#he texted at 8 to be like you’re quiet what’s up? and I’m like I’m feeling bad

[fratttymatty]

Remade

(All characters are 18+)

Zach Turner had always been the type of guy who found comfort in books, video games, and the occasional comic book convention. At 18, he was a senior in high school, a quiet, nerdy, and undeniably gay young man. He lived in the small world of his thoughts and interests, often accompanied by his best friend, Cassie.

Cassie was everything Zach wasn’t: confident, popular, and unashamedly ambitious. They’d known each other since middle school, and she had always been the type of person to look out for Zach, even if her attentions were often a little too intense. Their friendship had always been platonic—or so Zach had thought.

One evening, when Zach was deep into his latest role-playing game, he got a text from Cassie.

Cassie: “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. It’s important. Be at my house at 8:00 sharp. Don’t be late.”

Zach, curious but not thinking much of it, agreed. After all, Cassie had a flair for the dramatic, and he was used to her pulling pranks or making grandiose plans that never quite panned out.

But that night was different.

When Zach arrived at Cassie’s house, he found the lights dimmed and a strange, almost eerie atmosphere. Cassie, dressed in a sleek black outfit, was waiting for him in the living room, a small, mysterious device in her hands.

“Cassie?” Zach said, looking around nervously. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” she replied, her voice unnervingly calm.

Without any warning, Cassie pulled out the device and pointed it at him. Zach barely had time to react before the world around him seemed to blur, and everything turned dark.

When Zach woke up, he felt strange. His body was heavy, as though he had been asleep for hours, but there was an unnatural weight to it. His chest felt tight, and he groggily blinked his eyes open.

Cassie stood in front of him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Well, well. You’re awake,” she said, her voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and triumph. “Let’s begin.”

Zach tried to sit up, but found himself restrained. He looked down at his body—his limbs, his torso. Something was wrong. He felt... different. His fingers, once delicate and pale, were now broad, tanned, and muscular. His whole body had an unfamiliar strength to it.

“Cassie,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What did you do to me?”

“I’m making you perfect,” Cassie replied simply. “The boyfriend I’ve always wanted. You’ve always been my best friend, Zach, but I’ve realized something: you’re not quite what I need. You’re too... soft.”

Zach’s heart pounded in his chest. “What do you mean? This isn’t me, Cassie! I don’t want this!”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said coldly, before flicking a switch on the device.

A surge of energy washed over Zach, and before he could protest, his body began to change in ways he couldn’t comprehend. His limbs elongated and thickened with muscle. His once pale skin darkened to a rich bronze, and his face began to reshape—his jawline sharpening, his cheekbones rising, his eyes shifting to a deeper brown.

Zach cried out, but the sound that escaped his lips wasn’t his own. It was a deeper, more masculine tone.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he gasped, trying to tug at the restraints, but he was too weak. His entire body felt alien to him, as though it belonged to someone else.

“Just relax,” Cassie said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s all part of the process. You’ll get used to it. This is who you’re meant to be.”

Zach couldn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t just his body that was changing. His mind seemed to be slipping as well—like his thoughts were becoming clouded with confusion, slowly overtaken by the growing sense of strength, dominance, and something else—something he hadn’t felt before.

“Cassie, please,” he begged. “You can’t do this!”

“I can, and I will,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “You’re the perfect foundation. I’m just making you the perfect guy for me. You’re going to be everything I want in a boyfriend.”

Zach’s panic grew as she activated the device again. His body buckled, and with each passing second, it morphed more into something he didn’t recognize. His muscles swelled, his shoulders broadening, his chest growing more defined.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that changed. He could feel it—the shift in his mind. His thoughts, once filled with video games, books, and a quiet, nerdy existence, were starting to fade. In their place were thoughts of power, sports, and girls—Cassie, in particular. He was becoming someone else entirely.

And then, a strange sensation began at the top of his head. His hair. He could feel it shifting, like something pulling at it from the roots. His thick curls—once unruly and wild—began to flatten, the familiar texture becoming straighter and sleeker by the second.

It was as if his hair itself was being reshaped, straightened, darkened. The soft curls he had always worn with pride now transformed into a neat, short, dark brown mane that laid perfectly against his scalp. The thickness remained, but now the texture was different—smooth, sleek, and controlled. His hair fell just above his forehead in a stylish, masculine cut that complemented the broadness of his face.

He reached up, instinctively running his fingers through his hair. It was... perfect. His new hair felt like it was made for him, as if it had always been this way.

When the transformation finally ceased, Zach—no, not Zach anymore—looked at himself in the mirror Cassie had placed in front of him.

Gone was the skinny, pale, awkward white boy he had been. In his place stood a tall, athletic Latino young man, with broad shoulders, defined muscles, and a confident, cocky grin on his face. His eyes, once soft and nerdy, now gleamed with a sense of self-assurance, and his name... it wasn’t Zach anymore.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Meet your new self. This is Alejandro. Your perfect self.”

Zach—Alejandro—barely registered his former name as it left her lips. He looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time, he didn’t feel out of place. He felt right. His old self, the timid, shy boy, seemed like a distant memory—one that he no longer cared about. The nerdy, insecure parts of him were gone, replaced by someone confident, strong, and desirable.

Cassie stepped forward, her fingers brushing over his now chiseled chest. “You’re perfect,” she said. “Now, we can finally be together. The way it was always meant to be.”

Alejandro didn’t object. He didn’t feel the need to. Everything that once mattered—the books, the games, the quiet life—was far behind him. His mind was entirely focused on Cassie, on the life they could have, the adventures they could share. His identity was new, but it felt like it had always been him.

And as he looked down at Cassie, he smiled, his heart pounding with excitement.

Yes. This was who he was meant to be.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Possession: a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley x Jimmy Uso fanfic.

Chapter 8: Elevated

Thursday, December 5th, 2024 8:39 PM

Jey pulled up to the curb outside the airport, the headlights cutting through the cool night air. Rhea glanced at him as he put the car in park, his expression softer than it had been in days. As much as their week had been tense, this moment felt like a small reprieve.

Jey turned to her, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Baby, I feel way better now that you’re gonna be rooming with Joe instead of Jon,” he said, his hand resting on hers. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass all week. When you come back, I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Rhea smiled, her heart tugging in different directions. “I love you, babe,” she replied, leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss lingered, bittersweet, and when they pulled apart, Rhea grabbed her luggage from the backseat. Jey stepped out of the car to help her, his arm brushing against hers as he hoisted the bag onto the curb.

“Text me when you land,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“I will,” she promised, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

She turned toward the terminal and spotted Joe waiting a few yards ahead, his hood pulled up and sunglasses shielding his face. Always incognito, he gave her a subtle nod as she approached.

Rhea waved back briefly before glancing over her shoulder at Jey one last time. He stood by the car, watching her with a faint smile, and she felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest.

With a final wave, she joined Joe, her luggage rolling beside her.

“Ready?” Joe asked quietly, his deep voice steady.

“Yeah,” she said, stealing one more glance behind her before they stepped inside the bustling terminal.

The check-in process was uneventful, Joe expertly navigating the crowds with his usual calm demeanor. Rhea stayed close, her thoughts buzzing as she clutched her boarding pass.

As they waited for security clearance, Joe leaned in slightly. “You good?”

Rhea nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Joe studied her for a moment but didn’t press further. He simply gestured for her to follow as they moved through the checkpoint.

The weight of the week—and the secrets she carried—settled on her shoulders as she walked beside him, the noise of the airport dull in her ears. She didn’t know what the weekend would bring, but she was determined to keep everything in check.

For now, she just needed to focus on the task at hand: getting through the next few days without letting the cracks in her life show.

—

After what felt like an eternity, the plane touched down in Minneapolis, its tires skimming the runway as the city lights flickered in the distance. Joe and Rhea moved swiftly through the terminal, their bags in tow and their demeanor guarded. They kept their distance from prying eyes, slipping into the waiting black SUV at the curb like seasoned professionals.

The ride to the Four Seasons was mostly quiet. Joe leaned back in his seat, scrolling on his phone, while Rhea watched the city blur by through the tinted windows. Her mind was restless, a mix of excitement and guilt swirling within her.

When they arrived, the doorman greeted them warmly, but Joe waved him off with a subtle nod, leading Rhea inside. The lobby was grand, its high ceilings and chandeliers oozing luxury. Joe checked them in, handling everything with ease while Rhea stood by, feeling slightly out of place.

They took the elevator up to their floor, the quiet hum of the ride filling the space between them. When the doors opened, Joe gestured for Rhea to step out first. He unlocked the suite and pushed the door open, revealing a space that was nothing short of extravagant.

Rhea’s jaw dropped. The suite was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The decor was modern and elegant, a stark contrast to the no-frills motels she and Jey often stayed in.

Joe chuckled as he set his bag down. “You’ve never seen a suite before?”

Rhea shook her head, still in awe. “Jey always wanted to save money, so we’d get the cheapest rooms,” she said, running her fingers along the plush couch.

Joe smirked. “That does sound like Jey. Well, you’re not slumming it this weekend. You can take the room on the right; I’ll take the one on the left.”

Rhea nodded and grabbed her bag, heading to her designated room. She opened the door and found herself in another gorgeous space, complete with a king-sized bed, a sitting area, and an en suite bathroom that looked like it belonged in a five-star spa.

Closing the door behind her, she set her suitcase on the bed and began unpacking. Her fingers brushed against her ring gear for Monday, and she pulled it out, laying it across the bedspread. The black leather, studded one-piece was edgy and bold, paired with fishnet stockings and thigh chokers to accentuate her curves. It was a perfect reflection of her “Mami” persona, confident and unapologetically dominant.

Next, she pulled out her outfit for the following day. It was one of WWE’s newest shirts, featuring a graphic of Jimmy with the words Samoan Heat emblazoned across it. She paired it with black jeans and her signature black boots.

Rhea stared at the shirt for a moment, her stomach tightening. She hadn’t let Jey see it when the company mailed it to her. She knew anything involving Jimmy was a trigger for him, and she didn’t want to deal with the inevitable tension. Still, the shirt was striking, and part of her looked forward to wearing it.

With her clothes neatly hung and folded, Rhea sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the city lights through the window. Her mind drifted back to Jey, to Jimmy, to the tangled web she was caught in. She exhaled deeply, trying to push the thoughts aside.

—

Jimmy checked into his room at the Four Seasons, sliding the key card into the door and stepping into the spacious suite. He set his duffel bag down near the closet and took in the luxurious space—the crisp white sheets on the king-size bed, the elegant furnishings, and the soft glow from the bedside lamp. He sighed, shaking off the fatigue from the flight, and collapsed onto the bed.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he immediately texted Rhea: “Wya?”

He barely had to wait a moment before her reply came through: “Already here. I’ll wait till Joe falls asleep, and then I’ll sneak out.”

Jimmy smirked, the thrill of their secret rendezvous igniting a spark of excitement in his chest. He typed back quickly: “Can’t wait to kiss you again.”

He set the phone down for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as anticipation curled in his stomach. The thought of her slipping out of her room and into his, unseen by anyone else, was as intoxicating as the woman herself.

His phone buzzed again. Another message from Rhea popped up: “You’re impossible 🙃 but okay.”

He tossed the phone onto the bed beside him, running a hand over his face. This was reckless. Dangerous. But, damn it, he didn’t care. Rhea was worth the risk.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 11:45 PM. Still a couple of hours to kill before their planned meeting. He grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, aimlessly flipping through channels to distract himself, though his mind was fixed on what the night would bring.

—

The clock struck 3 a.m., and Rhea’s phone buzzed, its soft vibrations pulling her from sleep. Groggily, she reached over to grab it and saw Jimmy’s name flashing on the screen. She swiped to answer.

“You fell asleep?” Jimmy’s voice was low but teasing.

Rhea yawned softly. “Yeah, for a bit. Let me see if he’s asleep.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, moving quietly to avoid waking Joe. Padding across the suite, she approached Joe’s door and pressed her ear against it. The steady rhythm of his snores confirmed that he was out cold.

Grabbing the spare key card from the counter, Rhea whispered into the phone, “Tell me what room.”

“520,” Jimmy replied without hesitation.

“I’ll be on my way,” Rhea said, her voice tinged with both nerves and excitement.

She hung up the call and quickly threw on a hoodie and joggers over her bra and panties, not bothering to put on socks or shoes. Quietly, she opened the suite door and slipped out into the hallway, closing it just as softly behind her. Taking a deep breath, she opted for the stairs, not wanting to risk running into anyone in the elevator at such a late hour.

The cool air of the stairwell brushed against her exposed skin as she descended the steps to the fifth floor. Her heart thudded in her chest, both from the rush of sneaking out and the thrill of seeing Jimmy again.

When she reached room 520, she knocked softly. Almost immediately, the door opened, and Jimmy stood there, his face lighting up the second he saw her. Without a word, he grabbed her hand, pulled her inside, and shut the door behind her.

He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. “I missed you so much,” he murmured before pressing his lips to hers in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Rhea melted into the kiss for a moment, her hands resting on his shoulders, before pulling back slightly. “I can’t stay too long,” she said, her voice breathless.

Jimmy set her down gently but kept his arms locked around her. “Don’t worry, I just wanted to kiss you and feel you in my arms, Rhea.”

She looked up at him, her expression conflicted. “What are you doing to me?” she asked softly, almost more to herself than to him.

Jimmy’s dark eyes locked onto hers, his gaze intense but tender. “I’m showing you how you should have been with me in the first place,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

Rhea’s breath hitched, her mind swirling with emotions she couldn’t even begin to untangle. But before she could say anything else, Jimmy kissed her again, and for a fleeting moment, all of her doubts and fears melted away in the heat of his embrace. He used his hands to lift her up and she wrapped her legs around him tight. Jimmy walked the two to the bed, not breaking the kiss. He softly set Rhea in the bed and he pulled the comforter over the two, Jimmy straddling Rhea as she used her tongue to taste Jimmy more, both their tongues battling.

—

9:30 AM

Rhea woke to the blaring sound of her alarm, the shrill noise cutting through the deep, almost dreamless sleep she’d fallen into. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as she tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion. Glancing at her phone, she realized there was no time to waste.

Grabbing her neatly folded clothes, she headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water cascaded over her, and for a moment, she let it clear her thoughts, washing away the tension from last night’s secrecy. Once out, she dressed, slipped on her boots, and began packing her gym bag for the night’s show.

A knock at the door broke her concentration.

“You ready?” Joe’s voice called through the door.

“Coming!” Rhea replied, zipping up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

They headed out shortly after, their ride taking them straight to the arena. The atmosphere was already buzzing with anticipation, crew members bustling around in preparation for the live show.

Inside, Hunter was waiting for them in one of the production meeting rooms.

“Alright, let’s go over the details one last time,” Hunter began, addressing Joe and Rhea. He laid out the plan for Joe’s grand return, emphasizing the timing and the dramatic cues. As Hunter spoke, Rhea stayed focused, mentally preparing herself for the part she had to play.

Toward the end of the briefing, Hunter looked at Joe. “Where’s Jimmy?” he asked, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Joe shrugged casually. “He texted me saying he slept late, but he’s on his way.”

Hunter nodded, satisfied. “Perfect. Rhea, it’s time to get into position. You know the drill.”

Rhea nodded, already anticipating the long, uncomfortable hours ahead. She grabbed her bag and headed toward the arena floor with one of the crew members.

As she crouched low and crawled underneath the ring through the trapdoor, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the cramped space and the inevitable wait. The space was dark and quiet, save for the distant echoes of people moving around above her.

She adjusted herself, laying down on the padding beneath her. This wasn’t her first time doing this, but it didn’t make the hours of waiting any easier. Her mind wandered, thinking about her performance tonight, her secret rendezvous with Jimmy the night before, and the tension with Jey.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on her breathing, counting down the hours until her cue.

As Rhea adjusted herself on the padded floor, she heard the sound of movement nearby. Turning her head toward the trapdoor, she saw Todd, one of the assembly crew, crawling into the cramped space with a small ice chest in hand.

“Hey, Rhea,” Todd greeted casually, setting the ice chest down. “Figured you might need something to make this wait a little less miserable. You want a soda?”

Rhea, grateful for the gesture, smiled. “Yeah, if you’ve got a Dr. Pepper, I’ll take one.”

Todd dug into the cooler and handed her a can. “What about snacks? You good?”

Rhea shrugged. “If you’ve got a Lunchable, I wouldn’t say no.”

Todd chuckled. “Lunchable? C’mon, Rhea, we’re professionals here. I raided catering for the good stuff.” He pulled out a few containers of food and held them out for her to choose.

“Okay, you’ve outdone yourself,” Rhea said with a laugh, grabbing a small plate of chicken sliders and some fruit. She settled back on the pad and began eating, feeling a little less irritable about the hours ahead.

Rhea looked up from her spot on the pad as Todd set up a small monitor beneath the ring. Just as she was about to thank him, the trapdoor opened again, and Jimmy crawled in, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“Look who decided to show up,” Rhea said, arching a brow. She fought to keep her tone casual, though the sight of him made her pulse quicken.

Jimmy shrugged, settling himself comfortably on the pad beside her. “What can I say? I slept late. Had a fun night.”

Rhea felt heat creeping up her neck and quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her Dr. Pepper. She wasn’t about to let Jimmy’s words—and their implications—rattle her in front of Todd.

“Well, since you missed the briefing,” she said, her voice steady, “Hunter went over everything. We’re set to make our entrance after Solo, Jacob, Tama and Tonga corner Joe.”

Jimmy nodded, his smirk softening into something more serious. “Got it. Should be good. You nervous?”

Rhea gave him a look. “I’m always ready. You?”

Jimmy leaned back against the side of the ring, folding his arms behind his head. “I was born ready.”

Todd, who had been quietly adjusting the monitor, chuckled. “You two should save the banter for the cameras. Here, you’ll want to keep an eye on this,” he said, gesturing to the screen as he turned it on.

The monitor flickered to life, displaying a blue screen that was currently airing. Todd handed Rhea the remote and said, “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be in the truck if you do.”

Rhea nodded, giving him a quick smile. “Thanks, Todd.”

As Todd crawled out of the space, Jimmy shifted closer to Rhea. “You okay?”

Rhea glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Just focused,” she said simply, though the tension between them was palpable.

Jimmy looked at Rhea, a sly grin spreading across his face as he said, "Give me a kiss."

Rhea giggled softly, her cheeks warming under his gaze. She leaned in and gave him a small, quick kiss, trying to keep things light.

But Jimmy wasn't satisfied. "After last night," he said, his voice dropping into a husky whisper, "I want more."

Rhea turned her head quickly to check the trapdoor, making sure no one was coming. When she saw it was still clear, she let out a soft sigh and leaned in again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more lingering, as Jimmy cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

The two made out for a few moments, the sounds of the crew members assembling the fixtures and finishing the top ring above them muffled by the thick padding of the bottom of the ring. Jimmy's fingers trailed down her arm, sending a shiver through her.

Finally, Rhea pulled back, her breathing slightly uneven. She pressed a hand to his chest, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You're so crazy," she said, shaking her head.

Jimmy chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Crazy for you."

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully, trying to ignore the rapid thudding of her heart. She glanced back at the monitor Todd had set up, pretending to focus on something else. “We need to be careful," she muttered, her voice softer now.

Jimmy leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Careful doesn't really suit us, does it?"

Rhea fought back a smile, knowing he wasn't wrong. But she also knew how much was at stake if Jey knew she had went back to Jimmy.

Taking a steadying breath, she adjusted her position and Jimmy pulled her closer to him.

"Jimmy for real, we have to be on the lookout."

Jimmy let out a low laugh, leaning back but keeping his gaze locked on her. “Okay mami..."

Rhea bit her lip to hide her smile, shifting her attention fully to her phone. But the heat lingering between them was undeniable, making the small space under the ring feel even more charged.

—

The arena lights dim, and Solo Sikoa’s music hits, drawing a mix of jeers and gasps from the audience. He strides down the ramp, flanked by Jacob Fatu, Tama Tonga, and Tonga Loa, their intimidating presence radiating authority. Solo wears the coveted Ula Fala, his face expressionless but his eyes brimming with confidence.

Corey Graves: “Here he comes, Wade—Solo Sikoa, the self-proclaimed ‘real’ Tribal Chief. And look at this Bloodline! Jacob Fatu, Tama Tonga, Tonga Loa—this is an imposing sight.”

Wade Barrett: “Corey, this group may be new to the WWE audience, but these men have wrestling royalty coursing through their veins. Solo Sikoa is making a bold statement tonight by aligning himself with these Samoan warriors. Forget about Roman Reigns—Solo wants us all to acknowledge him.”

Corey Graves: “Minneapolis is letting him know exactly what they think of his so-called claim to the throne, but Solo doesn’t seem to care one bit!”

The group enters the ring, each man taking a corner and raising their hands, commanding the crowd’s attention. Solo steps to the center, grabbing a microphone. The boos grow louder, but Solo smirks, unfazed.

Solo Sikoa: “Minneapolis… acknowledge me.”

The boos reach a fever pitch, and Solo waits patiently for the noise to subside, his stoic demeanor adding to the tension in the arena.

Solo Sikoa: “Roman Reigns? A Tribal Chief? Nah. You can’t be a Tribal Chief if you don’t even have a tribe. The truth is standing right here, in front of you. Jacob Fatu, Tama Tonga, Tonga Loa—this is my tribe. And you will acknowledge me as the real Tribal Chief.”

The crowd erupts with boos, some chanting Roman’s name, others screaming insults at Solo.

Wade Barrett: “Solo is cutting deep tonight, Corey. He’s not just challenging Roman Reigns—he’s dismantling the very foundation of Roman’s legacy.”

Corey Graves: “This is dangerous territory, Wade. Roman Reigns isn’t just the face of the WWE; he’s the Tribal Chief of an entire legacy. Solo might regret these words.”

Solo Sikoa: “Minneapolis… you will acknowledge me, because Roman Reigns will never step foot in the WWE ring again! He’s too afraid to face me! He knows his time is up!”

Suddenly, the familiar opening notes of Roman Reigns’ theme music hit, and the arena explodes in cheers. The crowd jumps to their feet, screaming Roman’s name as he emerges on the stage, his signature calm and menacing presence.

Corey Graves: “He’s HERE! ROMAN REIGNS IS BACK AFTER WRESTLEMANIA! THE TRIBAL CHIEF IS BACK!”

Wade Barrett: “Look at the intensity on Roman’s face. He’s not here for words—he’s here for war!”

Roman cracks his knuckles as he slowly makes his way to the ring, his eyes locked on Solo and his crew. He steps onto the apron and into the ring, unflinching despite the numbers against him.

Roman charges Solo, and the brawl begins. Eventually, Solo, Jacob, Tama, and Tonga gang up on Roman, hammering him into a corner. The crowd is at a fever pitch as the beatdown continues.

Corey Graves: “Roman Reigns is fighting with everything he has, but the numbers game is just too much!”

Suddenly, the lights in the arena shut off, plunging everything into darkness. The crowd roars, phones lighting up the arena like stars.

Wade Barrett: “What the hell is going on?! Who’s behind this?!”

In the cover of darkness, Jimmy and Rhea emerge from underneath the ring, both dressed in all black, ski masks covering their faces. They each grab steel chairs and take their positions.

The lights come back on, and chaos ensues. Rhea swings her chair, taking out Tama Tonga with a brutal shot to the back. Jimmy smashes his chair into Tonga Loa, sending him sprawling out of the ring. Jacob Fatu turns to attack, but Jimmy and Rhea double-team him, taking him down with synchronized chair shots.

Roman capitalizes on the moment, launching himself at Solo and pummeling him into the mat. The crowd is deafening, a mix of cheers and gasps.

Corey Graves: “This is absolute carnage! Roman Reigns is cleaning house, and whoever these masked assailants are—they’re helping him dismantle Solo’s tribe!”

With Solo’s crew neutralized, Jimmy and Rhea drop their chairs and kneel in the center of the ring, raising their fingers in the air in the signature “One” gesture. Roman stands over Solo, looking down at him before turning his gaze to the masked figures.

Roman approaches them, yanking off Jimmy’s mask first. The crowd erupts into cheers as Jimmy’s face is revealed. Roman then removes Rhea’s mask, and the cheers grow even louder, mixed with a few shocked gasps.

Wade Barrett: “It’s the Mixed Gender Tag Team Champs Jimmy Uso and Rhea Ripley?! What on earth is going on here?!”

Roman smirks, looking at the carnage around him. He extends his arms, pulling Jimmy and Rhea to their feet. The three of them stand tall in the ring, raising their ones high as Solo and his crew retreat up the ramp, licking their wounds.

Corey Graves: “This war for the Bloodline is far from over, but tonight, Roman Reigns has sent a message: he’s still the Tribal Chief, and he’s got soldiers willing to go to war with him!”

Wade Barrett: “Solo wanted to call himself the real Tribal Chief, but after tonight, he’s going to think twice about stepping to Roman Reigns again. This is just the beginning, Corey!”

The screen fades to black as Roman, Jimmy, and Rhea stand united in the ring, the crowd chanting Roman’s name.

—

Cathy Kelley: “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with Roman Reigns, Jimmy Uso, and Rhea Ripley. Roman, tonight marks a monumental moment in WWE history as you make your return and team up with the Mixed Gender Tag Team Champions, Jimmy Uso and Rhea Ripley. What does this mean for the Bloodline moving forward?”

Roman stands silent, his expression cold and intimidating. Before he can respond, Rhea steps forward with a smirk, cutting Cathy off.

Rhea Ripley: “You can call us… ‘The Elevated Bloodline,’ Cathy. A name fitting for a faction that’s untouchable and unstoppable.”

The crowd in the arena can be heard buzzing in the background, a mix of boos and intrigue. Cathy, keeping her composure, presses forward with her next question.

Cathy Kelley: “Rhea, that’s a bold statement. But I have to ask—what about your boyfriend, Jey Uso? Is he part of this new trio, or has he been excluded?”

The tension rises immediately. Rhea raises an eyebrow, her smirk faltering for a split second, but before she can say anything, Jimmy steps forward, his cocky demeanor radiating.

Jimmy Uso: “Jey? You wanna talk about Jey, Cathy? Alright, let’s talk about him.” He chuckles mockingly, glancing at Rhea before continuing. “As for the ‘boyfriend’ part, let’s just say Rhea here chose the better brother. That’s why she’s standing here with us—where she belongs.”

Jimmy casually puts an arm around Rhea, who doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans into the mic with an icy smile.

Rhea Ripley: “Let this be a lesson to Solo, Jey, and the rest of those… insignificant pigs whose names I don’t even bother to learn.” She looks directly into the camera, her voice dripping with venom. “Rhea Ripley, Jimmy Uso, and Roman Reigns are the only Bloodline you will ever acknowledge.”

The crowd erupts in a mix of cheers and gasps and boos as the weight of her words sinks in. Cathy is left speechless as Roman, Jimmy, and Rhea turn and walk away, their presence commanding.

Corey Graves (on commentary): “Did you hear that, Wade? Rhea Ripley just declared war on the rest of the Bloodline—and Jimmy Uso didn’t even hesitate to throw his own brother under the bus!”

Wade Barrett: “This is calculated, Corey. Roman, Jimmy, and Rhea aren’t just forming a faction; they’re establishing dominance. And if this is the ‘Elevated Bloodline,’ I don’t think anyone—not Jey, not Solo, not even the WWE locker room—can stop them.”

The camera lingers on Cathy, still stunned by the sharp words and the powerful declaration as the screen fades to the next segment.

— Flashback 3:20AM

Jimmy pinned Rhea down, their lips locked, and tongues intertwined. His rough hands ran through her long black hair, pulling her head back as he took control. He loved the way her body molded against his as he laid on top of her, their legs tangled together. His strong, tattooed arms snaked around her waist, his chest muscles flexing as he lifted her up off the bed. She wrapped her legs around his torso, letting him grind his hard-on into her.

Rhea pulled back, breathing heavily as she stared up at Jimmy. "I'm still not ready," she panted, biting her lip.

Jimmy's face fell, but he quickly recovered, plastering a smile on his face. "Don’t worry about angering me.. I could never ever be mad at you," he said, leaning down to kiss her again. Rhea melted against him, letting his warmth wash over her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I do want to please you in another way," Rhea whispered, pulling back from the kiss. Jimmy raised his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued. Rhea grinned, using her legs to flip the two, before climbing on top of him. She trailed her fingers down his chest, tracing the lines of tattoos. He watched her in fascination as she reached down and pulled his dick out from his sleeping pants.

Rhea wasted no time, taking him into her mouth and sucking hard. Jimmy threw his head back, letting out a low groan as she worked her magic. Her tongue danced around his tip, teasing him as she took him deeper into her mouth. She sucked and licked, her hand pumping the base of his dick as she worked him up. Jimmy's hips bucked off the bed as he thrust into her mouth, letting out a string of curse words as he felt himself nearing the edge.

The blowjob lasted for such a long time and despite her jaw locking up several times, Rhea kept going, despite the gagging sensation she was feeling. This was nothing like the blowjobs she would give Jey, this felt… right. Rhea felt her saliva drip onto Jimmy’s dick as he continued to thrust into her mouth. The way he tasted made her so wet but she knew.. she knew she had to repay him the favor for that mind blowing orgasm she received just last week.

It was like Rhea just knew how to drive him wild. She moaned around his dick, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. She gripped his thighs, pulling him deeper into her mouth as she hollowed out her cheeks, hoping to finally get him to cum in her mouth, his cum that she was so wanting to have go deep down her throat, the saltiness she was wanting to taste. Jimmy's breath hitched as he felt himself on the brink, his balls tightening as he exploded into Rhea's mouth. She swallowed every drop, licking him clean..

“My beautiful possession..”

[bookyeom]

whatever you say, baby - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.1k warnings: none? the slightest bit suggestive at the end but like... it's nothing author's note: part two to this fic! i would recommend reading both for it to make sense :)

You haven’t seen Vernon in four days.

You haven’t seen him since he kissed you — and he’d kissed you a lot.

You’d barely managed to finish the movie without making out on his couch like teenagers. And when it was over, he hadn’t asked you to stay — but he’d kissed you again by his front door. 

You’d texted when you’d gotten home safe, as he’d requested. Then you’d woken up the next day to a ‘good morning :)’ text, which was swiftly followed by ‘today is so busy I might die’. And then the two of you had just… moved on. 

He sends a Shrek meme and then disappears for hours; you laugh react or send a meme in return. He sends you a picture of a “gnarly” squirrel he sees on campus; you send him a picture of a shitty doodle you drew during one of your lectures. Neither of you brings up what happened. You know he’s got a project due at the end of the week, so you don’t push when his texts are few and far between. Even though you so desperately want to. 

Is he thinking about it as much as you are? You can’t get the feeling of his lips out of your mind, and it’s driving you crazy. You want to kiss him again, want to run your fingers through his hair again, want to feel his hands on your waist again.

But you remain in limbo. You don’t ask for an explanation — he doesn’t offer one. And you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it. 

Vernonie [8:34pm]: INCOMING VIDEOCALL

Your eyes widen when your screen lights up. You quickly straighten from where you’d been lounging on your couch, tucking your hair behind your ears and hoping for the best. He knows what you look like, you remind yourself, but that doesn’t help the nerves when you finally accept the call. 

“Hey, stranger.”

He looks cute, and it makes you sick. 

“Hey,” you reply, and you can feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason. All he’s done is say hello, but you haven’t seen his face in four days, and the last time you saw him you were —

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you say, and then you can’t help but blurt out, “You’ve been busy.” It comes out accusatory, and you regret it immediately. 

Vernon looks surprised, and you watch as his eyebrows raise. “Yeah, I had that big project to finish, remember?” 

You nod, avoiding eye contact through the screen. “Right.”

He’s quiet again before he says teasingly, “If you missed me you can just say so.” 

You know it’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but it hits so deep all of a sudden that you think you might cry. Did he not miss you, too? 

You know it’s a cheap move, but you absolutely cannot look at him when he tells you that the kissing had meant nothing, that it was all a mistake. That you’re better off as friends. 

“Hey,” he says when you shift your phone so that your face is just out of sight. You can practically hear his pout. “Come back.”

“I’m just gonna go,” you say weakly, and you can see in your peripheral vision the way Vernon sits up straight. 

“Hey, no. Wait. Please come back? Let me say something.”

You bite your lip as the tears well up. It takes you a minute, but you manage to take a breath and set your phone back upright to look at him. 

“Y/N,” he says gently, and you can see his soft smile through the screen. “Bro.”

You can’t help but smile a bit at that, and he takes that as a sign to continue. 

“Did you think I was avoiding you?”

You shrug. 

“You think I kissed you and then avoided you on purpose?”

Your heart stutters over itself a bit as he says the words out loud. When he puts it like that, you suppose it sounds a bit silly. Because it’s Vernon, and he would never be so cruel. You shrug again, but you still can’t find it in you to speak. 

“Kissing you is probably all I've thought about for the better part of the last few months,” he continues, and your eyes widen. “I wasn't deliberately avoiding you, I just... I was busy, that part’s true, but it seemed like a good time to give you some space anyway because I know you get into your head sometimes, so I thought that would give you some time to process…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair before he adds, quieter, “You know. In case you…” 

“In case I what?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a few minutes, and you can practically see the way Vernon’s shoulders relax at the sound of your voice again. 

He pauses, and then he says softly, “In case you regret it.”

Your eyes widen. “You think I regret it?”

“Do you?”

You shake your head, a bit dizzy as you return, “Do you?”

Vernon’s lip curls up at the side. “No, Y/N. I don’t.”

You’re processing, and he’s quiet as he lets you. He doesn’t regret it. He wanted to kiss you. He… 

It’s silent for another moment and then you say, voice small, “But you didn’t ask me to stay.” 

“Baby,” he says, and your eyes widen. “That’s definitely not because I didn’t want you to. Like I said, I was giving you space.”

“Baby?”

Vernon freezes. “Shit, sorry. Fuck—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, and he relaxes a little. 

“Yeah?” He breathes, and you nod. A smile spreads across your lips, warmth spreading through you as it really, truly dawns on you — Vernon likes you back. 

“Yeah,” you affirm. “I think I much prefer that to bro.”

“Yeah?” He says again, and you smile. You’re just realizing now that he seems nervous too, and it makes you feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside.

“Mhm.”

You stare at one another through the screen. Vernon’s grin spreads the longer you do, and even though you know your cheeks are flushed, you don’t stop the staring contest. He narrows his eyes, and you let out a giggle. 

“So…”

“So,” he repeats, and you watch as he adjusts to lie down on his couch. “I finished my project.”

That was not where you thought this conversation was headed. “Oh yeah? Good job, bro.” 

Vernon raises his eyebrows at the name, and you flush again. 

“It’s habit,” you whine, and he puts on an exaggerated frown. 

“That’s fine,” he sighs dramatically, “I was going to say that I can hang out with you now that my project is done, but I can see I’m the only romantic one here, bro.”

You gasp. “I can be romantic!”

Vernon grins, and you immediately know you’ve taken his bait as he teases, “Really?”

“I can!” You insist, and he just smiles even wider. 

“Want me to come over so you can show me just how romantic you can be, baby?”

TAGLIST: @tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

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.”

[nadvs]

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!

[ba9go]

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

[luveline]

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.” 

[evanpeterspeter]

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

[coryndoll]

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

[persevereforahappyending]

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

“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.

[slut4chriss]

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?!? 😧

[biolumien]

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.

[worldlxvlys]

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

[tinybeetiny]

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

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

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.

[mikedfaist]

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.”