch a bit of the televised kaiju war effort. he pulled down his respirator mask for a second, giving you a small smile.

“you’re okay,” reno says, before turning back to the honju with deadly focus. “cover your ears as best you can, alright?”

you did as he asked, upon which several more loud bangs rang out, each rattling your very core, your ears ringing with the impact. the honju shrieked as each bullet punctured it, until it eventually gave out and collapsed against the ground, its shriek a death knell that almost made you want to curl up into a ball on instinct to hide from it—you were shaking, horrified at the sounds, the sight of the gore—the fact that it even stained your face.

reno lowers his gun.

“command, come in,” he says, his hand tapping his in-ear receiver. “i’ve killed the honju in this sector. recovered a civilian as well. i’ll oversee transport to the nearest medical facility. thank you.” he lowers his hand, kneeling down to wipe the blood from your face.

“reno,” you say weakly. “you saved me.” your shaking breaths turn to sobs as you press your face against his chest, your shoulders shaking. the surface of his suit is hot, almost burning, but you don’t care as your fingers barely dig into its surface. “i’m—i’m so—i was so scared—”

“i know,” reno says, hoisting you up with ease. you remember that he used to struggle to do that—not that he couldn’t lift you up, just that there was always more effort involved. he coaxes your legs to wrap around his waist, his hand coming up to stroke the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. “i know. i—i’m sorry. i should’ve—i could’ve come sooner, i knew we were being dispatched to-to the site, and—”

“it’s okay,” you cling to reno as your lifeline, pressing your cheek to his. “i’m just—i’m just—i’m so happy you came.”

reno looks at you, his violet eyes brimming with tears as he presses his forehead to yours, a shaking breath leaving his lips.

“i’ll always protect you, okay?” he says, his voice choking up. “i’ve got the strength to do it now—to protect the people i love. to protect you.”

you toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, kissing the tip of his nose.

“i know,” you say, quiet fondness creeping into your voice, despite everything. “i love you, reno.”

“i love you too,” reno says, and you’re flustered for a moment by how sure he sounds—he always used to hide away behind his hand when he said it, shy and unsure of himself. but the way he looks at you, with pure dedication and determination—your heart flutters again, and you laugh.

“kiss me, please,” you say, and reno kisses you so softly, and you melt into it, safe in his embrace.

#kaiju no 8 #leno ichikawa #reno ichikawa #leno ichikawa x reader #reno ichikawa x reader #ichikawa reno x reader #ichikawa leno x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader #reno’s such a nice guy #just a really good kid (he’s not that much younger than me lol i just fawn over him like that)

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worldlxvlys · 9 months ago

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texts with fwb! nate (part 8)

fwb nate x sturniolo reader

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex

a/n: hehehee

when i walked into nick’s room, he was sat with his legs crossed on his bed.

upon hearing me, his head shot up in my direction.

“hey” he spoke softly, flashing a small smile.

“hey” i whispered as i closed his door before joining him on his bed.

“ok, so. start from the beginning” he said.

i explained the entire situation to him, leaving out the explicit details.

when i finished, his eyes were wide and mouth hung open.

“you mean to tell me you two have been sneaking around for months ?” he looked distraught.

“i know, i get it, you’re disgusted in me. i couldn’t keep my legs closed-“ he cut me off.

“hey, don’t talk about yourself like that. i’m not mad that you kept it from me, i’m upset that you felt like you had to keep it from me”

my face scrunched up in confusion.

“listen, i don’t love the idea of you being with one of my best friends, but if he makes you happy then i’m not opposed to it” he said.

“and i get you keeping it from matt and chris, but why me? i always thought that we were close enough to tell each other anything” i never considered the fact that he might be more hurt about me not telling him than he was about me being with nate.

i let out a sigh, “i don’t know, nick. i always just assumed you would tell them. you never keep things from them, isn’t that breaking triplet code, or whatever ?”

he placed his hand on my arm gently.

“yes they are my triplet brothers, but you’re my sister. when have i ever told them about your business ? it’s not mine to tell. i’ve told you a million times before and i’ll tell you again, i have your back. of course i won’t tell them”

“thank you, nick. i really appreciate it”

“always. but you do know you can’t keep this from them forever, right ? you’re gonna have to tell them eventually”

“yeah, i know. i just gotta figure out how”

“hey, we’ll figure it out together. that’s what i’m here for” i pulled him in for a hug, squeezing his shoulders.

“ok, so, give me all the details” my eyes widened.

“you want the details ?” he immediately caught onto what i meant.

“wha- NO! NO! not the sexual details, jesus”

i raised my hands in defense, “alright, well, how was i supposed to know what type of details you were talking about !?”

“i meant, the stuff you were talking about in the texts”

i felt my face begin to heat up and i looked down. “oh, those details”

he tilted his head, dropping it slightly to meet my eyes “you have feelings for him” he asked in a softer voice.

i squeezed my eyes shut as i fought the smile that was growing on my face.

“OHHHH! you’re getting all bashfullll !” he teased.

“nick, stoppp” i said as i covered my face with my hands.

“don’t hide now girl, you weren’t shy when your bed was banging against the wall last night”

my eyes widened in horror, jaw hanging open.

“yeah, bitch, you forgot we share a wall, huh ?”

“y- you heard that ?” i asked, eyes still as wide as ever.

“ girl. you’re not quiet, sorry. i knew you were fucking someone, just never thought it was nate of all people. that man has you screaming and moa-“ i slapped his chest quickly, trying to shut him up.

“oh my gosh, nick. please stop”

“ok, ok” he said. we both looked at each other before breaking out into fits of laughter.

tears streamed down our faces and we held our stomachs as we continued to laugh at each other’s laughter.

when we finally calmed down, we wiped out tears away.

“ok, but i’m actually really glad that you found out. i need to talk about my feelings”

“that’s what i’m here for”

we talked for a while, staying up until the early hours of the next day.

eventually, we fell into a peaceful slumber.

we were blissfully unaware of what chaos we were going to wake up to.

———————

yayyyy supportive nickkk

fwb! nate masterlist

main masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sturnsdior @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @freshloveforthefit @creamoncreamoncream2 @whos-avi @imwetforyourmom @rootbeerworshiper

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tinybeetiny · 2 months ago

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Priorities: K.H

Toxic!HongjoongXReader

I guess this can technically be toxic Hongjoong. As usually this is not I how I think he actually is. I literally love this man so freaking much 🥹 we’re both Scorpios ssoooo anyways enjoy the angst

Cw: Gaslighting,

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

They way he never put you first, ever. “Sorry love I can’t make tonight’s date. I have to finish a few songs but I’ll make it up to you next time” he says putting his phone on the desk turning his focus back on the screen of the laptop “you said that the past 8 times Joong” you sigh standing up from the table you’ve been sitting at for 45 minutes “I’m busy (Y/N) you know this. My job is really important and requires a lot of time” he said running hand through his hair “I’m important too you know. I can’t remember the last time I actually got to see you and not on the phone. I’m just getting tired” you say, your voice dropping at the end. It’s quiet for a couple minutes and you’re sure that he’s not even paying attention anymore “Hongjoong?” You hear him sigh “look (y/n) I’m sorry but I’m busy I can’t do this right now, we’ll talk later” he rushed out before hanging up leaving you to stare blankly at your phone.

A few days had passed since that night and you have yet to see Hongjoong let alone hear from him, not even a text. You debated on texted him knowing he’s busy and didn’t want to cause an argument. But he’s your boyfriend, you should be able to see and talk to him and not have to feel hesitant about it. You’re about to hit the call button when you hear a knock on the door. Through the peephole you see your very tired looking boyfriend standing on the other side on his phone. He looks up as he hears you opening the door. You give him a small smile as you step aside to let him in, he takes off his shoes and makes his way to your couch slumping down tiredly.

“So how are the songs coming along?” You ask as you sit next to him “it was tiring but I think I made good progress” he said turning his to look at you, his eyes looking empty. You missed the way he used to look at you. You missed when he treated you like someone he actually wanted to be around. You miss him. “That’s good! I’m sure the guys are going to be happy with it” you say trying to smile “they are, we started recording yesterday which surprisingly didn’t take long so we just hung around the dorm the rest of the day” he says sleepily while shutting his eyes. You felt a slight pang in your heart hearing that. He didn’t think to even send you little text any time after they got home “I figured you were busy the whole day since I didn’t hear from you” you watch him frown without opening his eyes “I just needed a break from screens and wanted to be alone for a little bit” he shrugs as if it were not big deal.

You really didn’t want to argue with him especially when he looked so tired but you didn’t know when you’d have another opportunity to be face to face with him like this. Taking a deep breath you just it all out “you know I haven’t seen you in almost a month. We haven’t had an actual engaging conversation in 2 weeks. I can’t even remember the last time we went on a date. It doesn’t even feel like a I have boyfriend. I understand you’re busy with work but I haven’t heard from you in THREE days Joong, I couldn’t even get a single text from you and to hear that you weren’t even busy the entire time feels like such a slap to the face. I don’t understand. If I did something to make you act like this towards me please let me know because I don’t know what to do anymore” you expressed crossing your arms and standing, waiting for his response

“I understand you’re upset but this is my work, what I do for a living, what I love, it’s a lot of hard work and time. I really don’t want to keep having these useless conversations over and over. Ateez is my priority and I have to focus on that above anything else” he says sitting up staring at you. You really don’t know what to say with what he just said, he basically said you’re not a priority to him and if that’s the case then what’s the point of this. Fight the tears that are building in your eyes you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

You turn away from him so he doesn’t see the hot tears rolling down your cheeks “I don’t want to do this anymore” you sniffle, you hear him stand up and make his way to you “me neither. I don’t like these little confrontations” you feel him wrap his arms around you making your heart break even more. “No. I don’t want to do this relationship anymore” you cried as you pushed him away “It’s obvious I’m not important to you and it already feels like we aren’t together so why don’t we just end it here” he stares at your for a few seconds to see if you’re joking, waiting for the ‘just kidding babe, I love you so much’ but it doesn’t come. He stares at your tear stained face. He scoffs crossing his arms “you’re upset right now, why don’t we talk when you’ve had time to calm down and think” he says grabbing his things. He stops when he hears you laugh bitterly “that’s actually really funny because I have had more than enough to think about this and we should’ve broken up a while ago” he starts to panic once he realized you’re being 100000% serious “you can’t be serious. Look love I’m sorry okay, I know I’ve been busy and neglecting you but I’ll make it up to you I promise. Let’s go out now, I can take you wherever you want to go” he rushed back in front of you but you just shook your head tired of the circles “I can’t do this anymore Joong” you whispered “Please don’t this (y/n) please. I swear I will find more time for you” he begged feeling his own tears gathering “I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind” you say turning away from him

“You’re really going to throw this all away? Just like that? I told you what you were getting into when we got together but you were so insistent on making it work” somehow he turned it on you making it your fault for not wanting to make this work or wanting to stay in a relationship you were no longer happy in. Anger bubbled inside of you because how dare he. How. Fucking. Dare. He. Taking a calming breath as you try not to explode you stare him dead in eyes and see nothing. No love. No adoration. No anger. No hurt

“I think it’s best if you leave Hongjoong” he does nothing but stare at you for a minute before making his way to the door, grabbing his shoes, not even bothering to put them on and walking out.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez angst #kim hongjoong #ateez kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #ateez captain #captain hongjoong #hongjoong angst #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n

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mikedfaist · 6 months ago

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hiii i wrote this super quick because the mike universe needs tlc and someone's gotta be the one to deliver.

April 9, 2024

“You’re so dramatic,” you say with a light scoff, holding your phone to your ear by your shoulder. “It’s like a week—you’ll survive.” You can hear the man on the other end of the line exhale with a hint of exasperation. “It’s been two weeks since you saw me… You can do another. We’ve gone longer than that.”

He knows you’re right – you’re seldom not – but the times before were different, and you knew that.

“You’ll see me in LA… That’s what—8 days?”

“Six,” he corrects.

“See? Less than a week.” You smile to yourself as you ascend the steps to your hotel. “Are you in your room yet?”

“Yeah, just getting settled. We have the rest of the day off, so I was probably going to order room service and rest.”

“Good,” you remark. “You deserve it.”

“Why? Were you looking for some phone sex?” He lightly laughs, exchanging his phone to his other ear.

“Later, lovely, later.” You hit the button to the elevator, watching the numbers slowly descend to the lobby. “Hey, I’m going to let you go, okay? Get some rest. I’m almost home, and I’m bloody starving.”

“Okay,” you can’t help but hear the disappointment creep in his tone. “What time is it there?”

“A little after one… I skipped breakfast so I’m famished. FaceTime later?”

The elevator doors open, and you move to the side as a guest exits.

“Yeah, whenever it’s a good time for you. Jetlag is still kicking my ass.”

“Chamomile tea, lovely. I always—”

“I know…”

“I love you. Get rest. I’ll see you later.” You hit the button for the ninth floor and listen as the doors close. A text buzzes in your palm, reading: hes grumpy af.

Yeah, no shit.

The doors open, and along the right-hand side are the even-numbered rooms. You guide yourself along the hallway until you find 918, and you falter your steps. You hang your fist in the air for a second, before you give three gentle knocks to the door.

You worry they were too quiet. Maybe he has his headphones in. Maybe he’s in the shower, but then you remember room service—

The door swings open; the room is fairly dark save for the light peeking in through the exposed bit of curtain, and on the television, you can hear the laugh track to some British sitcom.

“Fuck.”

“Wrong room,” Josh smirks, pointing to the right. “He’ll be happy to see you though.”

“Right,” you pick up your bag from the floor. “Thought Z said 918.”

“Close… He’s in a mood, so…”

“Yeah,” you raise your eyebrows, hoisting your bag onto your shoulder. “Looking forward to it.”

The trek to 920 was short, and this time you knock with more confidence – irritation? – all signs of apprehension having been left on Josh’s doorstep. You wait a bit longer this time, and you begin to think about knocking a second time, when the door opens, a bit slower compared to his friend.

“Sorry, I’m not room service.”

#mike faist #mike faist imagine #mike faist x reader #i stopped it before smut ensued #but uh #just let me know

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tadanoningen-fr · 19 days ago

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My WH Brick by Brick Notes

(PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS WHOLE POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE 10/2024 WELCOME HOME UPDATE! DO NOT READ IF YOU DID NOT SEE THE UPDATE, YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ANYWAY!)

Also this is a very large post and there may be some grammatical errors. I recommend watching the video and listening to the audio while reading these notes. If you can't, IWillGetYourSmile! (PROMISE) on YouTube recently put up the videos and audio for anyone who cannot see them on the website.

Sorry for not putting bullet points, I wrote them on a doc and pasted it here and I was lazy to bullet point everything :')

Brick By Brick

Barnaby’s handprints are on the pages and they’re splotched in black like the gunk seen in the exhibition.

Black gunk are on the pages; title, 2, 8, 9, 14, it’s clearly implied they’re from Barnaby turning the pages, but how and why is Barnaby reading this book?

(Probably over-analyzing) Wally’s face on page 4 seems a little too blackened out.

Poppy wanted to make a cozy for her lamp, Coffin referenced this in one of the Q&A posts for Poppy!

Sally is the character with most of her text missing from the book. Maybe it’s because she keeps breaking the 4th wall talking to the narrator?

Page 7 shows all the neighbors except Poppy, even Eddie is here!

Barnaby’s reaction to Poppy refusing to be in the play is rudely lackadaisical…though he delivers truths harshly.

Sally seems to have a close relationship with Poppy; she cares about her more than any other neighbor. Her feelings were hurt realizing that she made Poppy scared.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to call Sally “downright rude”. Damn Eddie, now you’re sharing the resentment? I don’t really blame him…

It’s weird that Sally is now worried that Poppy may hear or see her play, isn’t she supposed to be happy about that?

Barnaby’s black-splotched paw is seen again at the corner left of page 9, I think it was his thumb after he turned the page from page 8.

Julie is afraid of the dark.

Almost every appearance he makes, Barnaby is holding food.

Franks’ advice is logical, in which he suggests making Poppy man up so she can at least see the play.

Barnaby started the idea (possibly unintentionally) of “brick by brick”, and for some reason Sally took it too literally. Wait, wasn’t Frank supposed to take things literally?

Light red watercolor paint surrounds Poppy when she’s worried.

Why did the entire neighborhood think that bricking Poppy’s windows was a good idea? I can’t help but feel as if they weren’t quite themselves when doing this.

The shading in page 15, especially on Poppy, seems oddly realistic and not cartoony unlike the whole book art style.

Although most would raise an eyebrow at Poppy’s excitement understanding why she’s being bricked up, I think it kinda makes sense because Poppy always cares about safety, and knowing that the neighbors are bricking her in for her sake, she is okay with this in a way. (She is confirmed to think of this as well.)

Page 14 doesn’t really look like Barnaby’s black paw, but it kinda looks like fingers instead. Who is this? It’s placed oddly at the top of the page.

When Sally calls them peanuts, Barnaby is surprised. I’m also a little surprised because Barnaby was the one who calls Wally peanuts, but here Sally uses it on them.

The Missing Audio

Who says “No, please sit with me.”? I think it’s probably Wally as he doesn’t perform in Sally’s plays often.

We seem to be in Poppy’s perspective, while the book is in the neighbors’ perspective (or maybe Sally’s) as soon as things get quiet.

The breathing is either Poppy’s or the monster Sally describes, as it was seen getting late in page 14 (or it could be just the spotlight effect).

Wood scratching is heard, this is most likely the monster Sally described scratching Poppy’s barn.

Does Poppy think the monster is a neighbor? Is that why she’s saying “the door’s open”?

The monster seems to try to get into Poppy’s home, but if what Poppy says is true (the door is open), why can’t it come in?

The rattling of the doorknob reminds me of how Home speaks through house onomatopoeias, but it’s probably unlikely that Home is making these noises.

Was Poppy trying to get out of her home in fear of the monster? Why the echos?

Sally is the one who says “A-are you alright?”.

I’m still wondering if it’s daytime or nighttime because if it’s nighttime, this might confirm the monster trying to get to Poppy, but if it’s daytime, it will be unconfirmed.

Is Poppy outside? Why is she confused about where she is?

Frank is the one who says “Y-You’re out! The door’s open, why didn’t you open the door?!”. He sounds confused and angry. Maybe he got frightened.

Aftermath Notes & Questions:

Did this take place before or after Homewarming?

We seem to be approaching a pattern with how Darkness and the neighbors interacted with each other; Eddie Dear was surrounded in darkness at homewarming, leading him to a breakdown and panicking, Julie is afraid of the dark, even if it’s caused by something so simple, and when Poppy was surrounded in darkness, the monster was implied to come after her, making her panic.

This is the second time Sally and Frank appear at the end when someone is in trouble, and their time of appearances are the same as well. This happened with Eddie in Homewarming, but Sally left and Frank stayed, and now with Poppy, both Sally and Frank were there.

If this pattern of darkness and the neighbors keep going, this means that the neighbors may be the prey of something we have yet to understand. The question of Wally and Home’s innocence is still unclear, but now Eddie and Poppy are out of the question for being evil in this story for sure. Perhaps Sally and Frank too, but we don’t have enough evidence at the moment.

A question that just appeared and is still unanswered is why Barnaby’s black paw prints are seen in the book. Another thing I noticed is that Barnaby’s paw blocked out the author and illustrator, and so did the record player too. Could this mean that Barnaby may be helping to hide certain things? If so, why? Barnaby’s paws also had been avoiding the pages of where Poppy appears every time.

A little theory about the black paws; Barnaby somehow got his hands on the Brick by Brick book, and began skimming through it until page 14, where someone takes the book from Barnaby and the book is sent to the restoration team. This theory is just based on the black paw prints and fingers, because after page 14, there were no more black prints. And it’s more oddly suspicious that the last black print we see isn’t Barnaby’s, plus it was in an odd place.

#welcome home arg #welcome home update #poppy partridge #barnaby b beagle #sally starlet #frank frankly #eddie dear

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

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an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

next part // series masterlist request: Academic rivals to lovers during a VERY heated argument please??? 🥺 note: happy valentines my loves I hope you enjoy!! 💚 warnings: language word count: 1.2k read more of my work here!

“So what do we think?” your professor asks, leaning against their desk, “was the war justified? What are our thoughts?”

The room is silent. Your 8:00 AM history seminar is usually quiet aside from the droning of your professor and the snores of a student slumped against their desk in the back.

Two hands shoot into the air, desperate to be chosen first.

You strain your hand towards the ceiling, fingers wiggling. You can feel your toes pushing into the floor as if you can push yourself higher into the air. At least higher than him.

Aemond Targaryen leans his back against his chair with ease, long arm stretched toward the sky. His expression is nonchalant, but mismatched eyes are alert. The sharp features of his face seem tense, as he waits in anticipation. He’s annoyingly handsome, you can’t deny, but being your arch-nemesis nearly erases the fact.

The gods are on your side today, as your professor meets your gaze and sends you a nod. You grin triumphantly, mouth twisted in a smile.

“The black queen was named heir,” you begin, after taking a deep breath, “the king wanted his daughter to be queen. I think that should have been respected, especially by the greens. Far less bloodshed would have happened if she ascended to the throne.”

Your professor nods at your answer and you feel a rush go through you at his approval. Nothing feels as good as a teacher’s praise. Something you learned early on in your education and carried with you even now.

Aemond snorts beside you, earning a glare from you. That’s another annoying thing about Aemond; no matter what the class is, if you’re in it he is planting his desk right beside yours. An obnoxious shadow he makes.

“You disagree, Mr. Targaryen?” your professor asks, crossing their arms.

“Of course I do,” Aemond says, side-eyeing you. Your nose scrunches in displeasure.

It truly did not matter which side you took, Aemond would take the opposite. Both of you are vigorous students, and someone always annoyingly in the same classes. He seems to follow you through all your general education classes each semester. You argue like dogs fighting over a bone in your searches for academic validation.

“Go on,” your professor encourages him, as your fingers curl into your palms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Aemond argues, “the realm would never have accepted her as a queen with her father’s firstborn son living.”

“That’s very feminist of you,” you snap, unable to help yourself.

Aemond turns toward you on his desk. He always looks so odd sitting in the rolling chair, his long limbs overflowing. He raises an eyebrow at you, jaw clenching.

“I’m being historically accurate,” Aemond argues, tapping his long fingers on the desk.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you tell him, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest.

You can feel your cheeks heating up as Aemond stares at you, his lips curling into a snarl.

“If she ascended the throne, there would have been an uprising sooner or later,” Aemond continues and you roll your eyes.

“Her sons were bastards, a threat to the very institution of the kingdom if her son ascended after her-”

“Oh come on!” you say, tilting your head to look at the ceiling, “her sons were legitimized, they were claimed by her husband as his trueborn sons, her trueborn heirs-”

“The text is very clear about it being known amongst the common people-”

“Text was written by men to keep other men in power in a patriarchal system-”

“Here we go.”

Your head snaps forward.

“What?” you quip, fury written across your face. You notice your voice has been increasing in volume but you don’t care. Aemond Targaryen makes your blood boil.

He smirks at you, clearly giddy at the rise he’s getting out of you. Well, as giddy as Aemond Targaryen can get. He’s not really a giddy kind of person, with his all-black outfits that match the stupid all-black coffee he brings every class.

“You’re bringing it back to gender when it's not about that,” Aemond says shaking his head, “if her sons inherited the throne after her, the entire realm would have crumbled.”

“You are so dramatic,” you accuse, “and it absolutely is about gender. She was her father’s chosen heir.”

“Well she shouldn’t have sired bastards,” Aemond argues shaking his head.

“Sired?” you mock narrowing your eyes, “what’re we in the medieval ages?”

“We’re talking about it genius,” Aemond says.

“Okay everyone!” your professor says clapping his hands together, “ceasefire you two.”

Your professor chuckles, trying to ease the tension you’ve created in the classroom to no avail. Aemond and you are leaning toward each other as if at any moment one of you will jump from your seat attacking the other.

Aemond leans back first, hand clenching around his coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. The prominent veins of the back of his hand bulge with how tightly he holds the cup. You slouch back in your seat.

“Let’s explore a different role,” your professor suggests, “what would have been in the best interest of the common folk?”

Aemond’s hand shoots into the air. Your professor points at him.

“The king’s daughter was never present at court, she had no idea what the people needed, she spent barely any time present at council-”

You let out a dramatic sigh at his response.

“She was pushed out, by the king’s new wife I might add who was aiding her father, the hand of the king, in the plans to usurp the throne,” you challenge as Aemond shakes his head.

“There is no record of the queen having any knowledge of those plans-”

“Read between the lines,” you say, cutting him off.

“Isn’t that what you should be doing?” Aemond says crossing his arms, “preferably in another class more related to your major.”

Your cheeks flush.

“I take lit classes too,” you snarl, “this is a gen ed class.”

“Literature major,” he snorts, “of course.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That major is a waste of time,” he says smugly.

“Says the philosophy major,” you snap back.

Aemond leans forward, ready to snap when your professor claps his hands together.

“Okay!” he says, voice hoarse, “I think that’s enough discussion for today. I want three pages submitted tonight about who you think should have inherited the throne. Two sources minimum, people!”

The noise level in the class rises as students shove their papers and books into their bags, rising from their desks eager to leave the lecture.

You tuck your books into your bags, heart pounding from the intense conversation. Aemond has already risen from his seat, tossing his coffee cup into the recycling bin before exiting the classroom. You scurry after him, not ready to give up the fight.

You nearly run into him as you exit the classroom, he’s stopped outside the doorway, tucking a book into his backpack.

“Asshole,” you mutter, watching his shoulders tense.

“Know it all,” he snarls.

“For fuck’s sake!” a voice calls behind you.

Aemond and you turn, meeting the face of your previously sleeping classmate Luke Velaryon. His hair is ruffled, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes with an exasperated look on his face. He eyes you and Aemond.

“Will you two just bang already?”

Your mouth falls open, eyes wide as saucers. Aemond stands eerily still beside you. Luke raises his eyebrows, as your cheeks begin to burn. You meet Aemond’s eyes, blue and violet, for a brief moment, before you both look away. Aemond clears his throat, and you swallow hard.

“As if,” you say, forcing a laugh, before pushing by Aemond.

“Yeah,” Aemond agrees, watching you leave, “in your dreams.”

note: do we want a part 2? 👀

EDIT: I wrote part 2 😏

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httpscomexe · 2 months ago

Text

Runaway 3

Summary: You learn your lesson. If Logan wants you to stay away from Wade, then you’re finally more than willing to listen.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Possessive Logan, Manipulation, Arguing. (Individual warnings per chapter) This will most likely be a non-con fic.

Tags: @shybluebirdninja @atomicheartbroken

Word Count: 4129 (Find all chapters here) CH4

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

“What is it?” You awake to the sound of Logan's voice, and the knocking at his door.

“We were wondering if Y/N wanted to join us? We’re going to the waterpark.” You hear Ororos voice on the other side of the door, and your eyes snap back shut as Logan looks at you.

“Who’s all going?”

“Me, Kurt, Jean, Scott… and Eloise.” She pauses before saying Eloises’ name.

“What about Wade?”

“He’s busy… He can’t go.” Something about her voice seems unsure, and Logan doesn’t catch onto it.

“When are you guys leaving?”

“Around 10.”

“Alright, I’ll let her know when she wakes up.”

“Okay, just text me.” Your ears pick up on the sound of her footsteps fading away, and Logans coming closer. You keep your eyes shut for some reason, pretending to sleep as he stands right in front of you.

“Bambi, baby…” His hand combs gently through your hair, and you slowly peek your eyes open. He's standing there, his shirt off and thrown over his shoulder, then he crouches down to come to eye level with you. “Hey baby, need you awake.” You groan.

“What time is it?” You stretch in your bed, not wanting to be awake.

“A little past 8.” He tells you, standing up to sit next to you, his hand immediately lying on your bare stomach, your shirt ridden up in your sleep. “Ororo came by…” His hand begins to rub your stomach up and down, putting some pressure down to wake you up.

“Why?” A quiet purring comes from your throat, the feeling of him petting your stomach felt amazing, and you couldn’t hide it.

“She’s wondering if you want to go to the water park. Kurt, Jean, and Scott will be there.” He tells you, continuing to rub your stomach.

“But I wanna stay with you…” You whine, and you sit up, moving to your knees.

“I’m busy again today Bambi, I can’t hang out…” You face drops in disappointment.

“You’re always busy…” You sigh, leaning your forehead on his shoulder, your ears pinning down and your tail tucking between your thighs.

“I’m not always busy…” He tells you, putting an emphasis on always, and his arm wraps around you. “Go find an outfit, and your swimsuit.” He stands up, moving to the closest to help you look for your clothes, and you follow behind him reluctantly.

“But I don’t wanna go.”

“You’re going to go.” His hands find your black bikini, and he puts it on the dresser.

“But I don’t want to!” You raise your voice.

“You’re going, now stop.” He growls, also grabbing one of his hoodies to throw over your bikini, along with your sandals in the shoe cubby.

“But Logan…”

“Stop.” He turns towards you, the look on his face is serious as he stares down at you. Anger clouding his face. “You’re going to go with them…” He tells you, stepping towards you, and his hand finds your face, gently cupping your cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

“But Jean hates me…” He’s quiet, only staring down at you, and he seems to take a deep breath, calming himself before speaking again.

“Put these on, and go meet them downstairs.” He walks past you, putting on his shirt as he steps away and he pulls his duffle bag out from under his bed. You open your mouth to say something again, but you don’t bother. Instead, you close the closet door, and begin to pull on the bikini. The one Logan chose for you. The one you thought might be too revealing. The one that Logan chose just for that reason.

“Fits perfectly.” His eyes scan your body as soon as you walk out of the closet and turn off the light in the small room. “Is it comfortable for your tail?” He puts his hand up, and makes a motion with his finger for you to spin around, which you do. He comes behind you, and you watch in the mirror as he looks at the back of the bottom piece of your bikini, his fingers looping through the back to mess with it a little, and your tail feels more comfortable when he uses one of his claws to cut a small hole in it, pulling your softail through it, careful as he touches it. “Better?” You nod.

“Thank you, Logan…” His hands move to your hips, and his chin rests on the top of your head, his hands slowly moving to your stomach, locking his fingers together.

“Looks perfect on you.” You both stare at each other in the mirror for a few moments, not a word exchanged as his finger begins to make little circles on your skin.

“You should try it on.” You break the moment, and he begins laughing.

“I will pass.” He says quickly, and walks over to his desk to pull out his chair. “Come sit so I can do your hair.” He tells you, grabbing your hairbrush as he waits for you, patting the chair. And you quickly sit down in front of him, before he moves behind you and begins to brush through your hair, careful around your tangles, and making sure not to touch your ears.

Once he’s done brushing through it, he pulls it into a ponytail, his fingers only gently touching your ears for a moment to move some of your hair off of it.

You remember the conversation he had with Ororo earlier, thinking you were asleep.

Wade won’t be there.

Everyone that will be there you aren’t even close with. So of course you didn’t want to go. Especially with Jean being there. She was a jerk…

You wanted Wade to be there. It would at least be fun.

“Hey Bambi! Where’s Logan?” Ororo runs up to you, giving you a tight hug. You smelt like Logan. Like cigars and pine wood, with a little mix of whiskey. All of his clothes always smelt like him, but especially the hoodie you were wearing now.

“He had something he needed to do…” You sigh, and spot everyone else on the couch in front of you, Kurt was watching TV while Scott rubbed sunscreen on Jeans back and shoulders.

“He’s left already?” Jean asks from the floor.

“Yea, he said it was urgent or whatever.” You try to disconnect yourself, trying to make it obvious you didn’t want to be there.

“Well don’t tell…” Scott finishes rubbing sunscreen on Jean, and then he sits next to you where you take a seat on the top of the couch. “Because Logan will absolutely rip out my throat…” He tells you, and he lowers his voice as if Logan would be able to hear him from miles away. “But we invited Wade, he should be here soon.” Your eyes seem to lighten up immediately, and Kurt checks his watch.

“Actually he should be here right about-”

“I back mother fuckers!” You turn around, eyes immediately landing on Wade, and you spring up to your feet, leaping into Wade's arms. “Awww, I’ve been missed.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you in return.

“Wade, what the fuck are you wearing?” Scott stands up, and gives him a quick side hug, making you let go of Wade.

“Just the best swim pants in the market! Wait until you see the top piece!”

“No!” You all say in unison, the unicorn bikini bottom was already enough for everyone's eyes, and Wade chuckles.

“Oh do you guys know how to embarrass a fella. Where’s my peanut?”

“He’s not coming.” Jean tells him.

“And he’s not going to know that you’re here.” Scott makes way back to his spot next to Jean.

“Well good thing he only has a tracker on Bambis phone.” Everyone goes quiet and they all exchange looks. Then Ororo breaks the silence.

“Logan has a tracker on your phone…” You don’t want to say anything in response, but you knew if you didn’t, it would only make Logan look bad.

“He just wants to make sure I’m safe… I can see where he is too…”

“More like he wants to make sure you aren’t near me.” Wade tells everyone, and he takes another pair of shorts out of his bag, also decorated with unicorns. All eyes in the room looked between one another, as if what he said was offensive.

“Well, enough about Logan.” Jean speaks finally, springing up from the floor. “Let's get going.”

The drive to the park is lame. Kurt driving, Ororo in the passenger seat, Scott sitting in the back with Jean on his lap, Wade sat in the middle, and you sitting next to Wade on the other side. There was nothing notable, except for Wade's music choice. It ranged anywhere from “Bye, bye, bye,” to the baby shark song. It was torturous, but only for the forty five minute drive until you finally made it to the park. As Kurt searched for a parking space, children and their parents were holding hands as they walked to the front of the park and waited in line for their tickets, that you dreaded, the line was horrendous.

“Glad we bought the tickets online.” Oh?

“Yea, no kidding.” Scott answers Jean, and Kurt finally finds a parking space, one that was about 15 cars away from the entrance.

“Well, let's have some fun.”

Time goes by, some fun moments, some boring moments, and one moment where you simply wanted to go home. You debated asking one of them to take you home, you wanted to sleep, you wanted to lie down in bed for the rest of the day and do absolutely nothing. But you didn’t want to ruin their fun either, so you sucked it up, throwing your towel over your now soaked hair from the last water slide you went on. Your tail and ears soaked. You try to reach it, bending backwards with the towel in your hand so the soft wet fur didn’t irritate your skin, but you couldn’t reach it. Wade of all people noticed immediately.

“Can I help?” He asks, attempting to take the towel from you, you hesitate. The only person you really trusted with your tail and ears was Logan, but you were sure Wade wouldn’t hurt you, so you let him take the towel, and he begins to dry your tail, careful not to pull.

“Thank you Wade.”

“Of course Bambi. You seem like you’re ready to go home?” He mentions, moving up to dry your ears now. Moments like this with Wade were pretty rare. Where he wasn’t goofing around, and where he wasn’t making absurd jokes. Where he was just there to help, and to be a friend.

“Yea, I’m getting tired…”

“I can let Kurt know?”

“No, no…” You turn to face him as he finishes drying your fur. “They’re having fun.” You nod towards the little group of four, Kurt with a blindfold on as he tries to catch an apple in his mouth from a bucket of water, the other three laughing as he fails.

“Well you’re not.” He pokes your nose, making you smile.

“I’m okay, really.”

“How about we go have our own fun?” He suggests, looking past you. Your eyes follow his, leading to another ride that none of you have ridden yet.

“I think I’m done getting wet for the day Wade…”

“Okay, how about we get lunch without them?” You think about it for a moment, debating whether or not it’s really a good idea to leave the group.

That deer instinct…

“What about them?”

“They’ll be okay.” You don’t say anything again, your ears drooping slightly. “And you’ll be okay too, I promise.” He holds his hand up, sticking out his pinky. You sigh before grabbing his pinky with yours, and he shakes it slightly.

“Fine… Just…” You take a deep breath, your pinkies still locked together. “Just stay by my side? Please…”

“Of course, Bambi. Who would I be to leave you alone.”

Then everything goes well. Wade pays for the food, a hotdog for himself, and mozzarella sticks for yourself. He also manages to convince you to go on one more ride, even though you didn’t want to get wet, you went with him. Even the thought of being alone scared you, so of course you couldn’t tell him no. You got on the ride, shaking slightly. You weren’t one for getting wet obviously, so getting wet a second time after drying was not in your best interest. You even tried to pull Wade back, trying your hardest to get him to change his mind. You knew he just wanted you to have fun, and to make you feel more included and less restless, but you couldn’t help it. You were scared, but of course. You still got on.

After the ride, you were soaked from head to toe. Your bikini clung to your skin, and you were now absolutely ready to just leave.

“Wade…” You groan, the both of you walking back to your group's locker to get a towel, and to get Logan's hoodie. You needed nothing more than his scent right now. “I’m wet again…” You grumble, trying to squeeze some of the water from your hair.

“You can say that again.” He jokes, squeezing water out of his shorts, and you come across lockers, hidden by the restrooms, and you were the only two there.

“What was the pin?” You ask him, and he tells you the four numbers which you put in, but they don’t work.

“Or maybe it was 8771?” He wonders, stepping closer, and you roll your eyes. It’s wrong. “Weird, okay, try 3658?” You try it, and it doesn’t work. Along with your annoyance pops up a little screen where the code was, telling you to wait five minutes. You groan.

“Dammit Wade!” You roll your eyes and try to ruffle your ears and tail, hoping that would dry the fur before it dried on its own.

“Oh you’re fine.” He chuckles a little, watching as you ruffle your fur, you couldn’t possibly look more pissed.

“No, Wade. This isn’t-“

“What the fuck?” Both of your eyes leave each other, and they land on him. Wearing his white beater, his blue jeans, and he has a cigar between his fingers. He definitely didn’t look happy either.

“Oh hey Lo-“ A punch to his nose is enough to shut Wade up, Logan’s fingers wrapping around his throat as he slams him against a set of lockers.

“Logan-“

“Quiet, Bambi.” He snarls as he faces you. He wanted to yell at you. He wanted to fucking scream. But he holds himself back, eyes landing back on Wade. His cigar on the ground. “You got her fucking wet.”

“We were getting towels.” Wade's voice comes out broken, you were sure he couldn’t breathe. His red face denied nothing.

“Yea? Then where the fuck are they?” Logan's grip tightens, and Wade's hand reaches over, patting a locker before Logan drops him. “What’s the code?” You both shrug, Wade rubbing his throat, and you keep your distance as Logan's claws extract, straight into the locker. Which he then yanks open, ripping the door off completely before grabbing a towel and tossing it at you. “Let's go.” He walks past you, his hand engulfing yours as he grabs it, dragging you with him back to the parking lot to take you home, but you don’t say a word to him. “Get in.” He tells you, clicking a button on his keys to unlock his truck and you quickly run around to the passenger side, crawling up the tall truck to get in before buckling up as he lights another cigar.

“Logan-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He puts his hand up in front of you, silencing you before sticking his key in the ignition and his truck roars to life while you slump down in your seat, ears down.

He wouldn’t talk to you. He just went around his room, doing whatever he needed to do as you sat in the centre of the bed, hoping he would come down from his tantrum. He tossed his equipment bag on the bed, scavenging through it and pulling out his dirty suit before throwing it in the hamper, something heavy falling out, but he doesn’t notice it as he goes to the bathroom, closing the door and a few seconds later, you hear the faucet running.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. You lean forward, grabbing whatever fell out, and your fingers wrap around cold metal. Inspecting the large dagger, you notice a few nice things about it. The leather sheath that was on it, the cleanliness of the silver, the wolverine engraved on one side, but what really stuck out were the names on the other side. Logan, and next to his name was yours, behind the names, an engraving of a deer. A fawn…

Taking a deep breath, you try to remember if you’ve seen the knife before. But you haven’t, and even through the dagger was clean, you could tell it was years old. You’d only met Logan a week ago, so you were sure the name couldn’t have anything to do with you. Right?

You scramble to put it back, tossing it into the bag as you hear the water in the bathroom stop and minutes later the door to the bathroom opens as you sat back in the same spot from before Logan had left.

“Logan-”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know but-”

“Shut it.”

“Logan-”

“I said. Shut. It.” He faces you now, eyes piercing yours in anger. He has his towel wrapped around his waist as he pulls out some clothes from his dresser, and you look away as he pulls on his boxers and some joggers before looking back at him. Then, in a small flash of anger to get his attention, you grab one of your stuffed animals that had fallen on the floor under the bed and become forgotten, chucking it at Logan.

His eyes shift to the toy on the floor, then back up to you. You haven’t seen him so angry before, but you didn’t bother being scared. You were pissed off too. You were an attention starved animal, and the one person who gave you attention was ignoring you.

“Really…?” His voice is low, threatening.

“You’re making me feel bad.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.

“Yea? Good. That’s the fucking goal.” He tells you, no regret in his voice as he picks up the toy and throws it into the laundry hamper.

“Logan…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” His voice raises, before falling back to a threatening whisper. “You fucking disrespected the one thing I told you not to do.”

“And I’m sorry…”

“Yea? You were sorry last time too.” You finally turn away. He was right. You hadn’t listened to him the first time he asked you to stay away from Wade, and you hadn’t listened to him the second time either. He had every right to be mad at you, but he didn’t have to be so mean.

“I’m sorry…” You apologise again, more quietly, your ears pin down to your head, and your tail disappears between your thighs as he stills, staring at you.

“Bambi…” His voice is soft now when he sees your tears, but it was your turn to ignore him. You stood up, moving to your kennel. Crawling in and closing the gate behind you before getting comfortable, curling up in the blankets. “Come here…” He asks, but you ignore him, reaching up to move the cover further over the cage until it completely drapes over, so neither of you could see on another. He wanted nothing to do with you.

“Where’s your dog?”

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Logan growls at Scott as he pours milk into his bowl on top of his cereal, the memories of the last night replaying in his head.

“She follows you like one.”

“Listens to you like one too.” Ororo adds, using her spoon to point at Logan.

“If she listened to me then she would’ve stayed away from Wade.” He tells her, tightening the lid for the milk back on the jug, and Scott leaves the room with a sigh, leaving Logan and Ororo alone. Logan was already prepared for the speech.

“She’s not your pet Logan.” She tells him when they’re alone.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then why do you treat her like one?”

“What makes you think I’m treating her like a fucking animal?”

“You have a tracker in her phone, you give her all these rules, you literally pet her, Logan. I mean shit you bought a fucking cage for her…” She lowers her voice, making sure no one could hear her.

“I’ve got the tracker and the rules for her own safety, she doesn’t understand anything…” Just before Ororo is about to say something back, but before she can, Logan silences her again. “She was raised by assholes, she doesn’t know right from wrong.” He lifts up his cereal bowl, and grabs a cookie for you. “I pet her because it calms her down, and she enjoys it. And the cage?” He pauses by the door for a moment. “She loves the fucking cage, she asked for it.” With that, he leaves the room. Leaving Ororo silent, but she still sits there alone, unsure about what Logan was doing to you.

You were still tangled in the blankets of your cage about ten minutes after Logan woke you with the sound of the door opening and closing, him leaving to make himself breakfast. You didn’t normally enjoy being alone, but with his little tantrum yesterday, you wanted nothing to do with him. But of course, he knew exactly what to say, and exactly what to do.

“Bambi? Are you awake?” You sigh as he comes back into the room, and even though your cage was covered, you could hear everything as he closes the door behind him, sets something on his desk, and then his boots thud over to your cage. “I’m not busy today…” He debated lifting the cover, but decided against it. “We can hang out, like you’ve been wanting to.” He offers, finally lifting the cover to look at you when you don’t respond. You were in the back of the cage, hugging your legs to your chest, curled up against the back with your blankets thrown to the side. He hated seeing you like that, the same way you were the day he found you. “Bambi baby, come on out.” He opens the cage, and stays crouched down, waiting for you to listen. “I brought you a cookie, Ororo made them.” That causes a flicker in your eye, you loved Ororos M&M cookies. “I just want to talk baby, we don’t have to talk. But I want to see you.” You looked up at him finally, you looked tired.

“Promise not to yell…?”

“I promise.” He feels as if his heart had shattered, having to promise not to yell at you was the last thing he wanted to do. But he watches as you crawl out, and he helps you to your feet, handing you the cookie which you gladly take, immediately biting into it.

“I’m sorry for going out with Wade again…” You tell him, and he just smiles a little.

“It’s okay…” He whispers, and then his arms wrap around you, his chin resting on your head as you put your cookie aside for a moment, wrapping your arms around him in return.

“No it’s not, I made you mad…”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him.”

“Why?”

“He got you wet.” He pulls back a little. “If he’s gonna steal you, he could at least take care of you.” He brushes some strands of hair out of your face, and you smile a little. “Your hair is an absolute mess.” He tells you, before letting go of you to retrieve your brush, and you finish your cookie before sitting on the bench in front of his bed, him moving to sit behind you as he begins to brush through your hair, just like normal.

“Logan?”

“Yes Bambi?”

“I’m sorry…” He pauses the brushing for a moment, and you hear him sigh behind you before you feel his breath against your cheek.

“You don’t have to apologise… Just don’t do it again, okay?” You nod, and receive a kiss on the cheek, which automatically makes you smile, your tail wagging before he starts brushing your hair again, as always, careful to avoid your ears.

#marvel #fanfic #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #x reader #smut #wolverine #logan howlett #logan x reader

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