#ignore the blue at the edge of his face in some of the gifs lol

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us, pt. 3

Summary: Teaching Y/N some new tricks while making his way to her heart keeps Wally busy...a little too busy to notice others might want his happiness to crumble and turn Y/N against him.

Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing

Word count: 3.9k

Part 1 Part 2

Y/N sits cross-legged on a desk in the abandoned classroom, arms folded, watching Wally as he lazily tosses a crumpled piece of paper into a trash can. Ever since the music room, they’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence that neither wants to end. While Y/N’s mind occasionally went into overdrive, giving her a thousand reasons to create some distance, her heart, although no longer beating, wasn’t keen on being away for long. After all, Wally kept the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach disappear. All it takes is a smile…a single smile and she’d relax. No one ever made her feel this safe, not even when she was alive.

 "So, tell me, Wally. Any perks to being a ghost? Or is it all doom, gloom, and dramatic monologues?"

Wally smirks, leaning against the desk beside her. "Oh, absolutely. You get to be stuck with me forever. Pretty sweet deal, huh?"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Wow. Eternal torment. Exactly what I was hoping for when I died."

He catches the way her face warms despite her sarcasm, and his grin widens. "You’re blushing."

"I am not."

"Liar."

Y/N huffs, pushing off the desk. "Let’s see if I can walk through walls to escape this conversation."

"You won’t." He follows her out, chuckling. "You like talking to me too much."

Taking it as a challenge, she rushes through empty classrooms, trying to lose Wally who laughed at her antics. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she hides in the library, behind the shelves, watching Wally run straight through and into the next room.

Chuckling, she leans back on the shelves. He’ll probably spend the next hour trying to find her – he’s not very good at hide and seek. Letting out a heavy breath, she tries to calm her breathing. It’s funny how her lungs still fight for breath after running, even in death. A lot of things have surprised her – she still craves food and can actually taste it, she gets tired, she feels pain, but also happiness and every other emotion. The only difference is: her heart is silent. Oh, and she can’t sleep. That one she hates most of all. Dreams used to be a perfect escape, but now? She actually has to go through the things she wants to ignore.

“Do you mind?” A voice startles her and she jumps in fright.

“Uh…Xavier, am I right?”

He nods, pressing his thin lips in a thinner line. “Yeah. And you’re in the way.”

Y/N steps aside but doesn’t move too far, her curiosity piqued by Xavier’s cold demeanor. He reaches for the book behind her, fingers ghosting over the worn spine before pulling it free. His electric blue eyes flicker to her, unreadable.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says casually, flipping through the pages without looking down.

“Oh?” Y/N crosses her arms. She didn’t expect ghosts to gossip and openly admit it to her face. “What is it they say? Weird, funny, clumsy?”

Xavier smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. “Naïve.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You trust him too much.” He tilts his head toward the door as if Wally might burst in at any moment. “He’s not telling you everything.”

The sense of dread returns in her stomach, but she forces herself to scoff. “Wally? He’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

Xavier raises a dark brow. “You sure about that?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”

He tucks the book under his arm and steps closer, his presence strangely intense. “There were more of us,” he murmurs. “More ghosts than Wally let on.”

He didn’t let on anything…he never mentioned anything to her.

The room suddenly feels smaller. Y/N grips the edge of the shelf behind her, steadying herself. “You’re lying.”

He tilts his head, studying her reaction. “Am I?”

Before she can push further, the library doors creak open.

“Found you!”

Wally’s voice fills the space like sunlight breaking through a storm, and Y/N instinctively steps back from Xavier. Wally stands at the entrance, hands on his hips, breathless despite not needing air. His brown eyes flicker between her and Xavier, and something shifts in his expression.

Xavier merely smirks. “How predictable.”

Y/N glances between them. The air is thick with unspoken tension. Wally steps forward, placing himself subtly between her and Xavier. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to hide in a library, newbie.”

Y/N forces a smirk, ignoring the way her stomach twists. “I spent my whole life hiding in libraries. Should have known better.”

Wally chuckles, but his eyes don’t leave Xavier. “C’mon, I have something way more fun in mind.” He drapes an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, steering her toward the exit.

She lets him, but not without casting one last glance over her shoulder. Xavier is already flipping through the book again, seemingly unbothered.

As soon as they step into the hallway, Wally’s grip tightens just slightly. “What did he say to you?”

Y/N shrugs. “Not much. Just that you suck at hide and seek.”

Wally snorts, but she doesn’t miss the way his jaw tenses.

He throws on a grin, nudging her playfully. “Well, lucky for you, I’m much better at football.”

She raises a brow. “Is this your way of charming me?”

His grin doesn’t waver. “Is it working?”

She pretends to consider before sighing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll let you teach me. But I swear, if this is just an excuse to tackle me - ”

“Would I do that?” His eyes gleam with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh.

As they walk toward the field, though, the weight of Xavier’s words lingers in her mind. Wally is hiding something. And she’s going to find out what.

The football field is eerily quiet at night, the goalposts casting long, crooked shadows across the empty expanse. The sky is speckled with stars, but Y/N barely notices. Her focus is on Wally, who stands a few feet away, spinning a football between his hands like it’s second nature. The way he moves is effortless, like he was made for this, and for the first time, she wonders what it must have been like to watch him play when he was alive. No wonder he was so popular with the girls…she’d probably be secretly head over heels for him too.

She folds her arms, eyeing the ball warily. “Just so you know, I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”

“All the more reason to practice.” Wally grins, tossing the ball up and catching it with ease. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

She exhales, rolling her shoulders before stepping forward. “Fine, but don’t expect a miracle.”

He passes her the ball, and she fumbles almost immediately, letting out a frustrated groan as it bounces off her fingers and onto the grass. Wally barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart as if her lack of talent actually pains him. “That was… tragic.”

Y/N huffs, picking up the ball and tossing it back at him, badly. It veers off course, and he lunges to catch it before it hits the ground.

“Okay, okay, new plan,” Wally says, stepping closer. “You need to get a feel for the weight first.”

He moves behind her before she can protest, so close she can feel the ghost of his warmth, not that ghosts are supposed to be warm...But Wally is. His hands slide gently over her wrists, guiding her fingers around the ball. She swallows hard.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice low, almost teasing. "You’re way too tense."

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one hyperaware of how close they are, how his chest nearly brushes against her back, how his breath tickles the side of her neck. Butterflies! Actual, fluttering, traitorous butterflies stir in her stomach.

"Okay," he continues, oblivious to the way her pulse would be racing if her heart still worked. "Hold it like this." His fingers brush hers, his grip steady as he adjusts her stance. "Now, when you throw, flick your wrist a little, just like that."

She follows his lead, but she barely registers the motion. All she can focus on is the way his voice dips when he speaks close to her ear, the way her skin tingles where he touches her. It’s ridiculous, really, she’s supposed to be dead. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

Wally, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, steps back slightly, watching her attempt another throw. The ball leaves her hand smoother this time, though it still wobbles. He lets out an approving whistle.

"See? You’re getting there."

She turns her head to look at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. She hadn’t realized just how close he still was. Her nose nearly grazes his cheek, and she can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes under the field lights.

"Are we still talking about football?" she asks, her voice quieter than before.

For the first time, Wally hesitates. His smirk falters, just for a second, his eyes flickering down to her lips before he clears his throat and steps back, too fast, too obvious.

"Uh. Yeah. Totally," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N nods slowly, letting the moment settle between them, the air thick with something unspoken. She tosses the ball up, catching it with a smirk of her own.

"Good," she says lightly, "because I was starting to think you were just looking for an excuse to hold my hand."

Wally groans, covering his face with his hands. "For someone who calls me a jock clich��, you seem to enjoy every bit of it."

Shrugging innocently, she heads to the bleachers. “Maybe I do.”

They both pretend not to notice the way their fingers still tingle, as Wally follows her. Taking a seat a few rows down from her, he glances up with uncertainty.

“You’re staring.”

Clearing her throat, she bites her lower lip and his cheeks darken at the sight and consequent thoughts immediately.

“Are you sure you’re not projecting?”

“Nope! You were definitely staring first. I think I might be winning you over”, he smirks victoriously. “No one can resist this charm!”

Wally stretches out on the bleachers, hands behind his head, while Y/N pulls her knees up, arms wrapped around them.

“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re eighteen.”

Wally turns to her, one brow arching. “I was eighteen.”

“Still are.”

“Physically.” He props himself up on an elbow, looking at her like she’s the one being unreasonable. “Mentally, I’ve attended high school like… five times since I died. Do you know how many books I’ve read? How many new things I’ve learned? I’m practically a walking encyclopedia.”

Y/N gives him a flat look. “You just called yourself a walking encyclopedia. That’s not really helping your case.”

Wally groans, flopping back dramatically. “Okay, fine. But seriously, I’m older than you if we’re counting ghost years. Which means technically, I'm the creepy one.”

She swats at him, nearly falling as she fails to reach him, which only makes him grin.

“That is not how that works.”

“Oh, but it does.” He sits up, suddenly animated, pointing at her like he’s won an argument. “You’re the one crushing on an older man, Y/N.”

Pulling herself down to one row above him, she purses her lips. “I am not crushing on you.”

“Yet.”

She shoves him, laughing despite herself. But in the quiet that follows, she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she already is.

The wind hums, slowly picking up speed. Y/N traces patterns in the dirty bleachers with her fingers. "I never really thought about love," she admits.

Wally rests his arms on his knees. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I was always too busy. Making my parents proud, getting good grades, getting into a good school…College, residency, life. Then, well…" She gestures vaguely at their ghostly existence. “I’ve read so many romance books and watched an insane amount of romcoms, but I’ve never really experienced any of it. All the things I wanted, just…disappeared.”

Wally watches her carefully. "I never really thought about the future," he confesses. "I figured I’d always have more time. Turns out, I didn’t." Huffing, he frowns. “I never fell in love with anyone before, either. I got close once…I thought I’d have someone to share this with, but it didn’t work out.”

“This?” Was Xavier right? Did Wally lie to her?

“I mean life”, he blurts out. “I was pretty popular, had everything going for me. I mean, I like football and I was really good at it, but it’s not something I chose for myself. I played for my mom. She, uh, she really wanted me to go pro.”

Their eyes meet, something heavy passing between them. Y/N looks away first, cheeks turning a darker shade.

"Maybe we’ve got time now," Wally says softly.

She doesn’t answer. Wrapping her hand around his bicep, she leans her head on his shoulder.

Perhaps that says enough.

After a few days of teaching her to toss a football, Wally decided to give her a few ghostly lessons she could use in the spirit world…lessons he didn’t learn until a few years back.

The cafeteria is quiet in the early morning, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly as the lunch lady moves around the kitchen, setting out trays for the day. Outside, the hallways are still empty, but soon, the school will come alive with students; living ones.

Y/N leans against the doorframe, watching Wally carefully.

“Alright,” he says. “Basic ghost physics lesson: We can touch things, yeah, but what you’re grabbing isn’t really the item. It’s like…a duplicate. A placeholder. The real thing resets as soon as you take it.”

Y/N frowns. “So what’s the point?”

“The point,” he says, “is learning how to actually move something. Not just its copy. The trick is to focus. You have to latch onto the real thing, feel the weight, the texture, the way it connects to the world. And then, you gotta make it stay in your hands.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, it is,” he says with a smirk. “That’s why we’re gonna make it interesting.”

Her eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“First one to steal something without it resetting in the living world wins.”

Y/N snorts. “You’re on.”

They creep inside, the scent of fresh bread and coffee lingering in the air. The lunch lady hums to herself as she unpacks a crate of produce, oblivious to the two ghosts slipping past the counter.

Y/N eyes a bag of chips, reaching for it carefully. She reminds herself of what Wally said—feel the weight, the texture. Her fingers close around the bag, and for a moment, she swears she has it. But as soon as she pulls it away, a perfect replica flickers into her grip while the real bag remains untouched on the counter, as if she never moved it at all.

She curses under her breath.

Wally, a few feet away, is eyeing a bright red apple. He exhales slowly, his expression shifting into something serious, focused. His fingers tighten around the fruit, and for a long second, nothing happens. Then, ever so subtly, the apple shifts. The real one. He rolls the apple between his fingers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It isn’t. She knows that much.

Y/N watches as he lifts it smoothly off the counter. The spot where it sat stays empty.

No regeneration. No reset.

Her jaw drops. “No way.”

Wally grins, triumphantly spinning the apple once more before gripping it solidly. “Way.” He winks at her, tossing the apple up and catching it effortlessly.

Y/N huffs. “Alright, let me try again.”

She refocuses, staring down the bag of chips like it’s personally offended her. She presses her fingers against it, feeling the crinkle of the plastic, the weight of the contents inside. She focuses on making this one, the real one, stay in her grip.

For a second, it works.

The bag lifts, no reset in sight.

Her heart…well, not her heart, but something inside her buzzes in excitement.

Then, without warning, the real bag flickers back into place, and she’s left holding its copy.

“Damn it!” she whisper shouts.

Wally chuckles. “Not bad for a first try. Here, watch.”

He moves toward the stack of trays by the counter, placing a hand on the top one. This time, Y/N studies him closely. She sees the way his brow furrows, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s physically exerting himself.

The tray lifts.

Barely, just an inch, but it lifts.

Then, just as suddenly, it wavers, slipping right back into place. A second later, the tray duplicates into his hands, proving he lost his grip on the real thing.

He groans. “Ugh. See? Even I can’t do it every time.”

Y/N tilts her head. “And yet, you got the apple?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he jokes. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

She flicks his ear. “Cheater.”

“Ow,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot. “It’s called strategy.”

“You and your strategies.”

“Hey, you’ll get there,” he says, tossing the apple once before taking a victorious bite. “But until then… I win.”

Y/N glares playfully but secretly, she’s itching to try again. And she will. Because if Wally can do it, then so can she.

“Okay, so…What do you want as your reward?”

Raising his eyebrows, Wally wets his lips. For a moment, his gaze flickers lower, to her supple, parted lips but he quickly averts his eyes to the bags of chips in her hands. “I’ll settle for some chips if you’re willing to share?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she studies his nervous smile. “Sure. If that’s what you really want?”

Clearing his throat, he nods. “Y-yeah! I love chips!”

Once they devoured the chips, the crowded halls sent them into hiding. Being around the students wasn't enjoyable, for either of them. They waited for the sunset, agreeing to relax on the bleachers again.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Wally and Y/N head outside. As they pass by the library’s grand, dust-coated windows, a strange sensation prickles at the back of her neck. Like being watched. Her gaze flickers to the glass, and there he is.

Xavier.

His electric blue eyes are locked onto her, sharp and unreadable, framed by the dim glow of the emergency exit light. The sight of him standing so still, almost blending into the shadows, sends a cold shiver rippling down her spine. Her breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping before she can stop it.

Beside her, Wally tenses. “Are you okay?” Wally furrows his brows, pulling away ever so slightly. His voice is softer now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry I jus –“

“It’s not that”, she cuts him off quickly, shaking her head. Wally hesitates, watching her closely, but the moment she realizes he’s about to pull away entirely, she forces herself to speak.  “I didn’t mind your arm around me”, she clarifies. If anything his touch is warm, grounding. She doesn’t mind it…it feels nice, comforting.

His eyes brighten, relief chasing away the panic. “Yeah?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, tentative, as if he worries showing too much happiness would scare her away.

“What was it then?” he asks, and she can feel his eyes on her, searching for an answer beyond what she’s willing to give.

Shrugging, she averts her gaze. “I’m just a little cold, I guess.”

Lie.

Wally might not know everything about her yet, but he knows her. And he knows when she’s holding something back.

Taking off his jacket, he drapes it over her. “Here you go”, he murmurs.

Her breath hitches as he cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid she might pull away. She doesn’t. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

She leans into his touch without thinking, the warmth of his palm spreading through her like the first rays of morning sunlight. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the eerie gaze lingering behind glass, easy to forget the weight of all the things she doesn’t say.

Her lips curl into a small smile. “You worry too much,” she tells him and he’s not entirely sure if he should just drop this or not, but if she’s not willing to talk to him about it, there’s not much he can do.

“When you’re involved, I’d rather worry too much than not worry enough,” Wally admits.

The sincerity in his voice makes her chest tighten. Here he is, the sweetest man she’s ever met and she’s doubting him. She could just ask him about it, but what if he lies to her face? She’d never be able to relax around him again. She’d lose him and she can’t lose him…he’s all she has.

“Thank you. For caring…and for the jacket.”

“You wear it better than I do.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I doubt that,” he says, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. She scoffs, making him laugh. Whenever he flirts, Y/N scoffs in response yet she never leaves his side. Scoffing might be her love language and if his theory is true, Wally will gladly spend the rest of eternity listening to her scoff at his cheesy pick-up lines.

Relishing in the light pink tint upon her cheeks, Wally offers her his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Squinting at his question, she inhales sharply. “Dance…to what?”

“We don’t need music to dance,” he smirks. “Live a little.”

“I’m literally dead,” she reminds him. “As are you.”

“And yet we’re here.”

She hesitates, then places her hand in his. He pulls her close, guiding her in slow circles. Their bodies brush, lingering a little too long.

"You’re not bad at this," she murmurs.

He smirks. "Don’t sound so surprised."

She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn’t in it. Not when his thumb traces small circles on the back of her hand.

“You always roll your eyes at me,” he states. “Why is that?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Brutally,” he replies instantly.

Drawing in a deep breath, she can’t help the smile spreading across her lips. “You make me nervous.”

“Oh.”

“In a good way”, she admits. “In a way I’m not sure I’m ready to accept yet.”

Grinning, Wally nods. “Okay. I can work with that.”

Rolling her eyes – another part of her love language. Wally won’t forget that anytime soon.

Erasing the distance between their bodies, she leans her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply – committing his scent to memory. He smells like laundry detergent and freshly mowed grass…clean and fresh.

Pressing a soft kiss on top of her head, Wally couldn’t suppress his smile even if he tried. He’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s truly happy. Humming a soft tune, he continues swaying their bodies in this slow dance, cherishing every moment they spend close for you never know when everything might change.

He learned that lesson the hard way.

[cherienymphe]

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON/DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, attempted murder + suicide, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, underage drinking, jealousy, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ cont.

summary: Being one half of the royal couple of Figure 8 isn't what it's cracked up to be.

~

The first time Rafe hit you, it was on your birthday.

Like every year, your parents threw you a big party that hosted no less than a hundred people. A good number of those people were friends from school and familiar faces you’d grown up with. The other bunch were family friends that had more in common with your parents than you. You took their pretty cards filled with money and thanked them with a smile, relieved when they scampered off to congregate with the other forty somethings.

It was the same party every year. Half the people of Figure 8 in attendance, an abundance of gifts you could barely keep up with, and a light scold or two from your mother to smile and greet the next person who came in. Your hair was flawless and your dress was the perfect length.

The only difference this year was the presence of a boyfriend at your side.

“Rafe, if my dad sees us, I will never hear the end of it.”

Your tone was light and teasing, and you said it with a smile, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It really didn’t matter how older you grew to be, you were sure you’d always be your daddy’s little girl. The older man already hadn’t been the most excited when you told him you were dating Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son, and you were positive that the Cameron family’s reputation was Rafe’s only saving grace.

You’d just turned eighteen then after all and was already flaunting your new adult status.

The blue-eyed boy in front of you merely chuckled, tightening his arms around your waist and leaning in to kiss you again. The house and the yard were filled with almost too many people, so you hadn’t hesitated when Rafe discreetly guided you upstairs.

“He’s too busy talking about his new boat, isn’t he?” he wondered. “He’ll talk all night if they let him.”

You lightly tapped his chest, but you didn’t voice any disagreement.

Your back was leaning against your bedroom door, the muffled sounds of some classical music reaching your ears through the wall. Rafe’s hands were tight on your waist, and you both felt and heard him chuckle again, his lips still pressed against yours. Only this time, he kept laughing—softly and to himself—and you gave him a slight frown when he pulled away.

“I was just thinking…” Rafe pulled you close again. “How hilarious it would be if he was going on and on about that damn boat…none the wiser to his daughter getting fucked on her birthday right upstairs.”

This time you hit him a little harder, and Rafe only laughed again.

“You’re not funny,” you scolded, deflating a little as you pulled away from him. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You said it quietly as you sat down on the edge of your bed, but Rafe heard it clearly, and when you looked up at him, you recognized the look on his face instantly.

“Funny,” he started, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door. “Mentioning sex usually has the opposite effect on most people.”

You rolled your eyes with a turn of your head, looking towards your window. The atmosphere was different, now, and you didn’t know if it was your fault or Rafe’s. He joked like that sometimes, and you knew it, so you could recognize that maybe you were being too sensitive.

The topic at hand, however, was a sensitive one for you.

“I really don’t want to have this fight, right now,” you mumbled.

You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t return it, determined to just stare down at the people in your yard. The air was thick, the tension even thicker, and you reached up to rub your arms, trying to rid them of the goosebumps that had appeared. Rafe hated being ignored, and you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to continue the conversation because you knew what was brewing.

Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He was pretty—the kind of pretty that even some girls would be jealous of. He came from the kind of family that taught him about manners and respect. He never hesitated to do what he could to make your life easier despite growing up wanting for nothing. You didn’t think it was possible for an already spoiled girl to be spoiled some more until you started dating Rafe and he proved you wrong. He treated you like a princess, so yes. Rafe was the perfect boyfriend.

Mostly.

“I’ve been really understanding, you know…”

Rafe’s voice was low, and your gaze dropped to your lap.

“…but we’ve been dating for what? Eight months?”

You swallowed, eyes burning.

“Do you know how hard Topper and Kelce would laugh at me if they knew my girlfriend of almost a year refuses to have sex with me?”

You scoffed, finally looking at him, brows pulled together.

“You make it sound like I’m punishing you,” you breathed. “Rafe, this has nothing to do with you, I… I’m just not ready.”

“…and still no ETA on when you will be, huh?”

You blinked at him, lips parting at his callous tone and words. You looked away, blinking back tears because you would hate it if you cried on your birthday of all days.

“You’re being an asshole.”

You whispered it, and you heard Rafe huff.

“I’m not trying to be,” he told you, and you heard him move closer. “…but come on. I get it…”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you, and you felt his hand on your face, fingers grazing your cheek.

“You’re nervous, and it seems scary, but you’re treating me like I’m some stranger on the street, and not…your boyfriend. You know I’ll take care of you. I always take care of you, and that’s why I don’t understand it,” he bit out. “I treat you like gold, and here I am, eight months in and wondering if you even feel the same way.”

You whipped your head around to stare at him in disbelief, looking between his eyes. You didn’t know how he could be serious, but as you gazed at him, you realized that Rafe was very serious. You took a moment to scoot away from him just a tad.

“I show you everyday how much you mean to me, Rafe…but because I won’t have sex with you that means I don’t love you? So just forget all the other stuff, I guess,” you sneered.

Rafe reached for you when you started to turn away, shaking your head and lightly pushing at his hands. Today was your birthday, and you were fighting with your boyfriend…because sex was something you just weren’t ready for. You snatched your arm out of his hold, standing on unsteady legs.

“When you first brought this up, I told you then that I wasn’t ready, and you made it clear you were okay with waiting. Was that a lie?” you asked him, meeting his gaze.

Rafe ran his hand down his face, huffing to himself.

“No, but I just didn’t think I’d still be waiting almost half a year later.”

He was standing, now too.

“So, why are you? No one’s forcing you to stay here, Rafe,” you sadly told him with a shrug. “You don’t have to be with me if sex is that damn important to you. There are plenty of other girls out there who will happily give you what I don’t want to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“…and I know because I see the looks they give you…and the looks they give me.”

You were used to envy. You’d been on the receiving end of it all your life. Growing up on this side of the island guaranteed that from birth, but you also knew it was because your standing was only rivaled by Sarah Cameron. If Rafe’s sister were anyone else, you might have found yourself involved in some one-sided rivalry, but Sarah was a lot like you.

Just a girl born into fortunate circumstances.

However, what you weren’t used to was envy because of the man you loved. When it came to your house and your lifestyle and everything else, it never bothered you because no one could take those things from you. Rafe, on the other hand… You knew what he was like and what he was used to. It was why you’d been very honest about your sexual history and lack thereof from almost the beginning. If Rafe was going to leave you for someone else all because you wouldn’t have sex with him, you would have rather he do it early.

Not now…not eight months in because now you loved him, and the thought made you want to cry, and it would take just as many months to get over him.

“If I wanted any of those other spoiled bitches then I wouldn’t be here,” Rafe told you. “Besides, you think I’m just going to walk away with nothing after investing so much time and money and energy into you?”

You reared back at that, eyes widening just a tad, and Rafe seemed to realize how that came out. He sighed, reaching for you just as you stepped away from him. You heard him curse when you left the room, ignoring the sound of him calling your name as you hurried to mix yourself in with all of your guests downstairs.

Rafe talked about you like some business investment he was waiting to get a return on. It hurt, a lot, and while you wanted to believe he hadn’t meant it like that in his head, you couldn’t help but to wonder if that was really how he saw you. Your mother smiled at you when she saw your face, none the wiser to your temporary absence. Your own smile was forced as she introduced you to their new golfing buddies.

You didn’t know when Rafe came back downstairs, only quickly glancing away when your eyes connected with his after some time. If your parents noticed your distance from him, they didn’t comment on it, and after a while, you barely noticed it yourself. You immersed yourself in your friends, halfway listening to boyfriend troubles and semester woes.

This was the only thing you and Rafe ever fought about. Plenty of your friends had boyfriends before who tried to pressure them into doing things they didn’t want to do. You were always the friend to tell them to dump them without hesitation, so why hadn’t you done the same? Was it because Rafe was so perfect in all other aspects of your relationship? The back and forth hadn’t ever been so serious before…not until tonight.

As you sipped on the drink you weren’t supposed to be having, you remembered the hurt you felt when Rafe implied you didn’t love him. What a crazy thing to say. You treated him just as well as he treated you, never mind the fact that you told him every day how much you loved him…but because you wouldn’t fuck him that meant otherwise?

It was enough to make you angry.

“Finally stopped hiding from me…?”

You tensed up for half a second, relaxing with a sigh as you heard him come closer. You were out by the water, now, sitting on the boat dock with one leg swinging. It had been nothing but just you and your thoughts for a good thirty minutes, and you guessed it took that amount of time for Rafe to realize you were no longer in the house.

“I don’t know yet,” you honestly told him.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t,” Rafe quietly said, getting straight to the point.

“…but I don’t know. You don’t even think I love you just because I won’t have sex with you. For all I know, that’s exactly how you see me,” you mumbled.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Says the guy ruining my birthday!”

You were looking up at him, now, tearfully, and you shook your head. Saying it aloud made you realize just how shitty it was, and you sniffed, pulling yourself to your feet.

“Just go home, Rafe…”

He stopped you from walking by him, and you ignored anything he was trying to say. The more he leaned in, that was when you smelled it, and your frown deepened at the stench of alcohol on his breath. You didn’t know why the smell made you so angry. It was a party, after all, but maybe it was the fact that if anyone of the two of you deserved to drown their sorrows in booze, it was you. Not Rafe. Pushing at his chest, you scoffed.

“One argument…and you’re already getting drunk?”

You jerked your face away from his hand, glowering at him.

“Don’t you want to at least wait for Ward to give you the daily disappointment speech?”

The slap wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was hard enough to make your face burn.

You were staring at the water from when your head had whipped to the side, and when a nightly breeze blew by, kissing your skin, only then did the dull burning sensation fade away into a painful one. Your lips were parted in shock, and you were slow to reach up and touch your cheek. The silence was loud, and when you finally looked at Rafe, he looked as shocked as you felt.

All of your breath had left you, and your brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to reconcile your boyfriend with the same guy who’d just slapped you. It didn’t seem real, and yet the dull pain you felt said otherwise. A few tears escaped against your will, and it was only then did Rafe move. His face fell, but you were already backing away.

“Y/N-.”

“Don’t touch me,” you tearfully spat. “What is wrong with you?”

He didn’t listen, grabbing your arms anyway, and you were still in too much shock to really fight back. Rafe cooed at you, trying to take your face into his hands no matter how much you protested. You wanted him far away from you, and your brain was unsure of how to achieve that, still grappling with the memory of his palm connecting with your cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Baby, stop.”

You shoved at his chest, hitting it, but he wasn’t deterred. He only rested his free hand on the back of your head, holding you against him, and the feel had more tears spilling over. You kept trying to get away, but Rafe refused to let you, repeatedly apologizing and shushing you. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against your scalp, his lips there too as he kept telling you he was sorry.

Your chest was so tight, and it ached just as much as your face. Your mind was still fighting to make sense of what had happened tonight, and despite Rafe’s apologies for his entire behavior, you told yourself that this was the last straw. Rafe had ruined your birthday in more ways than one, and you were done. You had to be.

…because you deserved better.

The first time you had sex with Rafe—with anyone ever—you’d been terrified.

…and drunk.

An entire month after your birthday, and you didn’t know if you were more shocked or angry that you stayed with Rafe. You had been so determined to leave him that night. He had ruined your birthday beyond repair, and you knew that anytime you looked back on the night you turned nineteen, you’d only remember Rafe slapping you on the dock.

…but you’d also remember his profuse apologies, and the tears in his eyes as he begged you to forgive him.

He was drunk. That was what he kept saying, that he was drunk and acted before thinking. It was barely a reason and certainly wasn’t an excuse, so why did you stay? It was stupid to stay…and yet you did. You let Rafe kiss your face and lead you back to the party that had long died and smile in the face of the parents whose daughter he’d just hit.

You’d answered the phone as he called you, taking almost half an hour to just tell you again how sorry he was and how he didn’t know what came over him and how it would never happen again. You’d never known Rafe to be so apologetic in all the time you’d been dating him. It would’ve been sweet if it weren’t for the circumstances, and the whole time, you’d only been able to listen in silence with your fingers grazing your face.

You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for days, going over it in your head again and again. Torn between listening to your gut and telling yourself that it had just been a one-off thing, a bad drunken night. After all, what you’d said to him hadn’t been the nicest, knowing how he felt in regard to Ward and his relationship with him. It didn’t make it right…but you had provoked Rafe. You’d said it to hurt him…to make him angry… Right?

…but that wasn’t the case a month later.

Things between you and Rafe hadn’t been the same since. He still doted on you, and your parents still adored him, and you were reluctant to admit you still loved him, but you could never get that night out of your mind. You could never forget how swift it had been, how no thought to you had been spared. Rafe had only been focused on retaliating, hurting you, and it was something you often struggled with. You believed it wouldn’t happen again…but what if it did?

Without even realizing it, you became less argumentative with the blond. You gave him less pushback, you smiled more and became more agreeable to his suggestions. You spent more time with him, making him happy. You believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again, but in the back of your mind, something in you was doing everything you could think of to make sure it didn’t.

…and that was why you still didn’t quite understand how the fight had started.

Something about Topper…or Kelce.

You were so drunk, it was hard to remember.

“I saw you!”

You had blinked at Rafe from your place on the couch, staring up at him in wonder and confusion. Another Friday meant another party, and promising your mother you’d be back by a certain time, you’d allowed Rafe to help you into his truck. Nothing about the night had been out of the ordinary, and it was why you found yourself wracking your brain.

“Rafe, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you softly told him, trying to understand why he was so mad.

The only son of Ward Cameron knocked the glass of water right out of your hand, and you flinched at the action, blinking at the sight of shattered glass on the floor. You’d gotten it to try and help you sober up before you went home, and you stared at the spilled water with parted lips. You were too drunk to fully grasp the severity of the situation you were now in.

Suddenly Rafe was there, too close, leaning down over you with his hands resting on the back of the couch. You leaned back and away from him, eyes wide as he looked at you like you were something he’d find on the bottom of his shoe. Like he was so disgusted with the sight of you, and again, you wracked your brain to understand what you’d done. To understand how to fix this.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been cold, icy, and you hadn’t missed the tick of his jaw. The alcohol in your system hindered your thinking, and that had seemed to make Rafe angrier, like he was furious you couldn’t put it together. Read his mind. Overwhelmed, you hadn’t been able to stop a few tears of frustration from escaping, and that just seemed to really send him over the edge.

“You were in his lap,” he had bit out, and only then did you finally understand.

Your odd relationship with your boyfriend these days had driven you to drink more than you ever had. You’d been sloppy…clumsy, and Topper was nice enough to help you back to your feet after you’d quite literally fallen right onto his lap. You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but one look into Rafe’s eyes had you swallowing it down.

He was very serious…and very angry.

You reached for him, but Rafe only slapped your hands away, straightening and looking down his nose at you. It was a look that made you feel so…cold, and with one blink, you remembered that you were alone. Sarah was God knows where, and the remaining Camerons had gone out to eat. The house was usually empty during this time, but it wasn’t this Friday night.

It consisted of you…and your angry boyfriend.

“I should…I should go. Call my mom,” you mumbled, pushing yourself to your feet.

Your attempts to get by Rafe went unsuccessful, and with each block to your path, something deep within your gut just…dropped. Your gaze met a familiar blue one, and nothing about it was warm, welcoming. Rafe seemed to be so mad at you about something so silly, but instead of just talking about it later when you were both much clearer headed…he didn’t want to let you leave.

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he’d mocked, a mean look on his face. “Call mommy and daddy to come get you?”

Sarah.

You reminded of him of Sarah.

That was what he’d said, what he’d thrown at you. His tense relationship with the other girl was no secret to anyone, least of all you, and you winced at every insult he threw at you. Spoiled brat. Perfect princess. Uptight prude. It shocked you for a lot of reasons, but mostly because Rafe wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t sober, but you’d hardly seen him drink all night and not nearly as much as you, and he was insulting you with confidence, throwing all of these things at you that you never knew he felt.

“I’m just going to go home, okay? You’re being an asshole, and I don’t know why, so I just…”

At some point, your back was grazing the wall, and Rafe was hovering before you, a look in his eye like leaving was the very last thing he wanted you to do. Every move of yours was mirrored, every turn met with one of his own, and for the first time ever…you were afraid of your boyfriend.

When Rafe hit you that night, you hadn’t been scared. Not really. You’d been angry…shocked…disbelieving. Not scared though. You’d just wanted to be away from him, you had even wanted to hit him back, but not once did you remember feeling scared for your life. Not like this night, and you couldn’t keep it together.

“Rafe, please, I just…I just wanna go home,” you choked out, touching your temple. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You were so confused as to how you got here. The night had taken such an unexpected turn, and more than anything, you wanted to sleep it off and write the whole thing off as a bad dream. You wanted to get some more water and take a shower and skip to the part where you had a pounding headache in the morning. You didn’t understand how a night of partying had turned into an argument with your boyfriend.

Although, you supposed it wasn’t much of an argument. Mostly Rafe yelling at you and you trying to understand why. Rafe was determined to make this into something it wasn’t, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to let you leave without dead-ing this whole thing, you frowned at him.

“I fell. You know I fell, you know…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe rolled his eyes, and something in you was telling you that Rafe was going to believe what he wanted to believe. He was determined to make something true, and it startled you to realize that you’d lost this argument before it even began. Slipping from in between Rafe and the wall was a mistake.

A mistake that had consequences.

Your purse was halfway across the room before you could even grab it good, Rafe suddenly in your face again. He was yelling about a whole bunch of nothing, and when you turned from him again, Rafe made sure it was the last time, gripping your upper arm so hard that you actually cried out. His other hand followed suit, and he shook you, hard enough to make your head whip back and forth.

The only time he listened to you was when you asked him to let you go.

…and he did just that…shoving you in the process.

The kitchen counter slowed your fall only a bit, but it added to the pain more than anything else. Trying to get up proved fruitless, because Rafe was there, kneeling before you with one hand on the counter. The other was on your face, forcing you to look at him. You were too drunk to make full sense of everything he was saying, to grasp the danger you were in. When you finally did, it was too late.

…because Rafe was already ripping the dress he bought you a week ago.

You thought it was a joke at first—some awful and insensitive scare tactic—until you were reaching up to pull at the hand around your throat. Your other hand slapped at the cabinets below in panic, and with a knee between your legs, it was impossible to close them. You knew that you were alone, but that fact didn’t stop you from crying out.

“You really expect me to just watch you throw yourself at my friends? Huh?”

The kitchen floor was cool against your back.

“…and laugh about it?”

He was fumbling between you both, and the room was spinning too much for you to understand why. You felt nauseous, and Rafe was hurting you, and you were cold. Not to mention that your head had started to hurt, but you also realized that everything was hurting.

“But you won’t even touch me.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut…only lower.

The pain of Rafe’s intrusion had you wailing, and the difference in your reactions couldn’t have been starker. It was hard to decipher, but you were sure that Rafe had moaned, a low drawn-out sigh as he sheathed himself inside of you. You could feel Rafe’s chest heaving against yours, could feel his heartbeat, could even hear his shaky breath.

You, on the other hand…

You couldn’t move. You felt frozen, restricted by something unseen, and when you tried to fight against it, you gasped. One shift had you wincing, and tears spilled over almost immediately. Your hands were pressing against his chest, now, desperately trying to push Rafe away, pushing off of you… out of you. It was no good, Rafe in a whole other world you weren’t privy too as he pulled back.

The feel had you wincing again, and you thought…

Well, you thought wrong.

Your relief was short-lived, and Rafe ignored everything you said as he started to thrust inside of you. His hips barely left yours, only enough to create friction, and you pushed your forearm against his neck, fighting to get him to stop. The pain wasn’t something you could wrap your head around, and you didn’t know if you were grateful or not that you were so drunk.

Every snap of Rafe’s hips made you cry harder, harsh sobs escaping and echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. The sound of your bawling was only rivaled by the groans that escaped Rafe, your boyfriend pointedly ignoring your plight. One of his hands pushed against your face, forcing your head to the side…as if he didn’t want to see your face.

See the reality of what he was doing to you.

You thought at some point that the pain would go away, subside, but it felt like it only got worse with each thrust of his cock. Rafe was a man on a mission with only one objective in mind, and you were having the hardest time sorting your thoughts, realizing that in this moment you were a means to an end. An objective to be met through the use of your body.

…but you supposed it was more than just that.

Rafe was always entitled, a trait you found somewhat endearing much like towards an entitled child, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d feel entitled to you too. Before the night of your birthday, you knew the one thorn in your relationship, the one thing to actually put a crack in your relationship. Deep down somewhere, you expected Rafe to just leave you. After all, why wouldn’t you?

There was no universe in which you’d ever consider the possibility of the alternative.

The possibility that your boyfriend would just take what he wanted.

It didn’t last long—or maybe that was the alcohol in your system sparing you—but you couldn’t even be relieved. Even after Rafe pulled out, spent and satisfied and out of breath, the pain still remained. He was talking, and you didn’t know if he was talking to himself or you, but you paid it no mind. You could still feel him deep in your gut, and you rolled onto your side, curling into yourself.

You didn’t hear him the first time, but the second time Rafe told you to get up, he was forcing you to your feet. It hurt, and you could barely walk, and your confusion only grew. His hold was tight, and his tone sounded off, and you discovered why when headlights from the yard bled through the windows and into your line of sight.

He was rushing you to get upstairs, but you kept stumbling from both the pain and your blurry vision. Rafe didn’t let you go until you were just inside of his room, and as you collapsed to the floor, you could hear the door opening downstairs. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and you hadn’t even realized Rafe had left—to give some half-baked excuse for the broken glass, no doubt—until he returned, suddenly kneeling at your side and begging you to stop crying.

You tried to push him away, but your movements were sluggish, weak, and you weren’t able to hold your own as he pulled you to your feet. Rafe stumbled into the bathroom with you, an arm around you and holding you up as he started the shower. You didn’t want him touching you, but you were physically unable to stop him. Every step hurt and made you stumble, every wave of your arm made you sway, and when the warm water ran over you both, there was nothing you could do as he washed away every remnant of his assault.

You were at Rafe’s side on his birthday, a small smile on your lips as he kept an arm around your waist. Rose thanked you for coming, not that she would expect anything different, and Wheezie asked if you would be staying over. The youngest Cameron had taken a liking to you—all of them did really—and she looked forward to having you around. You wanted to tell her no, but that wasn’t what you said. Instead, you said:

“Its’ Rafe’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I?”

The dark-haired girl beamed, adjusting her glasses, and her satisfaction was contagious. You knew that Rafe’s dynamic with his family was tricky at the best of times, and while you were sure they loved you just fine, something in you also wondered if they liked who Rafe was when he was around you. They were happy to host you for as long as they could.

They had no idea that it was only 24 hours earlier when Rafe tried to kill you.

Trying to leave Rafe resulted in the last thing you ever expected.

That night—and all the other nights that followed—haunted you. When you closed your eyes, you could only see Rafe at his lowest, holding you down and hurting you. You could only feel the pain of him forcing himself inside of you, and the pain that lingered when he was no longer there. The memory of bloody water swirling down the drain was a constant in your mind. As well as the memory of Rafe putting you in his bed, pulling his shirt down to your knees.

You should have left the night of your birthday, you should’ve gotten out then, and none of it would have ever happened, but you told yourself that late was better than never. You told yourself that you learned your lesson and you didn’t have to experience any more hurt to leave. Your eyes were open, and while you didn’t know if you’d ever go against Rafe legally for what he did, you did know that you were leaving him. You had to focus on each step at once. Trying to think so far ahead was enough to scare you.

Right now, you just needed to leave him.

His entire visage had been eerily calm as you broke up with him, voice shaking as you did. Even he hadn’t been able to deny how your relationship had deteriorated, become something unrecognizable and unhealthy. The morning after, you felt like you were existing outside of your body. You could see Rafe leaving apologetic kisses along your face as you stirred, but you couldn’t really feel it. You couldn’t feel his hands either, not until they found a home between your legs, at least.

Your protest was almost immediate, but Rafe had assured you it was fine…and you were scared.

So, you believed him.

Experiencing pain and pleasure at the same time was foreign to you. Rafe’s previous assault was not something to be ignored, but it felt odd to come around him and hiss from the pain of it at the same time. He was gentle, pressing his lips to yours and grazing his fingertips against your skin. His thrusts had been slow and careful, but the damage had been done, and every push of his hips brought out conflicting reactions.

That was how it always went.

Even after the pain and bruises were long gone, you couldn’t stop being afraid of Rafe. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t respect any kind of refusal from you. What kind of relationship was that? How could you thrive in that? Rafe may have been your first everything, but you weren’t naïve. He was an abusive asshole…and you were just too scared to do something about it.

Until last night.

You thought it would be easy. You even remembered internally laughing at yourself for how dramatic you’d made it in your mind. You thought… You thought that Rafe would move on, let you go. After all, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, and you had even exhaled when he nodded, a soft ‘okay’ soon to follow.

“Let me drive you home,” he’d said.

“Okay,” you’d replied.

You didn’t know why you thought it would be that easy.

Things with Rafe hadn’t been easy in months, and your attempted breakup was no different.

You realized that when the needle on the speedometer started to rapidly climb, the sound of Rafe’s revving engine loud in the truck. You asked him what was going on, where he was going, even though deep down you knew. You knew Rafe better than anyone probably, so you knew the answers to your questions before you even asked them.

“Rafe, stop,” you’d begged, reaching for his arm, but the blond simply fixed you with a wry smile.

“Why?” he’d wondered with a shrug. “So, you can leave me? Why would I want that?”

The houses and trees were flying past you outside the window, and you never felt more powerless than in the moment you were trapped in Rafe’s truck, unable to do a thing as he raced down the road towards the end he’d already picked out for the both of you. Any attempt to grab the wheel only resulted in Rafe jerking it—jerking the vehicle in the process—and scaring the shit out of you.

Retracting everything you’d said earlier only resulted in a harsh slap to the steering wheel, a dry laugh from Rafe soon to follow.

“You think I believe that load of shit? Huh?”

“Rafe-!”

“You just tried to break up with me not even thirty minutes ago,” he screamed.

He wasn’t wrong, and you still wanted to, but you were more afraid of dying than living a lie. You pleaded with your boyfriend, assuring him that you didn’t mean it. He only laughed again, and you got the feeling that Rafe was genuinely amused by you. By your tears, by your fear, and by your desperation.

Your heart was racing so fast it could be classified as painful. Your hands were sweating and constantly sliding against the door from where you tried to hold on to it. You pulled at his arm when he swerved into the other lane, swerving back just in time to miss an oncoming truck. Your stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in your throat, and at this point you couldn’t even see the road because of your tears.

“Rafe, please, please just talk to me,” you cried.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, blue eyes focused on the road with not a glance spared towards you, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. You looked out of the window again, unable to make out a thing, and when you reached for Rafe this time, he didn’t slap your hand away. He didn’t protest when you wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into him and resting your hand against his chest.

You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, and you didn’t know if you stopped fighting as some unconscious tactic or simply because you were accepting what was impossible to escape. Rafe had to have been going a hundred miles an hour, this kind of speed something your brain could barely fathom. It was after some time when you felt his hand on your head and some time after that when you gradually felt the truck slowing.

You were still shaking long after it came to a stop in some wooded area, and the silence in the vehicle was loud. Rafe was just playing with your hair while you trembled against him, and when he stopped, it was only to trail his hand to your neck, gripping the back of it harshly as he forced you to sit up. You knew you looked as distraught as you felt, but Rafe…

Rafe looked calm and in control and nothing less.

His blue eyes ran over your face, drinking in your trembling lips and wet cheeks, lingering on your wide eyes the longest. You felt him rub his thumb along your skin, and when he hummed, it harshly pressed against the side of your neck. Suddenly, the corner of his pink lips curved just the slightest, and nothing about it was soothing.

“I wasn’t serious… You know that, right?”

You didn’t respond because he wasn’t kidding, and you both knew it. Rafe shifted, moving closer, and he brought his other hand up to touch your cheek, wiping your tears away. He studied your eyes, leaning in and grazing your lips.

“It was just…something I didn’t mean. You understand though. Doing things…saying things we don’t mean,” he slowly said to you, swiping his tongue between his lips. “Right…?”

The drop in his voice and the slight raise of his brows had you swallowing, and he was looking at you like he dared you to disagree. Fighting the urge to throw up, and with a shaky nod, you told Rafe what he wanted to hear.

“Right,” you whispered, and he chuckled.

“Alright,” he breathed with a blinding smile, pulling you into his side. “Kelce is throwing together some small thing at his house. I told him we might stop by…”

He trailed off, leaving room for a comment, and you only shrugged.

“That’s fine with me.”

Your voice was barely audible, but Rafe heard you fine, starting the truck and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I knew it would be.”

You’d been quiet the whole night, and you’d been quiet all day, only existing as silent support to Rafe on his birthday. If anyone noticed your reserved demeanor, no one commented on it. No one knew that as you wished Rafe a happy birthday, you were afraid of what could happen if you didn’t smile hard enough. When he kissed you, you could only think of how he’d kissed you after threatening to kill you both. Every time Rafe held your hand, it felt like a chain tethering you to him.

You dreaded the moment the party would thin out and everyone would start trickling from the home in pairs, heading back to the comfort of their own homes until just Rafe and his family remained. Eventually they would call it a night too, and you and Rafe would be alone, and you wouldn’t have a choice but to kiss him back when he eventually kissed you.

…and kiss you he did.

“You almost ruined my birthday, you know,” he mumbled into the kiss, making you pause for half a second.

Your only response was a quiet apology, and Rafe sighed into your mouth.

“That’s okay, baby,” the blond purred. “You know I’ll let you make it up to me.”

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and that was why you let him undress you. You let him wrap his arms around you and hold you close and press kisses to your skin. It was surreal to have sexy with someone you were afraid of, like you were being held hostage in your own body. If Rafe noticed—and you were sure that he did—he didn’t care.

He was content to lay you down and bury his face into the crook of your neck. In fact, you were sure Rafe liked your fear, liked that you were so scared of him. You thought it made it all the more fun for him to push his cock into you and feel you tremble in fear. You just knew there was something in Rafe that took great pleasure in making you momentarily sacrifice your fear of him for ecstasy instead.

He forced your head back, and your chest arched upwards into him. You gasped at the feel of his tongue on your skin, gliding over a hardened bud and tasting you. His hips came down slowly, like he was savoring the feel of you clinging to his cock. He sighed with every thrust, and you were never able to swallow down your own moans once Rafe started stroking that fire building within you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, nipping at your lip as he plunged his cock into you.

One of your legs were thrown over his shoulder, and the stretch burned in a way that wasn’t painful but wasn’t the best either. One of your hands was wrapping around his arm, trying to ground yourself as the other twisted into his sheets. You couldn’t stop gasping, clenching down on him every time Rafe hit that spot in you that made you lose your breath.

When he pushed your leg back more, you yelped in pain, but Rafe only hummed. His thrusts became rougher, and he only hummed again when you hissed. Your hand rested on his chest, pushing against him slightly—a nonverbal communication—but Rafe ignored it.

“Rafe…”

His hips were slapping against yours, and you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Your other hand came up too, and he slapped it away, that same hand wrapped around your throat only moments later. You let out a choked cry, reaching up, but Rafe didn’t stop, continuing to fuck you and choke you.

“Look at me-look at me,” he quietly spat.

Too afraid not to, you did, your distressed gaze meeting his even one in the low lighting. He was so close, nose almost brushing against yours, and he looked between your eyes. His hand tightened around your neck, making your heart skip a beat, and his free hand covered your breast, squeezing it, and your free leg kicked at the sheets.

“I will kill you.”

Your nails pressed into the skin on his arm.

“Do you understand me? You try to leave me again…and I will kill you.”

Your heart was threatening to burst from your chest, and the ceiling behind Rafe’s face was starting to blur. The edges of your vision were growing faint, darkness creeping along the outer rim.

“I will dump your body on the side of the road, and I will get away with it.”

His words and cadence were slow, purposeful, and you knew that Rafe was entirely serious. Tears had long spilled over, and you couldn’t stop crying. Rafe shook you, your neck straining from the action, and the whole time he kept fucking you. His lower movements didn’t stop once, sliding into you over and over and stroking your walls all the while he threatened you.

He roughly let you go, and you coughed, touching your throat and shaking uncontrollably. When Rafe shifted, your leg falling to the bed, you pressed your hands to your face, sobbing into the palms of them. Rafe caged you in, thighs meeting yours with every thrust, and he didn’t seem to care at all at the sight of your distress. In fact, he kissed the back of your hands, humming with every stroke, and you could only think that if you had broken up with him on your birthday then he wouldn’t be threatening your life on his.

Ward Cameron may have felt a lot of things about Rafe, but he wasn’t going to let his only son go to jail.

You should have known that when you called the police, throat tight and phone call tearful as they asked what your emergency was. Telling the woman on the other side of the phone that you were hiding from Rafe Cameron inside of the bathroom wasn’t easy. Telling her that he had a gun was even harder, and something in you wondered if they would’ve been as urgent if they hadn’t heard his booming voice from the other side of the door as he threatened you.

You were sitting on the steps when a familiar car pulled into the driveway behind the cruiser, and you felt your face crumble. There was some relief as the older man went back and forth with Shoupe, but it dwindled the longer it went on. When Ward turned his head towards you, you dropped your gaze, eyes tracing the blood on your foot from where a few shards of glass had nicked it. You didn’t dare look up, not even when you heard his footsteps approaching despite the loud protests from the Sheriff.

When Ward said your name, it was cautious—gentle—and you shook your head.

“No.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue again, and you interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“No, no, no! No,” you cried.

You knew what he was going to say, where this was going, and you refused. You were tired, so tired, and each time you’d tried to do the right thing after your disastrous birthday, you got screwed over. Each time, Rafe was one step ahead or using that charming smile and devious words to convince you it would never happen again. Every slap, every shove, every hand around your throat was proof of all the lies that left his lips.

You were sure that the only truth Rafe had ever told was when he said he’d kill you.

 It was silent between you two for some time, and you heard Ward sigh. You bit your lip, worrying it so much you started to taste blood, and you sniffed, wiping your face as you refused to look at the man. When he took another step towards you, you flinched, and only then did you look up to see the way Ward’s face fell.

You watched him press his lips together, only a thin line, now.

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

You scoffed.

“You know what happened. I’m sure Shoupe told you,” you forced out, and Ward exhaled through his nose.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, looking at his son in the back of the cop car.

“I want to hear it from you. I want to know how a couple’s quarrel turned into-.”

“A couple’s quarrel?” you repeated in disbelief, tears falling as you exhaled. “He threw a vase at me. He put a gun in my mouth.”

You couldn’t tell how Ward took your words, but he did put his hands on his hips.

“Now, Y/N…you know it’s a crime to lie to the police.”

His response didn’t surprise you, and you nodded, your laugh humorless. Ward knew you were telling the truth, he knew just how unhinged Rafe could be, but he didn’t want him in jail. He couldn’t have the Cameron name tarnished by the arrest of his only son on domestic violence charges. Ward would rather handle this in private, away from prying eyes…and it disgusted you.

“I’m not lying, and you know I’m not lying,” you choked out.

“Why would Rafe do this? Right out of the blue?”

You were on your feet, now, sneering at the other man.

“It’s not out of the blue. Rafe has been treating me like shit for months!”

“…and this is the first we’re hearing of it…?”

The eldest Cameron tilted his head to the side, studying you, and you felt your breath leave you. You watched him touch his chest, gaze soft as he seemed to plead with you.

“Now, I’m not saying that’s not true…but you know that’s what they’re going to ask you. They’re going to ask you why you didn’t tell anyone…and they’re going to note how convenient this all is.”

You knew that, and you looked away, hands falling at your side.

“Rafe says you dropped a vase, and it started an argument.”

“He’s lying-.”

“…and anyone can say you’re the liar.”

You pressed your hands to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell. Even through your lids, you could see the change in colors from the flash of the squad car, and when you opened your eyes again, the procession of red and blue lit the yard.

“That gun is legally his…and no one saw him do what you claim he did.”

“Why are you protecting him?” you loudly wondered, looking at the man in disbelief.

You’d eaten dinner with his family, even watched his daughter some nights, and he’d smiled in your face on numerous occasions, treating you like his own. Now, though…when push came to shove…Ward Cameron was showing you that you were not one of his own. Rafe was his own…and you were now a threat.

He took a step towards you, and you reached out to grip the rail to keep yourself from falling.

“I am just telling you what will happen if you continue with this,” he slowly started, and you crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to look at him. “They will take Rafe away, and I will pay his bail, and he’ll come home with me. There were no witnesses, and everything is pure speculation, a simple case of he said she said.”

You knew that he was right, and you felt yourself start to shake.

“…and in that scenario, I can’t help you.”

You knew what he was saying. You knew that he was talking about protecting you from more than just scrutiny and the law—he was also talking about protecting you from Rafe. Your lips parted, and you shakily exhaled. You felt like you were going to collapse, legs unsteady, and when you looked over…your eyes finally met a familiar blue pair.

You were positive that Rafe hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since they’d put handcuffs on him. If looks could kill, you were sure that you’d be six feet under, and you frantically blinked. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and your stomach churned at the memory of his hand on the back of your neck. His other held the gun, angrily forcing the weapon into your mouth as he sneered at you.

Something about returning the smile from some pogue at The Wreck—blond and rowdy and kind of familiar.

You recalled that his name was JJ.

The fight had started almost as soon as you got inside, and you shuddered at the flare of pain in your arm, recalling the way Rafe had shoved you into the wall. You’d only slid down just in time to miss the flying vase. Just thinking about it was enough to paralyze you with fear…and then you thought about what would happen should you choose to have a legal battle with Rafe and his family.

…and lose.

You let out a choked sob, looking away, and letting your face fall into your hands. You collapsed back down onto the steps, Ward’s voice reaching you.

“You tell Shoupe this was all one big misunderstanding…and I can do so much more for you. …but I can’t help you if you go through with this.”

You couldn’t stop crying, because you were trapped…and you knew it. Your parents had money too, just as much as the Cameron’s, but that only evened the playing field, it gave you no advantage, and you were back to square one of your word vs Rafe’s. You knew he would be far more forgiving if you just…did what Ward said. You knew that if you went through with this and lost, Rafe would wring your neck.

“I won’t let my son go to jail, Y/N. One way or another…”

You knew he was telling the truth, the conviction in his tone matching the certainty in your chest.

“…but at least this way, I can help you.”

Your knees bounced as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your tearful gaze focused on the perfectly manicured grass. You curled in on yourself, head falling, and your shoulders shook from your sobs.

“He scares me,” you struggled to say, and Ward placated you.

“I know…I know he does, but you have to let me help you.”

You pulled the ends of your sleeves over your hands, wiping your face. The night was still lit up with red and blue, and you closed your eyes, stomach sinking. It took everything in you to give Ward a shaky nod, and you kept your eyes on the ground as Ward waved the other man over.

You felt like you were betraying yourself, arm still aching and throat still raw from all of your screaming. A lot of your trembling was still from what had happened hours ago, and like that day in his truck…and the night of his party…you’d really thought you were going to die. You couldn’t go through that again, but Ward said that he would protect you because you knew Rafe better than anyone, and you knew that if you tried to press charges against Rafe and didn’t succeed…

He would kill you.

“Y/N wants to talk to you.”

You glanced up at the sound of your name, holding Ward’s gaze for a few seconds before finally meeting Shoupe’s.

“I want… I don’t-I don’t wanna press charges.”

Your words tumbled out, and for a moment, you were sure that Shoupe hadn’t heard you properly. You came to realize that he heard you fine, and his confusion wasn’t from a lack of understanding. You watched him rest his hands on his hips, looking between you and Ward.

“Now, Y/N…” he started, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts. “I heard that phone call. I heard what you said and I heard him yelling.”

“It was just a regular argument, Shoupe,” you whispered with a shrug. “It was stupid. A stupid vase…”

“That he threw…”

The pause was heavy, and you glanced away.

“That I dropped.”

You shook your head when he said your name, and you licked your lips, gaze pleading as they met his again.

“Please, just let him go. He didn’t do anything to me. It was a stupid fight that I exaggerated because…I was angry and things got out of hand, and this just went way beyond what I intended, so…”

The other man didn’t look like he believed you, at all, and you watched him glance at Ward—who hadn’t said a thing—before looking back to you. He sighed, fixing you with a look you couldn’t name.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response was a nod, unsure if you could lie any more without breaking down. With an aggravated sigh—aggravation at you or at Ward, you didn’t know—Shoupe signaled to his deputy to let Rafe go. Ward was pulled to the side as the two men had a hushed and heated conversation, going back and forth, while your gaze rested on Rafe.

You felt like you were doing the worst thing possible as you watched them guide him out of the backseat. He looked far from happy as they uncuffed him, and just like all night, his gaze refused to leave you. The flashing red and blue bathed him, blue eyes glinting almost dangerously, and you pressed your lips together while you watched him rub his now free wrists.

The other men were distracted as Rafe slowly made his way over, and you didn’t dare move. You were too scared to, and as much as you wanted to pull your eyes away, you couldn’t find the strength to. It was just hours ago that you’d stared into that face as he yelled at you for something as harmless as a smile. Only hours ago, he was pushing you around and threatening you.

…and now those same hands were reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

You cried for so many reasons as Rafe wrapped his arms around you, rocking you from side to side and shushing you in what was meant to be a soothing voice. They were tight, and you cried harder, apologies slipping past your lips before you realized what you were doing. Rafe was always quick to forgive if you were quick to apologize.

“I know,” you heard and felt him murmur into your hair.

“Please, please don’t…”

You both knew what you were begging for, and he gently shushed you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out again, repeating it as many times as you thought you should, hoping and praying that it was enough. “You have to know that…”

Your words died in the air at the sound of his voice.

“I should be angry with you…but I understand,” he softly told you. “You were scared, and you should’ve been.”

You sniffed, staring at the red and blue grass.

“I went too far, and you were right to be scared.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, telling you the words that brought you temporary relief.

“I forgive you.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

The taste of desire | LN4

🥧 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando share a flirtatious, passionate moment while cooking, ending with a kiss and a mutual desire to explore their chemistry.

🥧 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🥧 word count ━━━━━━━ 4k

🥧 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The sizzle of oil in the pan filled the kitchen, a gentle symphony that masked the undeniable thrum of tension between them. Y/N stood at the counter, her hands moving with precision as she chopped vegetables, the knife gliding effortlessly through carrots and celery. Her focus was sharp, but every now and then, she’d catch Lando out of the corner of her eye—his tall frame leaning casually against the fridge, his arms crossed, his lips twitching into a smirk whenever their gazes met.

He’s watching me. The thought sent a flutter through her chest, quick and insistent, like a hummingbird beating its wings. She shook it off, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. But no matter how hard she tried, the air between them felt charged, crackling with something she couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore either.

“Need some help?” Lando asked, pushing off the fridge and sauntering over. His voice was smooth, casual, but there was an edge to it that made her stomach dip.

“I think I’ve got it,” she replied, not looking up. Her tone was light, but her fingers tightened around the knife handle as he came closer. The warmth of his presence seemed to wrap around her, magnetic and impossible to resist.

“You sure?” He was right behind her now, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Because I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow. “Handy, huh?''

“Totally,” he said, flashing her that grin of his—the one that made her heart skip a beat. “I can chop faster than you can.”

“Oh, really?” She turned fully to face him, tilting her head. “Care to prove it?”

For a moment, he just stared at her, those blue/ green eyes of his glinting with challenge. Then, without warning, he reached past her for the cutting board. His hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“Watch and learn,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she watched his hands move with practiced ease, the knife slicing through the vegetables with precision. There was something undeniably captivating about the way he moved, the way he exuded confidence even in something as mundane as chopping carrots. And yet, it wasn’t just his skill that had her captivated. It was the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, the way his gaze lingered on her lips, the way his touch seemed to linger on her skin long after he pulled away.

“See?” he said after a moment, straightening up and giving her a triumphant smile. “Told you I was handy.”

“Hmm,” she replied, feigning disinterest as she turned back to the stove. But her cheeks burned, and she could still feel the ghost of his touch on her hand.

The rest of dinner prep passed in a blur of playful banter and stolen glances. Every time they reached for the same utensil or passed each other in the narrow space, their bodies would brush, sending sparks flying between them. Lando was relentless, his touches deliberate, his teasing comments loaded with double meanings. And Y/N? Well, she might have been playing it cool, but inside, she was a mess.

By the time they sat down to eat, the atmosphere between them had shifted completely. The air was thick with unspoken desire, the tension so palpable it felt like it could be cut with a knife. They talked and laughed, but every now and then, their eyes would meet, and the world would fall away—just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

When dinner was done, Y/N stood to clear the table, but Lando stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “Let me,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

She hesitated, her gaze flickering to his hand before meeting his eyes. “It’s fine, really.”

“I know,” he replied, his grip tightening slightly. “But I want to.”

There was something in his tone, something raw and unfiltered, that made her pause. She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she nodded. “Okay.”

As he moved around the table, collecting dishes, Y/N found herself watching him again. He was so different from anyone she’d ever known—confident, charming, with a devil-may-care attitude that somehow only added to his allure. And yet, there was something vulnerable about him too, something hidden beneath the surface that made her want to peel back the layers and see what lay beneath.

When he finished stacking the plates by the sink, he turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You know,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, “I’ve been trying to keep my distance.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, taking a step toward her. “But it’s getting harder and harder.”

She couldn’t look away from him, her breath hitching as he closed the gap between them. “Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Because,” he said, his hands settling on her hips, “you make it impossible.”

Impossible. The word echoed in her mind as she looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. His hands were warm against her skin, his touch sending shivers down her spine. And then, before she could say anything, he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss so soft, so tender, it took her breath away.

“Lando,” she murmured against his mouth, her hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair.

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “Just let go.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. Every nerve in her body was hyper-aware of him—the warmth of his body against hers, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers felt like they were burning through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. ''We should finish our dessert first.''

He laughed softly, a sound that sent vibrations through her entire body. “Dessert will still be there,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “And so will I.”

Before she could respond, his hands slid higher, his fingertips tracing the underside of her ribs as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. Y/N gasped, her legs going weak beneath her. She reached out blindly, grabbing for the edge of the counter to steady herself, but Lando’s grip on her was firm, holding her in place as his lips trailed fire along her skin.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she muttered, half-heartedly trying to push him away. But there was no real force behind the movement, and they both knew it. Her hands lingered on his shoulders, her nails digging into the soft fabric of his shirt as she swayed closer to him.

Lando smirked against her neck, clearly pleased with himself. “Crazy good or crazy bad?” he teased, his voice light but his touch anything but casual. His hands moved again, one sliding up to cup her jaw while the other traced down her spine, sending shivers cascading through her.

“Both,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her cheeks flushed as she spoke, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when he was looking at her like that, like she was everything he wanted and nothing he could ever have enough of.

“Good,” he said simply, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone before he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. It was quick, almost chaste, but it left her breathless all the same. When he pulled back, his blue/ green eyes were dark with desire, his smile gone now, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat rising between them, the tension so thick it was almost tangible. And yet, despite the way her body screamed at her to give in, she hesitated. There was something electric about this moment, something dangerous, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to dive headfirst into whatever this was between them.

But Lando didn’t give her time to think. He was relentless, his hands moving with purpose as he guided her backward, until her thighs hit the edge of the countertop. “Lando—” she started to protest, but he didn’t let her finish. Instead, he kissed her again, harder this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a confidence that left no room for argument.

Y/N moaned against his lips, her hands fisting in his hair as she surrendered to the sensation. She could feel the hardness of the counter digging into her thighs, but it hardly registered amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Lando’s hands were everywhere—on her waist, her hips, her cheeks—his touch searing through her clothes and straight to her core.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough with need. “You feel so fucking good.”

His words only fueled her own desire, her body arching toward his as she deepened the kiss. She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh, and it sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins. This was reckless, impulsive, but right now, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he made her feel, wanted, desired, needed.

Lando broke the kiss then, his breathing heavy as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “And I will.”

But neither of them really believed it. Y/N stared up at him, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and shook her head. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s eyes darkened further at her response, and without another word, he lifted her effortlessly onto the counter. Y/N gasped as her legs parted instinctively, giving him access to where she needed him most. His hands gripped her thighs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin just above her knees as he leaned in closer.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice nearly breaking. His breath was hot against her ear, his lips brushing against the shell as he spoke. “So beautiful.”

Y/N shivered, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she tried to steady herself. But Lando didn’t let her stay still for long. He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep as his hands roamed her body with possessive intent. One hand slid up her side, cupping her breast through the fabric of her shirt, while the other gripped her thigh.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her head falling back as his touch set her alight. She could feel the wetness pooling between her thighs, her body aching for more. “Lando…”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “I can feel how much you want me.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she lost herself in the sensation.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.” he whispered, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice breaking as she met his gaze. “Yes, I want you. I need you.”

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper. His gaze dropped to her lips, waiting for her response with a patience that suggested he’d give her all the time she needed—though his body pressed closer, demanding otherwise.

She nodded quickly, her cheeks flushed, her voice soft but firm. “Yes. I want you, Lando. Don’t stop.”

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, and he leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers. The kiss was gentle at first, a teasing exploration that made her grip his shoulders harder. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more—needed more. Her lips parted, inviting him deeper, and he obliged, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers in a dance of desire.

God, he tasted incredible. Everything about him felt electric, from the way his his hand was gripping her thigh to the steady beat of his heart against her chest. She could feel the hard length of him through his jeans, pressing insistently against her thigh, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her at the realization.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured against her lips, his tone raw with longing. “So open, so ready for me.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, her nerves bubbling to the surface despite the growing heat between them. “Open? I’m not exactly in control here, Lando. You’re the one who put me on this counter.”

His eyes darkened, and he pulled back slightly, his hand leaving her breast to cup her cheek. “And you love it, don’t you? Admit it. You love how much I want you.”

The words sent a thrill through her, making her heart race. She did love it—loved the way he looked at her, as though she were the only thing that mattered. Loved the way his touch turned her insides to liquid fire. “Maybe I do,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s grin was predatory, and he moved faster, his hands working her jeans down her legs with practiced efficiency. Y/N lifted her hips to help, her movements unsteady as she tried to balance while he stripped her bare. When she was free of the material, he knelt before her, his hands sliding up her thighs until they reached the fabric of her panties.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl that made her knees weak.

She obeyed without hesitation, her legs parting as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pulled them aside. The cool air hit her skin, and she gasped, her arousal already slick and evident. Lando’s eyes locked onto the sight, his pupils dilating as he drank in every detail.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”

Before she could respond, his mouth descended on her, and the world shattered into a thousand pieces. His tongue swirled around her clit in lazy circles, drawing out her pleasure with agonizing precision. Y/N threw her head back, gripping the edge of the counter for support as waves of ecstasy crashed over her.

“Lando,” she cried out, her voice breaking as his tongue stabbed deeper, hitting that sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl. “Oh my god, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. If anything, he intensified his efforts, flicking his tongue rapidly against her clit while his fingers probed at her entrance, teasing but not entering. It was pure torture, and Y/N loved every second of it. Her hips bucked against his face, desperate for release, but he held her steady, keeping her right on the edge.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice pleading. “Please, I need—”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice muffled against her core but still managing to convey the smug satisfaction of a man in complete control.

“You,” she gasped. “I need you. Inside me. Now.”

Lando pulled back, his eyes glittering with triumph as he stood and stepped closer. Y/N watched as he tugged off his shirt, revealing the smooth, lean muscles of his chest. Her hands itched to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips, but she forced herself to wait, knowing he wouldn’t keep her waiting long.

Sure enough, he was removing his jeans in seconds, kicking them aside with a smirk. Y/N’s breath caught as he stepped between her legs, his erection straining against his boxers. He hovered there for a moment, letting the anticipation build before hooking his thumbs into the fabric and pushing them down.

“Look at you,” she breathed, her voice awestruck as she took in the full length of him. “You’re… incredible.”

Lando chuckled, clearly amused by her reaction. “Only incredible?” he teased, reaching for the condom he’d placed on the counter earlier.

As he rolled it on, Y/N bit her lip, her nerves surging once more. This was it—finally, after weeks of tension and teasing, they were going to cross that line. And honestly? She couldn’t wait.

Lando must have sensed her eagerness because he positioned himself at her entrance without further delay. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for any trace of hesitation, but all he found was hunger. With a groan, he thrust forward, filling her in one smooth motion.

Y/N cried out, her back arching as the sensation overwhelmed her. It had been so long since she’d felt like this—so full, so wanted. Lando kissed her then, swallowing her gasp of pleasure as he began to move, withdrawing slowly before plunging back in with increasing urgency.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled against her lips, his thrusts growing rougher as he sought to claim her completely. “You feel so good. So tight around me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as she clung to him. Every stroke of his hips against hers sent shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through her body, and she could feel the telltale tingling in her lower belly signaling her approaching orgasm.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m close. So close.”

He angled his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside her with ruthless precision. Y/N’s vision blurred as her climax shattered through her, her entire body tensing as she screamed his name. Lando followed soon after, his thrusts stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, his head falling to her shoulder as he panted for breath.

For a moment, they simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as their hearts slowed and their breathing returned to normal. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, marveling at how perfect everything felt—how right.

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rattle of a pot handle swaying in the breeze from the open window. The air was thick with the scent of garlic and rosemary, but beneath it all lingered something sweeter—something undeniably intimate.

Y/N lay sprawled across the counter, her legs still wrapped around Lando’s waist, though he had shifted to rest his weight on his elbows beside her. His chest rose and fell heavily, his skin glistening with sweat, while she traced lazy patterns over his back, savoring the warmth of his body against hers. Their breaths mingled, slow and steady now, as if they were both reluctant to break the spell that had just passed between them.

“That…” Lando began, his voice low and rough, “was incredible.”

She laughed softly, a sound that was tinged with disbelief. “You don’t have to say that.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching hers. “I don’t have to, but I want to. You feel amazing, Y/N. You always do.”

Her cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

He grinned, that familiar glint of mischief returning to his eyes. “Only when I’m with you.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, her fingers found their way to his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. “Lando…”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “Yeah?”

“What even is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Between us, I mean.”

His grin faded, replaced by a look of genuine consideration. “What do you want it to be?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. What did she want? She wanted to say everything, to demand he commit to her fully, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she settled for honesty. “I don’t know. But right now… it feels like something.”

Lando nodded slowly, his expression softening. “It does. And I think… I think maybe we should figure it out together.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard. “Together?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice confident yet gentle. “I like being with you, Y/N. A lot. And I don’t want to stop. Not unless you tell me to.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to ask him what he meant, to press him for more details, but another part of her—the stronger part—just wanted to let it go. To live in this moment and trust that whatever came next would unfold naturally.

“Okay,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Okay.”

They fell silent again, the tension between them shifting from sexual to something deeper, something almost sacred. Y/N felt his hand slide down her side, coming to rest on her thigh, and she shivered at the gentle touch.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his tone laced with awe.

She shook her head, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “No, I’m not. I’m just… me.”

“Exactly,” he said firmly. “And that’s all I need. Just you.”

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, afraid that if she met his gaze, she might burst into tears. Stop it, she scolded herself silently. Don’t ruin this.

“Hey,” Lando said gently, tipping her chin up until their eyes met. “Don’t hide from me, okay? Not now. Not ever.”

“I’m not hiding,” she lied, her voice cracking slightly.

He sighed, clearly unconvinced. “You are. And that’s okay. I get it. Trust me, I do. But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. So you can take your time. Just… don’t push me away.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she nodded slowly. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he said, his smile returning. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and lingering, a contrast to the intensity of their previous encounter. It was tender, affectionate, and it left her breathless in a completely different way.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N felt lighter, as if a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying had been lifted off her shoulders. She glanced around the kitchen, noting the dishes they had abandoned earlier and the flour dusting the counter where they had worked side by side.

“We never finished our dessert ,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

Lando chuckled, following her gaze. “I guess not. But honestly, I’m not sure I could eat anything after that.”

“Me neither,” she admitted, blushing slightly. “But we should probably clean up before someone walks in and thinks we’ve gone completely insane.”

He smirked, reaching for a towel. “Insane? Nah. We’re just having a good time.”

She shot him a playful glare. “Right. Because setting the kitchen on fire would be totally normal.”

“Hey, I didn’t set anything on fire,” he protested, draping the towel over his shoulder. “You’re the one who got distracted.”

“Distracted?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising an octave. “Lando, you literally pressed me against the counter and—”

He cut her off with a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, fair point. My bad.”

As they cleaned up and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, the banter continued, though now softer and less charged with the heightened energy that had fueled their earlier interactions. There was a new layer to their connection, one that made Y/N feel incredibly seen and understood in ways she hadn’t expected.

When the last dish was put away, Lando turned to her, his hands resting on her hips as he pulled her close. “So… what now?”

She tilted her head, considering his question. “Now… we see where this goes. Together.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “Sounds perfect.”

As his lips descended to meet hers once more, Y/N felt her resolve strengthen. Whatever came next, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t ready to walk away from this. Not yet.

[hearts4hughes]

concentrate - rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: smut ; mdni ; oral (m receiving) ; p in v ; degradation

a/n: based off of this request from so long ago. sorry it took me so long to write, but i hope you enjoy!

“and you do exactly what i fucking told you not to!” rage would be an understatement for what he felt right now. his brows were knitted together in an angry frenzy. his muscles tensed with each word he spoke—yelled. “i didn’t know where the fuck you were. i was going insane!”

after a particularly annoying argument between you and rafe, you decided to slip out of the house and attend some kook party that he told you not to go to. you knew he was mad when he blew up your phone like crazy, and what better way to add fuel to the fire than to ignore him? he’d have to give you some attention now. it took him less than fifteen minutes before he had pinned your exact location. he stormed through the mansion to find you, and when he did, his hand clasped around your wrist, tugging you back home.

and now, even as you were being berated for your behavior, you couldn’t help but focus on the way his tense biceps clung to his tight polo, or how his piercing eyes bore into yours. a familiar warmth settled between your thighs as he shamed you.

“are you even listening?” he spat, stalking closer to you. he scoffs when you blink cluelessly at him. “un-fucking-believable.”

“you have no idea how close i was to losing my mind.” he growls, his voice low and dangerous now, no longer shouting but somehow even more intimidating. “you think it’s cute, huh? to just disappear, ignore me, and end up at some party with people i can’t fucking stand?”

you swallow hard, trying to focus on his words, but it is near impossible. his raw frustration, the sharp edge in his tone, the way his jaw clenched with every word—it had you spiraling. your heart pounded in your chest, not with fear, but with something darker, something hotter.

he stepped closer and you instinctively backed up until you felt the cool press of the wall against your back. he towered over you now, one hand braced on the wall near your head while the other ran down his face in exasperation.

“i can’t believe you’re just standing there, silent.” he hisses, leaning in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “after all of that, after the stunt you just pulled, you’re not even going to try to defend yourself?”

you opened your mouth to say something—anything —but the words got caught in your throat. all you could do was stare at him, your pulse quickening as you took in the sharp lines of his face.

“unreal,” he mutters, shaking his head. “you know what your problem is? you love pushing me. testing me. seeing how far you can go before i snap.”

he wasn’t wrong, and you hated how much you liked hearing it. your silence seemed to push him further to the brink and before you could stop yourself, you shifted slightly, your thighs pressing together.

his piercing blue eyes flicked down, catching the movement, and something shifted in his gaze. it was still angry, but now it held a darker, lustful glint. he steps closer, so close now that his body nearly pinned you against the wall.

“oh, i see.” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “you’re not even sorry, are you?”

you shook your head quickly, and he laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his grip keeping you locked in place. he was so close now, the scent of his cologne mixing with the intoxicating aroma of him.

“i should be fucking furious with you.” he said, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. “and yet here you are, looking at me like that.”

“like what?” you finally whispered.

his lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes were still blazing. “like you want me to do something about it.”

an unmistakeable hardness pressed into your thigh as his body was flush on yours.

“rafe-”

“shut up, brat.” he bit back, his gaze falling to your cleavage. he groaned at the sight of the tops of your swelled breasts. “you like when i’m mean? yeah? well, i’ll be mean alright.”

his hand dropped from your chin and trailed down your waist, fingers gripping the skimpy, sequence-piece fabric you considered a dress. he tilted his head, eyes dark and unforgiving as they roamed over you, taking in every single curve.

your breath hitched as his lips brushed your ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. “you think i don’t notice the way you react when i’m mad? the way you can’t stop staring at me, clenching your thighs together like you’re just begging me to do something about it.”

his proximity was intoxicating. his words were more of a high than any drug in the world. "rafe..." you tried again, but he was already shaking his head, his nose brushing yours as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

"don’t.” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "you don't get to say anything right now. not after the shit you just pulled."

you nodded silently, your hands clutching at the front of his polo as if to ground yourself. his eyes flicked down to where your fingers gripped the fabric, then back up to yours, and his smirk widened.

"good girl," he muttered, his voice softer now but still laced with that edge that made your knees weak. "now, let's see if you can keep being good for me. get on your knees, now.”

without a second thought, you drop to your knees, staring up at the boy knowingly. he grunts, hands falling to undo his belt and jeans. they drop to the floor with a thump and he’s left clad in his boxers. the thick outline of his beefy length elicits drool in your mouth.

he curled his fingers underneath the band of his boxers and pulled them down. he pulled it out of the boxers so it shot up and laid very erect against his tight top. he bit his cheek to hide the moan at the feeling of relief.

you looked at his swollen cock that was already leaking of precum at the tip, the prominent veins showing him just how badly he needed your touch. his tip was dark and swollen, blood rushing to it and only intensifying the ache.

you stare up at him through your eyelashes and he scoffs. “still acting shy? like you aren’t practically begging for me to fuck your throat?” he tsked, slapping your cheek with his dick.

without warning, he thrust into your mouth, filling your throat with his cock. you gag, not prepared for his entire length to be shoved down your throat. he gasps, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as your warm mouth embraces him. your eyes watered and your hands gripped his muscular thighs.

roughly, he began moving in and out of your mouth. you peered up at him through glossy eyes. his head was thrown back as he moaned, repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. your drool was dripping from your chin down your throat as you sloppily sucked his dick.

“that’s it, take it.” he muttered, pulling out momentarily, but bucking back into your mouth with even more force. you whined around him, sending vibrations through his body. that’s when your hands flew to grab onto his balls, gripping and massaging them. with the final movement in your mouth, he shot his load down your throat. you gagged at the salty substance. he removed himself from your mouth, a string of saliva and cum connecting you. “swallow.”

you did as told, swallowing his juices. now, it was impossible to ignore the ache between your thighs. your wetness pooled in your underwear and lower thighs. you could’ve come undone right there and then with rafe inside your mouth.

you yelped when he yanked you up by the wrist, pressing your chest into the wall. he gripped your hair, pulling it back so your neck was exposed. he nipped and sucked harshly on your jugular, leaving dark bruises with his sweet lips. the sight of your glossy lips and tear stained cheeks made him hard again.

he hiked up your dress, exposing your lacy panties. “and who were you wearing these for, little slut?” his fingers slid over the thin material, eliciting a tsk from him when he felt the wet patch.

“you, rafey. only you.” you were a whimpering, whiney mess. your hands clung to the wall in front of you. your hair stuck to your sweat-stained neck and forehead, only adding to the overstimulation.

with a rip, your panties were in two, cold hair hitting your warm cunt. “those were my favorite pair.” you whined, jutting out your swollen bottom lip.

“i’ll buy you a thousand more,” he said, his digits running through your soaked folds. he smeared your arousal all over your core, causing you to gasp. “so wet, just like i thought.” you wiggled your ass back towards his bare length, but his hands gripped your hips before you could make contact. “not so fast. you want this? beg for it.”

your eyes widened and you tried to close your legs, ashamed of the sudden rush of heat. his knee wedged between your legs, prying them open.

“p-please, rafey. i want you so bad.” you plead, trying to rub yourself on his bare knee. his hand came down hard on your ass, leaving behind a handprint mark and a stinging sensation. you yelped at the sudden action.

“not good enough.”

you huff, putting on your purest, most innocent voice you could muster up before saying, “god, i need you so bad, rafe. i need you to fill me up. need you inside. you’re the only person i want.” you rambled on like a bitch in heat, trying your best to not get embarrassed at your own words.

he smirked, his hand rubbing over the irritated skin from where he last hit. “knew you could do it, baby.” he pressed kisses to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

before you could even breathe, he was bottoming out inside of you. he didn’t give you a chance to adjust before pistoning back and forth in you. you screamed in pure ecstasy as he stretched you out.

with each movement, his tip grazed your cervix. the sounds of skin slapping together and moans bouncing off the walls. with each thrust, you were whimpering like a baby.

“god, you’re such a fucking baby,” he smirks, pushing his fingers down your throat. you gag on them, the salty taste of your arousal on your tongue. “take it! it’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

he growled, picking up his speed and pounding your cunt at an ungodly pace. your fingers clawed at the walls, a desperate attempt to ground yourself. the sound of your selfish pussy sucking him in was a symphony to rafe. his eyes fell to where you connected— his fat length stuffed inside of you. he let out a guttural moan, his fingers removing from your mouth and rubbing circles around your puffy clit.

“answer me.” he grunts. “isn’t this what you wanted? to be fucked like a slut? to be filled up by me?”

“yes!” it was surprising you could even utter the words. “you’re making me feel so good, rafey.”

“yeah? i’m making you feel good?” he mocks with a chuckle. “damn right i am.”

the pleasure was overwhelming and soon, the knot in your stomach began to crack. your walls fluttered and clenched around rafe. it wasn’t long before the knot in your stomach shattered and you were spilling down your thighs.

you lay there limp against the wall as you regained your senses. he continued to fuck you like a doll as he chased his high. your worn-out pussy tightened around him like a vice, eliciting his orgasm to rip through him.

“gonna come so deep in you,” he muttered as he was laser-focused on his movements. his muscles flexed and tightened with each ram of his hips and finally, his warm load was filling you. you moan at the sensation of him painting your walls. breathlessly, you both come down from your highs. rafe is still nuzzled inside of you when he nips at your earlobe and whispers in your ear,

“do not ever ignore me like that again.”

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter five ♡

Summary: At the Halloween party, you have fun and finally get Joel out of your head. Sure, at least for a few hours, as the night plays a trick on you. WC: 6.1k A/N: Hi! As the tag list has gotten so big (THANK U OMG!!!) and apparently doesn't work too well, I'm not going to use it anymore. From now on, I'll be posting updates through my updates blog! So make sure to follow and turn on notifications <3 love youuu

Saturday, 7 p.m. The evening air carried a quiet sharpness that pricked at the edges of your skin, cool enough to remind you that autumn was in full swing but not so bitter as to warrant more than your tights and boots. You stepped out, the white dress flowing lightly against your thighs, its flared sleeves brushing your arms as you moved. The dark brown corset at your waist felt like a reassuring hand, grounding you, while its lift brought a confidence that hummed softly under your skin. Your boots, stretched to your knees, a quiet defense against the chill creeping in with the fading sunlight.

The door clicked shut behind you, a sound that was at once final and fleeting. You barely had time to register the weight of the evening when the low rumble of Joel’s truck snuck into the quiet, its approach measured, deliberate. You turned, instinctively, just as he stepped out. His movements were unhurried, his gaze low, as though he hadn’t seen you—or as though he was choosing not to. 

The passenger door opened next, and Sarah emerged like a burst of energy, her grin wide and unguarded. She spotted you immediately, her excitement spilling over as she called your name and hurried toward you, her arms flung wide. You caught her easily, her warmth a stark contrast to the crisp air. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice full of a curiosity that felt almost reverent. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled at her, taking in the mismatched charm of her outfit—fluffy bunny slippers peeking out beneath purple pajama pants patterned with white clouds, her coat barely concealing the dark blue long-sleeve shirt underneath. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m going to a Halloween party.”

Sarah pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “But Halloween was last night. It’s November.”

You laughed softly, the sound slipping past your lips like something you hadn’t meant to reveal. “It’s never too late for a party, is it?”

Before Sarah could reply, Joel’s voice cut through the moment like a taut string snapping.

“Sarah. Home.” His tone was firm, unmistakable, though his face only lingered in the doorway for a second before disappearing inside.

Sarah ignored him with the practiced ease of someone who knew how far she could stretch the tether.

“I hope you saved me something good yesterday,” she said, turning back to you, her eyes alight with the thought of treats.

You smiled, brushing a loose strand of her hair aside. “I’m sure Brenda sent some sweets with your dad.”

“Did she make those cara—”

“Sarah.” Joel’s voice rose again, sharper this time, slicing through her sentence. His figure reappeared in the doorway, framed by the warm light spilling out behind him. His gaze landed on her first, then shifted briefly to you, his frown deepening as if your presence was an unwelcome interruption.

“Home,” he said again, the word heavier this time, a command that carried no room for negotiation.

Sarah turned toward him, her annoyance barely concealed.

“In a second!” she called back, her voice tinged with exasperation. Then, with a glance at you, she rolled her eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help but grin, mirroring her expression in a conspiratorial gesture that only seemed to deepen Joel’s scowl.

“NOW,” he barked, his patience finally unraveling. His presence filled the doorway like a storm cloud, and Sarah, sighing, gave in. 

“Go,” you told her gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. Your voice was quiet, steady, though something in your chest tightened as you spoke. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

She nodded, the mischief in her smile dimmed slightly by the weight of her father’s insistence. As she retreated, her steps slow and deliberate, you stayed where you were, watching until the door closed behind her. The ache was subtle but sharp.

You shook the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to let go of the tension Joel's mood had wrapped around you. He wasn’t going to ruin this night—not this one. You tightened your grip on your small purse and started walking toward Travis’s house. Your boots clicked against the pavement with a rhythm that felt too steady for the fluttering nerves you carried.

There was a faint nervousness bubbling under your excitement, a ridiculous thing, really, given that you’d seen Travis just that morning. He’d picked you up to go shopping, laughing at your indecision as you flitted from one idea to the next, caught between wanting something outrageous and something simple. You hadn’t known what to wear for tonight. All you knew was that you wanted to feel good. Pretty, yes. Sexy, definitely. Attractive, for sure. Something about the promise of the evening—the energy it held—made you crave a night where you didn’t have to think too hard, didn’t have to manage the weight of anything heavy. Just a night of effortless fun in good company. 

Travis was exactly the kind of company you needed. Relaxed, thoughtful in that easy way, funny without trying too hard. He knew how to take care of you without making it feel like a burden. When you’d asked for his opinion on a costume, exasperated after hours of fruitless searching, he’d picked up the white dress with an almost boyish confidence. “Victorian pirate,” he’d said with a grin, as if the idea had struck him in the moment. “Or something like that.”

You’d agreed without much thought. The dress was beautiful, and you already had the perfect corset at home to pair it with. It hugged you in all the right places, cinching your waist while lifting your chest just enough to make you feel like the women in those romantic paintings you loved—the ones with soft, curved bodies draped in gauzy fabrics, their skin glowing and inviting. And tonight, you did. The tights and knee-high boots you’d added were practical for the cool night, but they didn’t detract from the overall effect. If anything, they completed it. On the other hand, the corset hugged you the way you imagined the painter’s brush might.

By the time you reached Travis’s door, you felt confident, maybe even a little giddy. You rang the doorbell, the sound breaking the quiet night, and it wasn’t long before the door swung open. Travis stood there, framed by the soft light spilling from his hallway. He looked... well, like something you wouldn’t hesitate to sink your teeth into.

The suit, perfectly tailored, a sharp black with a red tie that caught the light against the pale blue of his shirt. The clear raincoat gave him an edge, its plastic sheen catching and refracting the soft glow from the house behind him. His hair was combed back, deliberate and smooth, and the clench of his jaw softened when he smiled at you.

“What do you think?” he asked, lifting a hand to reveal a plastic axe held loosely in his grip. “I’m Patrick Bateman.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere easy and warm.

“Of course you’re Patrick Bateman,” you said, your smile widening as you stepped inside. Your hand brushed his abdomen lightly as you passed, a touch that felt both casual and charged.

The compliment landed, making Travis pause just long enough to tuck the axe into the pocket of his raincoat. He moved toward you, closing the space between you with an ease that always felt natural. His hand settled at your waist, the leather of your corset soft beneath his fingers.

“Stop it,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in close. “Telling me that and looking this good? Stop it, or I’ll cancel the party and keep you here all night.”

His breath skimmed the edge of your ear, his lips brushing your jawline just enough to leave your skin prickling with anticipation.

“One compliment and you’re ready to throw the whole night away?” you teased, though the slight rasp in your voice betrayed how his closeness was affecting you. You felt his breath near your ear, the briefest graze of his nose against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw. Your pulse quickened. “You’re an easy target, Dunn.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Only for you,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. There was something unguarded in his eyes, something that made the moment feel fragile in a way that was achingly sweet. “But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

You laughed, leaning into the playful intimacy of it all. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

His lips found yours then, the kiss gentle at first, like he was testing the waters. You leaned in instinctively, wanting more, but before you could deepen it, he pulled away. You bit back a groan of frustration as he grinned, oblivious.

“We’d better go, beautiful,” he said, brushing a hand down your arm as if to soothe you. “People are waiting.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile. With Travis, things were always easy—except, maybe, when you wanted just a little more.

*

2 a.m. The cab door slammed shut with more force than you intended, the sound reverberating in the quiet street. The driver turned sharply, scowling.  

“I-I’m sorry,” you muttered, your words tumbling over each other.  

Travis, a few steps ahead, laughed without looking back, his shoulders shaking slightly. His keys jingled as he fumbled to unlock the door to his townhouse. The sound dragged on endlessly, the alcohol in your veins making the small delay feel monumental. You stood beside him, shifting your weight from one aching foot to the other, the dull throb only partially numbed by the buzz in your head.  

“Almost got it,” Travis mumbled, his focus unwavering despite your impatient sighs. Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open with a triumphant grin.  

You followed him inside, the warmth of his home enveloping you like a soft blanket. Without ceremony, you dropped onto his couch, sinking into its cushions with a relieved groan. Your head lolled back, your body both exhausted and energized, the kind of tension only a night like this could create.  

The evening had been perfect—better than perfect, really. For the first time in months, you’d felt free, truly free, as though the weight of everything that had been haunting you had dissolved into the dark, wine-colored sky.  

The party had been at Renzo’s house, one of Travis’s oldest friends. The place was stunning, a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that practically glowed against the night. Its white stone façade, crowned with red tiles, looked like it had been plucked from a postcard, while spooky Halloween details added just the right touch of whimsy. Lanterns swayed gently on the porch, casting flickering shadows across life-sized skeletons perched on wicker chairs.  

Inside, the atmosphere was even more enchanting. The main room featured a long wooden table draped in black lace, adorned with candelabras dripping wax, decorative skulls, and bouquets of dried flowers that looked both macabre and elegant. Ceramic plates with dark patterns and gold accents glinted in the candlelight, completing the eerie tableau. Guests milled about in costumes that ranged from impressive to ridiculous, every outfit telling a story.  

You’d met a handful of Travis’s friends, all nice and welcoming. And by the end of the night, Renzo handed out an award for the best costume, which went to his brother Eric for his incredible The Mask ensemble. The details were so perfect, from the prosthetic teeth to the vivid green makeup, that no one could deny it was well-deserved—except Travis, who jokingly accused him of rigging the vote.  

The drinks flowed freely, and you’d had more than enough. By past midnight, your feet ached from dancing, but you didn’t care. The music pulsed, and so did you, your body pressed close to Travis’s. His hands rested on your waist, his touch grounding and electric all at once. For the first time in weeks, your thoughts didn’t drift to the things that usually kept you awake at night. Those dark eyes that haunted you in quiet moments, the ache that twisted your chest when you remembered what you’d tried to forget—they were nowhere to be found.  

Now, on Travis’s couch, you laughed uncontrollably as he struggled to string together a coherent sentence. His head rested lightly against your shoulder, and the sound of his voice, slurred and boyish, made your stomach ache with affection.  

“Whatever, you get what i mean” he said finally, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “God, I shouldn't have had that last drink.”

“Oh, you’re terrible,” you teased, reaching for his tie and pulling him toward you until his eyes met yours. “But I had a beautiful night. Please, let’s make it last.”  

Something shifted in his expression—softened, deepened. He straightened, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was different from anything you’d shared before. It wasn’t cautious or measured, the way Travis usually was. This was eager, unrestrained, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.  

His hands found your legs, lifting them over his lap as he leaned into you. You fell back against the cushions, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips left yours to trail along your neck, leaving a path of heat that made your chest rise and fall unevenly.  

Your fingers tangled in his hair, undoing the careful style he’d worn all evening. He groaned softly at the contact, his face lifting to meet yours again as he kissed you harder, his desire palpable and infectious.  

Your hands moved down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in a blur of anticipation and urgency. The sound of the clasp coming undone was like a victory bell ringing in your ears.  

But then, suddenly, he froze.  

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice strained as he pulled away, turning his face to the side. “Shit, I’m gonna be sick.”  

You blinked, startled, as he scrambled off the couch and hurried toward the stairs.  

For a moment, you just sat there, propped up on your elbows, your breath coming in uneven bursts. The absurdity of the situation hit you like a wave, and despite yourself, you let out a laugh.

The moment you stood up, your feet wobbled beneath you, betraying the steadiness you were trying to project. The stairs seemed endless, each step doubling before your eyes as if the staircase were playing tricks on you. You gripped the banister tightly, willing yourself not to topple over. The vodka shots coursing through your veins made everything feel both distant and intensely vivid, the sensation disorienting but oddly comforting.  

When you finally reached the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, the light spilling out in soft, pale streaks. Inside, Travis was hunched over the toilet, his body curled into itself, his face ghostly pale.  

“Oh,” you said softly, unsure what else to offer in the way of comfort. You moved closer, your hand instinctively finding the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the damp hair sticking to his skin. His vulnerability struck something tender in you.  

The sour smell hit you immediately, sharp and invasive, making your stomach churn in protest. But you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on Travis, on the fragility of the moment.  

He groaned softly as his body shuddered, expelling the last traces of that ill-fated drink—the electric blue cocktail he’d downed with so much confidence earlier. You grimaced at the sight but stayed, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles until the worst had passed.  

When he leaned back against the tiled wall, his face glistening with sweat, you reached out to flush the toilet, closing the lid with a gentle finality.  

“God,” he croaked, his voice thin and hoarse. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”  

You laughed lightly, kneeling in front of him, your head tilting as you studied his expression. There was a defeated sort of charm in the way he looked at you, his eyes half-lidded, his usual confidence dimmed by the night’s chaos.  

“Not at all,” you replied, your words softened by the alcohol still fogging your mind. Your hand came to rest on his knee, a quiet reassurance. “Tonight’s been perfect.”  

Travis groaned, letting his head loll back against the wall. “My reputation’s in shambles. Now my pretty neighbor thinks I’m a mess.”  

You laughed again, louder this time, your inhibitions dulled enough to find his self-pity endearing. “You think I’m pretty?”  

His eyes stayed closed, but his lips curved into a smile, lazy and unguarded. “Are you kidding? No wonder Joel Miller hates me.”  

Your laugh faltered, the name cutting through the haze of the night like a blade. You blinked slowly, leaning your head against his knee, letting out a sigh that felt too heavy for the moment.  

“Oh, man,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you have to bring him up?”  

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Travis said quickly, his hand falling clumsily to your back. “Now I’ve really screwed up, haven’t I? I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I pre—”  

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, his curious eyes watching you closely now. “Are you feeling better?”  

“Much better,” he said, offering a small, sheepish smile.  

You pushed yourself to your feet, leaning against the sink for balance. He followed your movements, standing slowly and steadying himself with a hand against the wall. Without a word, you leaned your head against his arm, closing your eyes as you listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing.  

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, suspended in the quiet warmth of the moment, but eventually, Travis stirred. He touched your shoulder gently, his other hand extended to help you up.  

Downstairs, you collapsed onto the couch again, the effort of descending the stairs leaving you slightly breathless. Travis returned with a glass of water, holding it out with a knowing look.  

“Drink,” he said simply.  

You obeyed reluctantly, grimacing as you took a few sips. “I’m going to have a huge hangover tomorrow,” you muttered, setting the glass on the coffee table.  

“Me too,” Travis admitted, lying down beside you with a heavy sigh.  

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s only three in the morning?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief. “God, I’m old.”  

Travis laughed, his grin lopsided and a little drunk. “I swear I thought it was, like, like five in the morning.”  

You chuckled, but the weight of the night was catching up with you. Your eyes drifted shut, and the world faded into a soft blur.  

When you forced them open again, sometime later, Travis was fast asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even. You sat up, careful not to disturb him, and gently shook his forearm.  

“Hey,” you whispered. “I’m going home.”  

He mumbled something incoherent, his eyes fluttering but refusing to open.

“L-let me walk you home,” he slurred, his head tilting to the side as sleep reclaimed him.  

You smiled at the sight of him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“See ya,” you whispered, the words hanging in the air as you let yourself out.

The cool night air greeted you with a sharpness that cut through the haze of alcohol still coursing through your system. It startled you, a shiver running up your spine as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. You were still drunk, but the world felt steadier now, your feet moving carefully across the pavement as you crossed the quiet street.

In your mind, you conjured the image of your warm bed waiting for you, the soft embrace of your pajamas, and maybe, if you could muster the energy, the luxury of a hot shower. The thought made your body ache for rest, but then you noticed the soreness in your face—a dull reminder of the unrelenting smile you’d worn since you’d said goodbye to Travis.

You were happy. Light. Effervescent, even. The kind of happiness that made you feel untouchable, like nothing could weigh you down.

That feeling lingered as you approached your house, though it faltered slightly when you passed by the Millers’ place. Your eyes were drawn, almost involuntarily, to the living room window. A soft, warm light glowed behind the half-transparent curtains, the kind that could only come from a solitary lamp left on too late. You slowed your steps, your gaze lingering as the sharp memory of Joel’s voice from earlier that evening surfaced.

Authoritative. Abrupt. Unbearable.

The way he’d called Sarah home felt unnecessary, almost punitive. Why had he insisted so forcefully? He didn’t usually mind her spending time with you, so why now? And what if things between you and Joel had soured to the point where he forbade Sarah from seeing you altogether? The thought stung, a sharp contrast to the Joel you used to know—the one who would never have done something like that. You hated that you couldn’t anticipate him anymore. And lately, it seemed like everything about him had shifted, like you were seeing a stranger instead of the man you’d once—

“Are you okay?”

The voice, low and steady, cut through your thoughts, making you jump. You looked up sharply, your heart skipping as your eyes adjusted to the dark porch. Joel was sitting there, barely visible except for the faint gleam of the streetlights reflecting in his eyes like stars as he watched you, his expression unreadable, the faintest hint of concern etched into his features.

You didn’t respond right away. Your brain was scrambling, trying to piece together an answer while simultaneously processing the sight of him. He stood then, stepping into the light just enough for you to see him more clearly—the broad set of his shoulders, the slight furrow in his brow, 

“What... what are you doing here?” you managed finally, your voice wavering slightly.

“Here?” he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching in what could have been a smile. “I live here. What are you doing here?”

“I live next door,” you shot back, your tone almost defensive. You tilted your head, studying him more closely. “I meant out here. What are you doing outside? It’s late.”

Joel hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck in a way that told you he wasn’t going to give you a straight answer. And of course he wouldn't tell you that he'd spent the evening on his couch watching TV, alone, or that he’d been restless all evening.

After having dinner with Sarah, she'd retreated to her room—furious with him for cutting her time with you short—he’d spent the better part of the night sitting on his couch, half-watching some mindless TV show, his attention divided between the screen and the window. Waiting. Then, just as he was beginning to close his eyes, a sharp knock woke him up; the cab door. But of course, he didn't get to see the yellow car because when he got to the window, he only got to make out your body coming through Travis' door, cab long gone. 

When you disappeared inside Travis house, something inside him twisted. Restlessness turned into something heavier, something he couldn’t name, and the next thing he knew, he was on the porch with a beer in his hand, staring out into the night like the answer might appear if he stayed long enough.

“It’s Saturday,” he said finally, his voice calm, almost teasing. “Well, Sunday now.”

You nodded absently, but your eyes betrayed you, roaming over him without restraint. It had been a while since you’d let yourself really look at him. Lately, every glance had been fleeting, clouded with irritation or anger. But now, in the quiet glow of the streetlights, there was no denying it.

He was beautiful. Infuriatingly, achingly beautiful.

Your stomach twisted with the realization, the way it always did when you thought about him for too long. You could try to distract yourself with Travis, with his boyish charm and kind eyes, but it wasn't enough. 

Travis didn’t have those dark, fathomless eyes that seemed to hold every one of your secrets. He didn’t have that nose you loved so much or the lips you’d tasted once and could never forget. His voice wasn’t rough and silken all at once, nor did it carry the weight of every word like Joel’s did.

You hated how much you liked him, how much you wanted him. It was uncomfortable, unbearable, because there was nothing you could do about it. Joel was untouchable now, a door that had been closed and locked a month ago.

“I hate you, Joel,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. They weren’t loud, but they were steady, deliberate.

His smile faded, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful expression. He nodded slightly, as if weighing your words.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice level, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled faintly, almost amused by the softness in his tone. You shifted your weight, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you care about it?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice dipping lower with honesty. “But I know it’s not true.”

"Why do you always say that?" you demanded, voice thick with frustration, your arms crossed so tightly against your chest it felt like you might bruise your own ribs. The alcohol in your bloodstream turned every word into a dare, every thought into an accusation. "'I know it's not true. I know you're lying. I know you don't mean it'. What, are you like this omniscient, all-knowing shit—blah, blah, blah?. Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe you don't know anything at all?"

Joel’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable but intent. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, steady while you felt like you were spinning out of control.

"Lately? Yeah," he said finally, his voice low. "I don’t know anything."

The simplicity of his confession, the quiet honesty of it, made you snort in disbelief. You turned your head to the side, looking anywhere but at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your thoughts from spilling out unchecked. When you looked back, his eyes weren’t on your face anymore. They’d dropped lower, lingering somewhere around your waist. Probably on your corset, you realized. Suddenly, the fabric felt suffocating. Not painfully tight, but enough to make you aware of every breath you took.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, tone sharp, defensive. And when he didn’t answer, you pressed harder. “What do you want, Joel?”

“Me?” he asked, his voice calm, almost indifferent.

You nodded, daring him to answer.

“I don’t know.” His lips tilted in a faint smirk. “You’re the one standing here in my doorway. Weren’t you just peeking in my window?”

Your mouth fell open. “I wasn’t peeping, dumbass,” you said, fumbling over the words, heat rushing to your face. “I was—”

"Yes, you were," he interrupted smoothly, a trace of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t smug, not really, but it wasn’t innocent either.

God, it was infuriating.

"Ugh," you groaned, the sound dragged out like it could physically push him away. Your arms dropped to your sides, and you turned your face skyward, exasperated. "Were you always this much of an asshole?"

Joel held back a laugh, his head shaking slightly as he raised his eyebrows at you, his silence infuriatingly steady.

"Okay," he said finally. "You’re drunk."

"Yeah, Einstein," you shot back, your voice sharp and your eyes wide as you threw your hands in the air in mock applause. "You’re finally right about something! Everyone, let’s hear it for Joel!"

You clapped for him, slow and exaggerated, addressing an invisible audience. Joel glanced down, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face before he hid it.

That didn’t stop the memory from rising, unbidden: Clara, her hand slipping into his at the barbecue, her laugh bright and flirtatious, her eyes shining with self-satisfaction. It had turned your stomach then, and now the bitterness came rushing back in full force.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. 

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

Joel didn’t resist. He let your fists land where they would, but then his hands rose, gentle and deliberate, catching your wrists mid-punch. The pressure of his fingers around your forearms was firm but not threatening, as if he was trying to guide the violence out of you without a word.

His stillness broke you more than anything could, and the weight of his quiet left you reeling, unsure of what to say next. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he standing there, letting you fall apart?

“Say something!” you cried, your voice cracking, desperate and raw.

But he didn’t. His silence stretched between you, maddening and unbearable.

Your vision blurred as tears spilled over, hot and heavy, the release leaving you shaking. Your sobs filled the room, a sound so guttural it startled even you.

“Why did you have to do this to me?” you demanded, your fists still pressed against his chest, though they no longer moved. Your voice broke entirely now, trembling as you added, “Why do you keep hurting me, Joel, why are you acting like this? What did I do to deserve this from you?”

Joel’s breath hitched, his shoulders sinking as if under the weight of your words. His eyes, glassy and red, shone in the dim light. “I-I’m sorry, I'm sorry” he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. “I’m so sorry. Please… please forgive me. I love you, baby, I love you, I've al—”

“No, you don’t.” You shook your head, your voice trembling as his hands left your wrists and wrapped around you instead, pulling you closer. “You don’t.”

But you didn’t push him away. His arms were warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into them. The pain dulled, just slightly, under his touch. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more for letting it happen.

“Yes, I do,” Joel said, his voice thick with emotion.

You wanted to look up, to see his face, to know if the tears in his voice matched the ones burning in your eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek.

Gently, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed. He set you down softly, his hands brushing against your arms as he pulled away. You sank back into the pillows, your gaze distant, your sobs quieting into sniffles.

Joel knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unlace your boots. He didn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the task, but his face betrayed him. His eyes were rimmed red, his cheeks damp, his expression taut with pain.

Once the boots were gone, you lay back fully, staring blankly at the ceiling as the room swayed gently around you. Your head throbbed, and your chest ached, but the tears had slowed, leaving behind only exhaustion.

The mattress shifted behind you as Joel settled in beside you. He kept his distance, but you could feel the heat of him near you, the tension in the air, a palpable thing you didn’t know how to navigate. You could still hear his breathing, steady but strained.

When his fingers brushed your waist, you stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking softly. “Let me take that off. It can’t be comfortable, right?”

"No," you answered, and as the corset loosened, you felt a wave of relief rush through you, a softness you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Joel moved the corset off your body in one smooth motion, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Then, he returned to his position, inches away, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but silence between you again.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the night pressing against you, the exhaustion dragging you into a dreamless sleep. But just before you drifted off, you heard your own voice, quiet and pleading.

“Please go home, Joel,” you whispered. “I want to be alone."

He didn’t argue, although you could hear him doubting. Then, you felt him shift behind you, his hand brushing your arm briefly in a gesture that felt almost like goodbye.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled deeply, letting the tears come again, though they felt emptier now, less urgent.

Next door, Joel stepped into his house, the quiet suffocating him as he sank into the couch. The air felt too thick, the walls too close. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to keep himself from falling apart, but it was no use. The despair was overwhelming, a mix of regret, shame, and a self-loathing so profound it left him hollow. And he couldn't help thinking that maybe, it was too late after all. No action or word from him could undo the pain he had seen in your eyes that night.

In the quiet of his own mind, he hated himself more than you ever could. 

-

@nobodyssfool @gigistorm @maryfanson @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @powellssaturn @kyloispunk @paleidiot @aceaubrianna @liciafonseca @kaolusha @beeboopski @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b @cowboymcflurry @medusaandposeidonshead @stylesispunk @sweatpeakarolinaa @puddles221b @deansimpalagirl @jasminedragoon @lover-of-books-and-tea @whimsiwitchy @cuteanimalmama @theherothesavior @ivoryandflame

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

𐙚— pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚— synopsis: the feeling of regret

𐙚— rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚— themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports

[thatlotuscookie]

HELLO I THINK IT WAS MY REQUEST THAT GOT DELATED! So it was something about Dabi x villain member of the lov reader. And he's a dick to her and she always thought he hated her, and she gets super drunk after one mission and calls for Dabi to take her home and when he'd driving her home, she confesses to him, tells him that he's pretty and wants to touch his face, and then giggles and tells him that she always knew he's the lost todoroki and says that she'll be Mrs. Todoroki one day. And then next day she wakes up with a terrible hangover and she doesn't remember half of the things she said, and then he says something and refers to her as Mrs. Todoroki and she gets so blushy and embarrassed 😆😆

I NEED SOME FUNNY FLUFF😂❤️

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hello!! I’m so sorry about your request getting deleted but I’ve got it here now, and I absolutely LOVE the idea! Drunk confessions are always a fun mix of hilarious and heartwarming, and Dabi dealing with it is just chef’s kiss. Plus, the whole “Mrs. Todoroki” bit? I’m living for it! I hope this gives you all the funny fluff you were hoping for. Thank you so much for your patience and for sending this gem again!

✧ Title: ✧ Mrs. Todoroki in the Making ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a mission, you, being drunk, call Dabi to take you home, only to spill some wild confessions about him being a Todoroki and claiming you'll be "Mrs. Todoroki" one day. ✧ Content/Tags: Fluff, Humor, Confessions, Drunk Confession, Dabi Teasing, Light Angst, Embarrassment, Established Relationship ✧ WC: 1200 words // 6.7k chars

You always thought Dabi hated you. He was all sharp edges and sarcasm, constantly making smart remarks and giving you that signature look—the one that said, you’re nothing but a nuisance. His icy blue eyes would narrow at you, and you'd just know he couldn't stand being around you. The thought didn’t exactly fill you with joy, but you did your best to ignore it.

Tonight, however, was a little different. After a particularly grueling mission, the League decided to relax with a few drinks. You, eager to let off some steam, indulged a bit too much. Soon enough, your vision blurred, and the room felt like it was spinning. The others had already left, and you were left sitting alone, a little too drunk to find your way home.

You didn't even think twice when you picked up your phone and called the one person who somehow always stuck around.

“Dabi,” you slurred, smiling lazily as the ringing in your ear echoed. “You gotta come get meee.”

On the other end of the line, Dabi sighed, but there was no harshness in his tone. “You can’t handle your liquor, huh?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ playfully. “Pick me up, please? I—I can't walk straight.”

Dabi didn’t hang up. Instead, with a soft grunt of acknowledgment, he drove over to where you were, and when he arrived, his expression was less irritated and more… patient? He stepped out of the car, walked over to you, and gently lifted you up, one hand supporting your back as the other steadied your legs.

“There you go,” he said softly, guiding you into the passenger seat. He was surprisingly gentle, handling you with a kind of care you didn’t expect from someone who usually radiated indifference.

You giggled, your drunken mind swirling with thoughts you never dared say out loud. As he drove, you leaned your head against the window, turning to look at him with sleepy eyes.

“Y’know…” you started, voice a little sing-songy. “You’re really pretty.”

Dabi blinked, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said with a soft laugh. “You’re, like, really pretty. I’ve always wanted to touch your face. Can I touch your face?”

For a second, Dabi didn’t answer. He glanced at you, and instead of the annoyed sneer you expected, there was a small, almost invisible twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. He shook his head slightly, but his voice remained gentle.

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” he said, but the way he glanced at you, with a softness in his eyes, gave him away.

“Nooo,” you whined. “I’m serious. You’re so pretty.”

Dabi smirked but didn't say anything. You could’ve sworn there was a hint of warmth behind that smirk, like he wasn’t brushing off your compliment but taking it in. And then, suddenly, your mind latched onto a secret you’d been keeping.

“I know who you are,” you whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer as if you were sharing the world’s greatest secret.

Dabi’s brow arched slightly. “Oh? And who’s that?”

“You’re a Todoroki,” you said, giggling. “I know it. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

Dabi froze for a moment, his grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. But then, his gaze softened, and he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head again.

“Of course,” he muttered. “What else do you know?”

You leaned back, closing your eyes, feeling the world spinning around you as you smiled dreamily. “One day… I’m gonna be Mrs. Todoroki. I’ll marry you, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Dabi nearly laughed at that, though it wasn’t mocking. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a real smile tugging at his lips this time.

“Mrs. Todoroki, huh?” he mused, his voice soft. “That’s a bold statement.”

“Yup,” you replied, still giggling. “And you’ll love me forever and ever.”

Dabi didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled the car to a stop in front of your place, getting out and walking around to your side. This time, when he helped you out of the car, his movements were even more careful, his hand gently resting at your waist as he guided you inside.

“You okay to make it to your bed?” he asked, his tone almost… caring?

“I dunno,” you mumbled, stumbling a little as you tried to stand. Without hesitation, Dabi caught you, one arm supporting you as he led you to the couch, carefully lowering you onto the cushions.

You blinked up at him, still smiling. “Thanks, Dabi. You’re so nice to me. I like you.”

Dabi just shook his head, crouching down in front of you. His hand brushed your hair out of your face, his touch surprisingly soft. “Get some sleep. You’ll thank me later.”

“Goodnight, future hubby,” you mumbled, already drifting off.

Dabi chuckled under his breath. “Goodnight, Mrs. Todoroki.” ~~~The Next Morning~~~

You woke up to the world’s worst headache. Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your temples as fragments of the night before danced through your mind. You remembered calling Dabi, him driving you home… and then… oh no.

You froze, eyes widening as the fog of your hangover slowly lifted. “Oh god… did I—did I tell him I’d marry him?”

Just then, the door creaked open, and there he was. Dabi, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his usual smirk firmly in place. But this time, there was something softer in his expression, like he wasn’t here to make fun of you—just to tease you in the most infuriatingly gentle way possible.

“Morning, Mrs. Todoroki,” he said, his voice holding that familiar sarcastic edge but layered with something else—something playful.

You wanted to die on the spot. “No… please tell me I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, stepping closer, his smirk growing wider. “You called me pretty, said you knew my ‘secret,’ and then declared you were gonna marry me one day.”

Your face flushed a deep red. “I was drunk! I didn’t mean it!”

Dabi chuckled, crouching down to meet your gaze. His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You sure? You seemed pretty confident last night.”

“I—I was… I don’t…” you stammered, your heart racing as his touch lingered for just a second too long.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, Mrs. Todoroki.”

“I… you think so?” you asked, still flustered but unable to ignore your stomach growling in response.

“Yeah, so get up,” he said, nudging you gently. “You need to eat something before you die of a hangover.”

You finally looked up at him, gratitude flooding your senses. “Thanks, Dabi. Really.”

He smirked, his earlier teasing replaced by something gentler. “Just don’t make it a habit to call me when you’re drunk, okay?”

You nodded, still feeling the embarrassment creep into your cheeks. “Okay. But if I do, just know I really mean it about being Mrs. Todoroki.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide the smile creeping onto his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you some food first.”

[itsgrimeytime]

I Told You Now || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

Part 2

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: I've Told You Now by Sam Smith or "But what the hell, why do you think I come 'round here on my free will? Wasting all my precious time... Oh, the truth spills out and oh I...I've told you now."

Summary: You were in love with Rick, not that he knew. You weren't sure you were ever going to tell him. What could you say, you loved the kids and didn't want to lose them too. It was too risky. But finding out he was chasing after some married woman was just the last straw.

TWs: angst, jealousy, yelling, anger, crying, cursing, mention of fainting, not really unrequited love (you just don't know that yet) and vague references to infidelity (Jessie to her husband).

[[A/N: This song came up on my old playlist, and let me tell ya... I had some thoughts. This might be a two-parter, we shall see. Enjoy <3]]

"Hey, Mags," you hummed -Judith bouncing on your hip, "-where's Rick? I've been trying to find him all da-"

Maggie froze for a second, and you stilled -tightening your grip on Judith. Was there danger? Was everything okay? Your eyes swung around to see if there was anything unusual, anything dangerous-

Your eyes caught on something.

It was Rick, wearing his constable uniform (which you blindly noted suited him really well), and talking to a woman. You knew her name, Jessie, he'd talked about her before -said her husband was a real piece of shit. Everyone within Alexandria apparently knew that, but Rick was the only one to do anything about it.

At the time, you thought it was heroic of him, something Rick would do.

But now...

Your eyes skimmed across his face, across the intent of his blue eyes. There was something there, something you knew. You're not sure if it's the way he stood, or the smooth smile slipped onto his lips, or the way he looked down when he laughed at her -whatever she said, but-

"Why don't you just come inside?"

You barely heard it, something in your chest sinking -heavy. Your heart was pounding in your chest, it felt like every breath took everything out of your lungs, like your whole world was teetering on an edge. And Rick Grimes held it in his hands.

And he was... he was throwing it around, he wasn't even careful-

"Y/N," she continued, and you could hear her but there was something in you that couldn't move.

How long had this been happening? A married woman, really?

You knew her husband was terrible, scum of the Earth-

"Y/N," she warned, gently.

But her?

Why hadn't he ever told you? Why did you ever think that it was different now?

What were you to him? Just a goddamn babysitter?

The hope that had gathered up in your chest was snuffed out, just like the crumbling of your heart. You'd always knew it would come to this, you just weren't ready.

"Y/N," she stressed -trying to gain your focus, "-come on-"

Something in your stomach twisted, sour.

Tossing like a tide, you swayed in place. Your head was getting fuzzy and your eyes were bleary. Your ears felt like they were stuffed, all the voices so far away-

You took a languid blink.

With a breath, you pushed Judith into Maggie's arms -ensuring her safety. And with that, your knees buckled underneath you.

You fell to the ground.

You remember hearing Maggie scream, hearing the rush of footsteps -slapping along the ground. You remember hearing him then too, but something in you soured -you tried so hard to block it out. Ignore it.

"What the hell happened?"

It made your head pound again, made your brain swim. You squeezed your eyes closed like it would bring you some relief, anything-

"Y/N?" A voice offered, you recognized it to be Maggie's, "-are you awake?"

You shifted ever so slightly, eyes blinking open. The first thing you noticed was the bandage along your head, had you hit your head? Your fingers shifted to touch it-

Maggie grabbed your wrist, stopping the motion, "That'll hurt. You hit your head when you... Doctor says it might give you some headaches for a while."

You realized then, you were in a bed -distinctly not yours. You knew the woody smell anywhere, your eyes darted along the nightstands, almost to confirm -an old picture of him, Lori, and Carl. Something in you winced, and not because of your head.

"Told 'im to give us a minute," she revealed, "-I said you'd want to be in your own house, but he insisted."

The apology went unsaid.

"'S okay," you slurred a little, you weren't sure if it was from the pain or the sleep, "-not your fault, Maggie."

"Still," she echoed -something in her protective, "-I won't leave 'im alone with you, I promise."

You laughed a little, "Grimes is gonna do it anyway, we both know that. Hell, maybe I'll finally tell him."

"Because of..."

It again went unsaid, you weren't sure you could say it out loud either.

"How-" you cleared your throat, "-Do you know how long...?"

Maggie sighed -picking at the white comforter, "A few weeks at most, me and Glenn only caught onto it that long. But I don't... I don't know."

"How can I be so pissed-" you cried -tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-I don't deserve to be pissed. How would he even know?"

"Y/N, you can be pissed," she interrupted, wrapped your hands into hers, "-It's not just you. Everyone thought- You aren't delusional. He was... There was something."

"Apparently not," you retorted -bluntly.

"Don't," she frowned, getting something to wipe at your eyes, "-Don't do that to yourself, you couldn't have known better."

"I should've known better," you echoed out -sniffling, "-I'm so stupid. I told myself to n-"

The door swung open.

Rick stood there -less composed than you saw him before. You inwardly flinched at the notion of... before. His hair was a bit unruly like he'd been running his hands through it -he did that when he was worried. You knew that. His jacket (constable jacket) was tossed off, a frown creased on his lips and worry on his brow. He looked at you -unflinchingly.

"I thought I 'eard ya cryin'," he spoke, seemingly to confirm to himself, "-does it hurt? Do I need to go get some medicine? Doc said-"

"No," you interrupted -plainly, wiping at your eyes, "-I'm fine, Rick. Actually-"

You pulled yourself out from under the comforter, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. It felt like you were suffocating in here -all you could smell was him, all you could see was him, all you could feel was him. It wasn't fair.

You needed some air, like now.

"-I'm gonna go home," you finished, looking to Maggie to help you get onto your feet (you were still a little dizzy).

"You can't-" he seemed to respond, in disbelief, "-You ain't supposed to be alone, right now. Doc said-"

"I'll go to Maggie's then," you offered -grabbing your shoes which were placed neatly by the bed. Something in you stung that he had thought to do that for you.

"Why?" He asked -genuine.

You wordlessly walked through the door past him -Maggie trailing you. You padded down the hallway, cursing the familiar walls -the baby toys scattered in the corner, the picture frames hung up on the wall, and the little trinkets from his time on the road.

"You'll tell me if the kids need me, yeah?" You spoke, finally -hand turning the doorknob.

"Will ya just talk to me?"

You stuttered in your step, you could feel Maggie behind you. Your heart twisting in your chest, you just wanted to go. But something in you stopped; god, you loved him so much. It wasn't fair.

"Fine," you answered -clipped, "-Maggie, give us a minute? I'll be over in a few."

She looked at you a moment, trying to see if she should leave maybe. Eyes darting over your face, reading your eyes -she seemed to be satisfied, "Okay."

You spun to Rick, taking a deep breath in through your nose.

"What do you want to talk about, Rick?"

He laughed -in disbelief, you could tell, "What do I wanna talk 'bout? Seriously? Like you don't know?"

You stared at him -wordlessly.

"Y/N," he started -stepping toward you, you almost immediately stepped back and he noticed, "-you fuckin' fainted, you're hurt. We don't even know why and now-"

"I know why," you interrupted.

He seemed to look at you in curiosity, "Why?"

"Haven't been eating," you lied with the ease of the wind.

He seemed to process that a second -concern flitting through his face before settling somewhere else, "'At's bullshit."

"How do you know-"

"You ate dinner at mine last night," he explained, "-an' ya cleaned your plate."

Shit.

"Look Rick," you mended, "-I really don't want to talk about it."

"Why?" He offered, and he stepped forward -you stepped back, "-and now you're... you're avoidin' me? What the hell happened? You were fine, yesterday-"

"Can we not get into this right now?" You interrupted again, "-My head hurts like hell, and I just want to go and rest, like I imagine I was told to do."

Rick leveled a look at you, "Why not 'ere? Why Maggie's? You're always 'round 'ere anyway-"

It slipped out before you could think about it -venomous, "And why do you think that is?"

He stuttered to a stop, "What?"

Regret spilled into your stomach, "Rick, let's not get into this. Seriously. I'm tired-"

"No, no," he echoed, "-you brought it up. What do ya mean? What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"I can't," you swallowed, tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-Rick, not now, okay?"

He looked at you surfing over your eyes, insistent, "Why are you 'round 'ere so often?"

"Rick-"

"I thought it was 'cause ya loved the kids," he listed, "-or 'cause we were friends. But you... 'Ere's another reason."

"Rick, I don't want to."

"Want to what?" He asked, something in his voice teetering, "-Tell me? Talk to me? We used to know everythin' 'bout each other, and now you're sayin'-"

Something in you snapped. You don't know if it was his tone, or the words, or the implication that you had been lying to him while he was so truthful to you-

"God, Rick," you nearly shouted, "-I'm in fucking love with you!"

Rick froze -unmoving. You couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

"Are you happy now?"

He didn't say a word.

"So, yeah. I have been lying to you," you hissed, "-if you wanted to put it that way. If you wanted to say that I'm an asshole for protecting myself, then yeah, I am."

Rick was much different in his stance now -gentle like you'd run at his first motion toward you, eyes flickering between so many things, "Y/N..."

"No," you spoke -steely, "-I'm not. We're not doing this. I already know..."

Your words trailed off, and you swallowed -pushing down the tears. You weren't going to cry now.

"I saw you with Jessie, okay?" you explained -something in your voice softer, fragile, hurt, "-So I know. It's why I fainted. I just... I wasn't expecting it."

"Y/N, I never-"

"Seriously, Rick," you nearly begged -your voice cracking, "-I know. You don't need to drag this out longer. Did you not hear me the first time?"

His mouth snapped shut, even though he looked like he had a lot to say. Words urging to be uttered from his lips. But he didn't say anything, maybe out of respect to you. You were grateful.

"I'll be back by later to see the kids," you echoed out -something in your voice hollow.

"Will ya just let me-"

"Just let me know when Judith's up, okay?" You interrupted, deflecting, "-I said I'd watch her today."

And with a final look (maybe your last ever full look at him), you walked out the door.

[mcverse]

ꨄ︎ Paring: AVATAR/ATWOW x CRUSH!! Fem! Reader

ꨄ︎ Requested: Yes/No

ꨄ︎ Type: Headcanon with scenarios

ꨄ︎ Warnings: Nudity, swears, slight mentions of sexual activity, fluff

ꨄ︎ Side note: Jake & Tonowari are before wives/ex lovers, not after. Tsu’tey is after his ex lover. They are all still of appropriate age. Y’all I forgot spider, I should probably add him at some point now that he grew on me. Inspired skinny dip scenarios from here.

please keep in mind that all characters in my stories are always 18+

— JAKE

Sure Jake was being trained by Neytiri the way of Navi but after the end of every session he would come find you.

You knew Jake before he got his Avatar body, and you assumed him being so comfortable around you was the reason he always sought you out—and not because he returned your affection.

So imagine your surprise when your standing by the edge of the water, in the middle of taking off your shirt but pause because Jake’s back flexing with water droplets were far too distracting.

“Are you feeling shy now?” Jake muses, turning around to look at you with his big yellow eyes. They squint slight as he smiles, showing on his shape teeth.

You scoff with a roll of your eyes, continuing to take off your top to hide your flushed cheeks, “Why should I be? It’s you.”

Jake laughs, the sound of ripples in the water draws your attention back to him, only to quickly dart them away when he walks out the water, bare naked.

Jake has always been a confident, cocky guy. Just because he had a new body didn’t change that. If anything, it made it worst when it came to you.

You look so small standing there like a deer caught in headlights. How could he not tease you? You made it too easy. It was cute—you are so freaking cute.

“Exactly, it’s just me.” Jake squats down, covering his junk as he playfully coos, “The water will be cold by nightfall if you don’t hurry.”

You purse your lips, dropping your shirt and pull both your bottoms down in one fluid motion, ignoring the thumping of Jake’s tail hitting the ground repeatedly.

Inhaling sharply, you finally turn to look him in his eyes, surprised to see him already looking at your face. His lips curl more now that your attentions on him, “Loser last in the water has to break it to Grace that she’s worst than a helicopter parent.”

Your breath hitch when you see him stand up quickly, ass on display as he runs back to the river. Getting over it, you shout after him, “HEY! You’re cheating.”

— TONOWARI

It was not a complete accident that he stumbled on you in the water on night, far from seeing eyes. He definitely wasn’t already looking for you, no no.

He was going to make his presence known, maybe ask why you were so far away, when he glimpse of your bare chest and he finally understood.

This was clearly a private moment, he conducted, as he turns to leave despite his mind tell him to invade it anyway.

“Tonowari?” your faint voice calls his name, most likely caught him as he pauses, thinking of ways to prove his innocence if need be, “It is you!” you laugh, drawing a blue blush to his face.

You sounded so adorable.

He stands still with his back turned to you, deciding to remain respectful, “I didn’t mean to interrupting your alone time. I was just walking by.” It was obviously a lie because there was no just walking by this far from the village.

You hum, smiling with a tilt of your head, “Do you want to join? I don’t mind your company.”

Your company. Your. You said your, not any company or just company. You singled him out.

Now Tonowari was a patient man, he was going to be chief soon so he had to be. But with you, patience didn’t fly completely ti the wind, it was just sat aside.

He’s turning around against his better judgement, about to join you in the water but you stop him.

“I’m naked.” you blurt out frankly.

Tonowari’s eyes zone in on your form. He already knows that. But hearing you say it makes his chest hurt and his ears hot, “Oh..”

Be respectful Tonowari, look away, be calm.

“There’s a fee to join me,” you muse, “You have to be too.”

You’re the death of him. He swears it as he tensely removes his gear, the lioncloth being the last piece he drops aside.

His eyes are back on you as yours is on him as he walks into the water and swim to you. He didn’t mean to get so close, your skin brushing against his, but he’s not complaining when you complete close the space.

— TSU’TEY

Tsu’tey is a respectable, responsible man. He doesn’t do foolish things. He had a reputation to uphold.

Yet somehow you convince him time and time again to let loose, have some fun moments and risky decisions.

Somehow, someway, your reason have reached the ears of him and he’s agreeing again to one of your ridiculous ideas.

Skinny dipping? What even if that? Must be something JakeSully told you.

“You hang around JakeSully too much.” he’ll tell you in between listening to you explain how you came to know it. You roll your eyes, getting to the good part on what it actually was.

His mouth is agape, ears perked up in attention. That’s what Skinny dipping was? And you wanted to try it with him out of any other man in the village? Perhaps he should be thanking JakeSully for giving you this information. He doesn’t.

Instead, he follows you to a deep river, watch as you peel back all your clothing and step into the water.

You look so stunning, literally take his breath away. And when you look back at him so mischievously, telling him to hurry up and join—there was no hesitation found as he removed his clothing and met you in the middle of the river.

— NETEYAM

What started out just fishing in silence beside one another, as one does around their secret crushes, turns into a little challenge of who can catch fish the best using their technique. The loser gets to do whatever the winner wants.

Neteyam was confident, thinking this might be his chance to prove himself a worthy mate and confess all at the same time.

He loses though. He wasn’t focused. He couldn’t focus, not with all your teasing jabs, infectious laughter and star stealing smile.

He’s not mad, though, at least it was to you. There was no way you’d ask him to do something terrible—spoke to soon. Did you just dare him to skinny dip? Did he hear that right?

“Are you scared, ‘yam?” you taunt him over your shoulder as you walk future away, somewhere secluded in case he does decide to do it.

Unsurprisingly, he’s following you like a moth to flame, eyes trained on your figure when you disappear behind some foliage. With his heart beating loudly against his chest in both nerves and curiosity, he hurries after you and sigh in relief when your still there, but close to a body of water he’s never seen before.

You know you dared him. But only because it’s something you’ve been wanting to do for a while. The water looked so tempting, if he didn’t go through with it, you just might.

Looking over your shoulder at him, you lock eyes, “I know I dared you but I kinda feel like going for a dip too.” you admit, turning back around to slowly strip out of your clothing.

You assume Neteyam is just standing there like a lost boy when your final article of clothing falls but is surprised to see an outstretched hand in your peripheral view.

“You’re gorgeous.” he admits bashfully when you touch his hand, face hidden behind a few strands of falling braids, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you ask, confused as you stare at him, only to be the flustered one now.

“For trusting me.”

How does he always make something so wholesome???

— LO’AK

Lo’ak wasn’t sneaky. He couldn’t get away with anything if he tried. So you immediately knew he had a crush on you, it was so painfully obvious. And it was painfully cute.

You were just hanging out one day, a little time after the eclipse has started. Simply talking about anything under the pandora sky when a specific topic was brought up: dares you did or declined.

One dare was how you declined to skinny dip because you were way too nervous at the time but regret it because it sounded so thrilling now that your older.

Bro doesn’t miss a beat. Lo’ak is asking if you wanted to Skinny dip right now. There was no one around—he knew a place, you trust him enough. Why not?

He’s right. What’s stopping you at this point? Not a damn thing.

At first, his intentions were entirely pure. It sounded fun. He’s never done it before, it’ll be cool to do it together. One of the many first with you if he actually confesses.

Then your clothes start to come off, leaving you more exposed than he dared to dream. The water glistening your skin, white freckles glowing in the dark. Damn you were beautiful—

“Thank you.” you smile, watching him as he watches you. He hasn’t even taken off his clothes yet, so lost in everything that is you. The shock on his face was hilarious when he realizes his mistake.

With his face flushed purple, he quickly averts his eyes, “I said that out loud?” He murmurs, mainly to himself in confusion but you heard him loud and clear. It was just you two, after all.

“You did,” you turn away, walking deeper into water, “I think you’re beautiful too. Even with all your clothes still on.” you tell him teasingly, laughing to yourself when you hear splashing water behind you.

He will not fumble this!

— KIRI

Your brother called her a freak but you thought of being the most interesting person to come to this village.

She was different in every way—she looks different from the rest of her family just by little, she acts different when nature is involved, and she sounds different every time you hear her speak.

She changed the way you think, the way you see your world. Does she know that you want her in it?

You weren’t sure and it was all you could think about when you walk with her through the trees, just enjoying what Eywa has blessed you with when you come across a body of water.

Watching as she goes near it, you were going to suggest going back, but then she accident fell in. When she resurface, your shocked to find her chest bare, her too somewhere in the water.

Kiri quickly covers herself, cheeks turning blue out of embarrassment, and though it was cute and she looks attractive right now, you felt bad.

Before you mind can tell you how bad an idea this was, you removed your top, smiling at her, “There’s no reason to feel embarrassed,” you tell her, slipping into the water beside her, “We’re both woman.”

She hesitates, eventually dropping her arms and look away, trying to distract herself with something else.

You shouldn’t watch her as intensely as you did but she was beautiful, you wonder if she knew that, “I think you’re very beautiful…Kiri.”

She looks back at you, smiling shyly as she lowers her eyes too, “I think you’re beautiful too…” she returns softly.

Nope. She was too cute. Before she saw it coming, your tackling her in the water, screeching how adorable she is.

— AO’NONG

Both of you were still young adults, and not looking to court anyone yet but at the same time—there was this interesting dynamic of teasing, heartfelt moments and occasionally sexual tension.

You not being one to talk about your feelings, are quite a trouble maker. Anything under the watchful eyes of Ewya was fair game to help you avoid it.

Ao’nong just happened to be around after one stressful day; just lucky enough to tag along when you venture further from the village.

“Where are we going?” he ask, watching your back flex as you move, occasionally shifting to the surrounding area to keep watch.

“You didn’t have to come.” you snap, peeking over your shoulder with a glare. Ao’nung simply shrug his shoulders, a small smile etching his face and remains silent.

He was confused why you’d stop at a body of water so far from the village when it was surrounded by it. He was going to question your motive again, but then you start taking your clothes off and his breath away.

It was too late to look away. He saw everything before you walk into the water, leaving him standing there unsure of what to do for once in his life.

You notice this, of course, smirking at him from the water. It’s a rare sight to see Ao’nung flushed. What kind of idiot would you be not to exploit it.

“Ma Ao’nung. What’s the matter? Something caught your tongue?” you’ll tease him, leaning back in the water to swim backwards, giving him an eyeful of your chest.

Ao’nung’s brows are furrowed at your teasing, trying to come up with something—anything—to say but finds nothing but a dry mouth.

You’re giggling, swimming back over to him because you felt bad. With a beaming smile, you reach out to him, full body on display, “Sorry. Come swim with me.”

He did a lot more than just swim with you after he got over the shock. You don’t get to just tease him so causally.

— TSIREYA

Two friends skinny dipping, nothing wrong with that.

Expect there was cause you were totally crushing hard on Tsireya. And maybe she felt the same, it was kinda hard to tell with her.

You don’t know why you brought it up—maybe because you knew her tail would cutely flicker in excitement yet her words the polar opposite.

For someone who was afraid of what ifs, she sure crumbled pretty easy after a little persuasion.

When you get to a secluded area you came across one day, she’s having doubt again. You don’t try to change her mind this time, already filled with adrenaline at the thought and just strip your clothes.

Now she can’t exactly leave you by yourself, or so she claims, and that it might be more comfortable for you, not her, to be naked too.

“You are trouble, (Name).” Tsireya giggles, wading through the water to reach you. The depth gets deeper as she does, that now the only way was to swim.

Smirking, you reach out to her, holding her arm close to your chest, “It’s so exciting right?” you ask curtly before adding, “but there is absolutely no chance of getting caught!” when you catch her pointed look.

“So we’re here alone, by ourselves?” Tsireya ask the fifth time that night, surveying for good measures.

Rolling your eyes, “For the last time. No one is coming!” Honestly she’s lucky she’s cute with her doubtful ass.

She’s looking back at you with a cheeky grin, “Good.” and tackles you into the water.

Safe to say, you now knew she really liked you by the end of the night.

— ROTXO

You woke baby out of his sleep.

It was a stir of the moment type of adventure and if you didn’t do it now, who knows when you will.

He was confused at first, not understanding what you were coming off about when you lead him further from the mauri’s.

Given if this was anyone else, he’d be agitated, rejecting whatever it was at first sight. But it was you, he’ll follow you through storms if the choice was an option.

It’s only when you let go of his hand, running to a body of water and stripping out of your clothes did everything start become clearer.

Man was alert, standing stiff where you left him. Glancing around to make sure no one was around for your sake and his, if you know what I mean.

“Rotxo, what are you doing just standing there,” your laughing at him from the sea, “Did you forget already!?”

No, he doesn’t even remember you getting naked in front of him being a possibility outside of his thoughts. He would remember if something said lead to this. Yet it has as you continue to claim.

“Don’t leave me by myself!” you whine, splashing water in his direction.

Like he would ever dare. The guy was crushing hard, spending any second with you—near you is what he dreams. Literally anytime with you was a blissful moment.

Saying those words cause him to pause. It was clear that you want him, well, want him there next to you. And he could never say no to you.

He’s awkward as he strips out his gear and loincloth, definitely the most embarrassed out of all of them.

He’s quick to enter the water, hoping it would cool him down but his temperature only rises when you swim closer, practically chest to chest with him.

“I feel much better now that your here. Don’t you?” you tease, peering up at him as you place a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“Yeah.” he replies breathlessly, unable to look away from your face, in fear that he might drown himself.

You drag your arm down his arm sensually, “It’s okay to look, Ro…”

It was embarrassing having you have to hold him up, for more reason than one but the main being because he really did almost drown that night.

[redhope446]

Anchored Desire- Two

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Synopsis: Things between you and Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw are heating up fast. His endless flirting and the tension between you both finally come to a head, and resisting him isn’t as easy as you thought.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, teasing, kissing, messy feelings.

~~~

The days felt longer at sea, the horizon stretching endlessly into shades of blue and grey. You stayed busy—interviewing pilots, jotting notes, and trying to capture the heart of life aboard the ship—but no matter how focused you tried to be, Bradley Bradshaw was always there. Whether it was a lingering glance in the mess hall or a teasing comment that left your cheeks burning, he was impossible to ignore.

It was late when you stepped out onto the deck, the ocean breeze tugging at your hair. The stars overhead were impossibly bright, scattered across the dark sky in patterns you couldn’t quite name. You rested your arms on the railing, letting the salty air fill your lungs as the steady sound of the waves eased some of the tension knotted in your chest.

“You’ve got to stop making this so easy for me,” came that familiar voice from behind.

You sighed, already bracing yourself, and turned to see Rooster leaning casually against the doorway. His flight suit was undone just enough to reveal the grey undershirt beneath, and the way his arms were crossed over his chest made it all too clear he’d caught you mid-thought.

“Making what easy?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Finding you,” he replied with a crooked grin, stepping closer. “It’s like you want me to follow you out here.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though you didn’t move as he stopped just a foot away.

“And yet, here you are,” he shot back, his tone light but his eyes sharp. He tilted his head, studying you the way he always did—like you were a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve. “What’s on your mind?”

You turned back to the water, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Too late for that,” he said softly, moving to stand beside you. His ardefencesd yours, just barely, but it was enough to make your heart skip. “Come on. Spill.”

You rolled your eyes but kept your gaze on the horizon. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do,” he answered like it was the simplest thing in the world.

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you hesitated. He had a way of cutting through your defenses, and tonight was no different.

“Fine,” you said finally. “This assignment is a lot. The pressure, the people, the… everything. It’s exhausting.”

Rooster nodded, his expression softer now. “I get that. Life out here can be… overwhelming.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “You don’t seem overwhelmed.”

“That’s because I’ve had years to get used to it,” he said with a small smile. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it sometimes. Especially when you’re stuck in your head.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued before you could.

“Look,” he said, turning to face you fully. “You don’t have to do this alone. I know you’re tough, but it’s okay to lean on someone now and then.”

The intensity in his gaze made it hard to breathe. “And let me guess,” you said, trying to break the tension, “that someone is you?”

“Obviously,” he said, flashing that signature grin.

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I see something worth fighting for,” he said simply, and the teasing edge in his voice was gone.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The ship rocked gently beneath you, but all you could feel was the warmth radiating from him, the way his eyes held yours like they were daring you to look away.

“You don’t play fair,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the waves.

“Never said I did,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand brushed yours on the railing, his touch warm and steady. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t tell him to stop.

Instead, you turned toward him, and before you could second-guess yourself, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, testing, but when you leaned into him, it deepened. The world around you faded, the only thing grounding you was the feel of his hands, his warmth, and the unspoken promise between you.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and full of admiration.

“So are you,” you replied, breathless.

For once, Bradley Bradshaw didn’t have a quick comeback. He just smiled, his hand lingering on your waist as the two of you stood there under the stars, the waves crashing softly below.

When you turned back to him, his hand was already on your waist, firm and steady like it had always belonged there. His eyes searched yours, dark and serious in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say the word,” he murmured, his voice low as if he didn’t trust himself to speak any louder.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed the small gap between you, your lips crashing into his like a wave meeting the shore. There was no hesitation this time, no testing or holding back. Rooster’s hand tightened on your waist, the other slipping up to cradle your jaw, his fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you deeper.

He tasted faintly of salt and something warm and distinctly him, and it was intoxicating. Your hands gripped his flight suit, tugging him closer as if the space between you was unbearable. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through you that made your knees weaken.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said between kisses, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

“Dangerous?” you managed, your voice breathless and barely steady.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that—not with words, anyway. So, you kissed him again, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck. This time, he pressed you back against the railing, his body flush against yours as the tension between you ignited into something you couldn’t control.

His kisses grew hungrier, more insistent, and the world seemed to fall away entirely. The ship rocked gently beneath you, the ocean was vast and endless around you, but none of it mattered. All you could feel was him—the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, his eyes stayed locked on yours. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch so gentle it was almost at odds with the intensity of the moment.

“You’re trouble,” he said softly, his lips curving into a smile that made your heart stutter.

“You started it,” you shot back, your voice shaky but full of affection.

“Yeah,” he admitted, leaning in to press another quick, lingering kiss to your lips. “And I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you let your hands trail down his chest. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

His words settled over you, warm and heavy, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to push him away or deflect with sarcasm. Instead, you let yourself lean into him, your cheek brushing against his as you both stood there, tangled up in each other under the endless expanse of stars.

Whatever this was—whatever it was becoming—you didn’t want it to end. And from the way Rooster pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he meant to keep you there, you had a feeling he felt the same.

[applbottmjeens]

PREDECESSOR AND PROGENY

tags: mentions of domestic violence, implied abuse, divorced Phillip Graves bc that is a man who has 100% been married before, age gap mention, power dynamic mention, Jack Graves mention, I DO NOT WRITE GRAVES AS A GOOD MAN.

summary: The woman once known as Irene Graves tries to save a girl from a similar fate.

She heard about her only in passing and in fits of frustration. He never called her by name. Just his “bitch of an ex wife” or “the ex”, dehumanizing her and demonizing the mother of his only son.

She's met his son. The closeness in age was enough to shake them. His name was Jack, and he was a splitting image of his dad- with a kindness in his eyes that was missing from it's father.

She recalls meeting Jack being looked upon with a mix of concern, pity, and horror behind a veneer of southern politeness Annie couldn't penetrate.

It isn't until she meets Irene, really meets her, that Annie understands Jack- he has Phillip's face. He has his mind. But that heart, that humanity…

Its all Irene Williams.

Strawberry blonde with red lips and a pair of baby blues that saw right through her. This woman was elegant. Beautiful. Nothing like the vindictive witch Phillip made her to be.

She sits across from her at this Cafe, assuring Anna that “he doesn't know this place. And if he did, he wouldn't think of showing up.” To reassure her. She knows Anna is at an edge. Scared.

Across from her, Irene assesses the fly caught in Phillip's web. She's young. And yet she already looks like he's put her through the fucking wringer. God this man had a talent. She thinks sarcastically, the hunched over young woman sheepishly drinking her tea.

Phillip always did like his share of pretty, tan brunettes. He'd cheated on her with one when they were still in highschool- but she'd forgiven him easily back then- After all, she wasn't being too loyal either.

“...I'm glad you finally decided to answer my emails, Miss Pham.” Irene speaks. “Can I call you Anna?” The girl nods.

Anna finally meets her eyes. Such sad, brown little eyes. “...He always told me to-”

“Ignore them.” They say at the same time.

“Ignore them?- That what I was saying was a bunch of horseshit? Yeah. I figured.” Irene shakes her head. Phillip Graves was still so predictable to her.

She laughs. Anna’s guard is still up. But of course. Irene was always the bad guy in Phillip’s stories.

“How long have you and Phillip been…together?” Irene asks.

Annie pauses. “Officially?...About…Two years.”

“Marriage?” Irene interrogates the girl. She knows she's coming off a bit strong- but from what she's heard of that girl? She should be biting back.

“He…Implies it.” Anna says meekly, almost shy, embarrassed.

“Any babies in the picture?”

“...I have a son.”

“His?” Irene raises a brow, sighing when the younger woman shakes her head no.

“I'm guessing Phillip's sinking his teeth into that one.” Her green eyes glance down at her cup. “I'm not proud to say I deprived that man of fatherhood. I wouldn't let him see Jack till he was around fifteen. Didn't want him ruining my boy.” Irene shifts in her chair. “I suppose Phillip is doing some…compensating on his part for yours.”

She thinks about when Jack told her about his encounter with Phillip's new squeeze when he came to visit once last year- the girl was mortified upon meeting him, but so sweet and bubbly nonetheless.

“I don't think she knew I existed ‘til we met that day.” Jack admitted to his mother over the phone. He recalled seeing his father a bit anxious as Anna told him, “Phillip never mentioned a son to me.” With a strained smile.

She'd never have dated him if she knew he had a kid her age for sure.

Irene was admittedly, a bit miffed realizing Phillip had roped someone else into his bullshit- learning she's young. She's pretty. Not surprised she's military either.

And to meet her and see the damage done is, pitying.

“...What's your son's name?” Irene asks, and Annie takes her phone to show a little baby with the most furrowed brow in irritation she's ever seen- but cute. Undeniably so.

“His name is Sylas Thomas- But…I just call him Tommy.” She says quietly.

“His father is…?”

“...Not in the picture” Annie admits, looking sad. “He…got deported the day I found out I was pregnant. I…I don’t know why he won’t talk to me.”

“...Sad coincidence.” Irene mumbles. Maybe not so much of a coincidence- but it would hurt to kick her while she's still down. It would be just like Phillip to deport her man… And threaten him into no contact. He was fiercely protective of what he thought was his.

“When I found out I was pregnant with Jack, I was already finishing the divorce proceedings.” Irene explains. She had a solid case for primary custody- bruises. Settled out of court, without any charges and he fucked off once he realized she'd won.

“I'm not going to tell you what to do, Anna.” Irene speaks low. “...But I'm sure you've heard your fair share of warnings. And this is me, someone who's been in your shoes, warning you to run before you end up carryin’ his baby too.”

But the girl only wilts like a flower deprived of water.

“I can't go.” Anna sighs. “He's all I have now.”

“He will take more if you keep letting him take at all.” Irene insisted. “...I'm sure you think he loves you. I'm sure he thinks he does too…” Irene's eyes close as she remembers their old life. Church on Sundays. Dancing in the kitchen. Calling when he could. “...Don't let him make you a victim, Anna. Don't make him the one that'll save you- because he won't be.”

Irene gives her her number. She registers it under “Salon” in case Phillip peeks through her contacts again. He’d begun doing that lately.

Irene leaves that Cafe hoping she got through to her somehow. That even if she stays, she won't let that bastard step on her.

Phillip Graves was a wound on women. He couldn't help but forget they're people, not toys. It was in his nature to conquer.

And that girl was finding out the hard way.

“Bless your heart, Annabelle Pham.” Irene murmurs as she gets in the back of her chauffered car.

[mertronus]

Tricks and Stones

Read it on AO3 or keep reading below

Hermione stood at the opening of the tent and stretched. She had been inside reading all morning and needed to move around a bit. She was feeling stagnant and restless.

She smiled at Harry who was lost in thought, and considered sitting beside him to check in but noticed the locket dangling around his neck.

No, she thought, better to leave him be for now.

So instead she set off to see where Ron had gone. They were situated on some rocks near the edge of a lake. Hermione hoped that they could procure a couple of fish later for dinner.

A flash of red hair near the lake's edge caught her attention and she quickly navigated down the slippery rocks to get to Ron's side. It had been a rough few days with Ron, filled with rows and grumbling. She missed her Ron.

Maybe since he's not wearing the locket, we can have a good moment.

Hermione reached Ron's side just as he swung his arm back and whipped a stone into the quiet surface of the water. It skipped four times before it sank into the water. She smiled at the memories the scene garnered.

“Wow,” Hermione said. “Good one.”

Ron looked over at her and gave her his signature lopsided grin. That grin always seemed to send butterflies swirling around her belly.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a bit gruff. Hermione figured he hadn’t used it in a while.

He picked up another flat stone and sent it into the lake—it skipped the water three times. Hermione pulled her eyes away from him and faced the water, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Yes, stepping out of the tent was a wonderful idea.

“Y’alright?” Ron asked.

Hermione nodded then opened her eyes to look back at Ron. “Yeah. I just…I got tired of reading.” She ignored his exaggerated look of surprise but the corner of her lip twitched as she fought a smile and continued. “I just needed to get up and move.”

Ron looked her up and down, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yeah…I get that.” He stooped, found another stone, swung his arm back, and let it fly across the water. This one skipped the water five times before it disappeared.

“You’re really good at that,” Hermione mused. She eyed a flat stone a few inches in front of her feet and her fingers twitched.

“Want to learn?”

“I—” Hermione stopped herself and a new thought formed in her mind. She smiled and nodded. “Sure. Show me how.”

Ron stooped and grabbed the very stone Hermione had been eyeing. “The trick is to find a nice flat one.” He held up the stone so Hermione could see and she stifled her smile. “Not too flat, mind, but definitely not round. And smooth too.” He took her hand and placed the stone in hers, his fingers lingering for a moment. Hermione looked up and her eyes caught on his, which were bright blue in the afternoon sun.

“Alright,” she forced herself to say.

“Um…” Ron broke eye contact and scanned the ground, finding a stone of his own. “Now…you don’t want to just throw it into the water, you want to flick it so it will bounce across the surface.” Ron demonstrated and they watched his stone hit the water one, two, three times.

“Alright, then,” Hermione said. She rolled her shoulders back, took a similar stance to Ron, and flung her stone into the water. It went straight in with a neat kerplunk.

Ron chuckled. “Needs some work.”

Hermione huffed. She reached down for a new stone. “This one flat enough?”

Ron surveyed it and then looked around their feet. “Here,” he bent and picked up a new stone. “Try this one better.”

Once in her fingers, Hermione swung her arm back in a fair imitation of Ron and threw the stone right into the water. She stomped her foot and pouted, feeling like a petulant child. Ron simply laughed and shook his head.

“Look, try this,” he grabbed a new rock and stood beside her. “When you find your rock, get kind of low and tilted.” She imitated his stance and tried not to feel silly. “Good. And when you throw, don’t just throw it like you’re tossing a quaffle. Toss is sort of sideways and flick your wrist a bit. Swish and flick.”

Hermione stood straight up and scowled at him. “Oh, haha, very funny.”

Ron laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. But no, it’s true, it’s all in the flick of the wrist.”

“Alright,” Hermione toyed with the stone in her hand as she once again copied Ron’s stance. “Like this?” She pulled her arm back and attempted to flick her wrist, but the stone simply dropped into the water.

Ron laughed. “No,” he said shaking his head. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Um…” He glanced around. “Let’s try this.” He picked up a new stone and got behind Hermione. He put one hand on her waist and the other hand on hers after he’d handed her the new rock. Hermione had to fight not to close her eyes at the feeling of his warm fingers on her, burning through the fabric of her shirt. Her heart was racing and with his chest against her back, she wondered if he couldn’t feel it. She took a steadying breath, but it didn’t help. His scent was wrapping around her like the very best drug. All she had to do was close her eyes and lean back into him, lean back into the high-

“Y’okay?”

His warm breath on her ear made her jump slightly.

“Yeah,” she squeaked. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She almost turned to face him but she realized that if she did, they would be mere millimeters apart. She wondered for just a moment if he would—

No. No, of course not.

“Alright now bring your arm back but keep it low,” Ron instructed, moving his arm with hers. She tried so hard not to focus on the low, grumbly timber of his voice—and the way it made her body feel. “And when you throw, put most of the movement into the wrist.”

They tried like that a few times with no results. When Ron released her, she fought the urge to shudder from the sudden chill. She missed his warmth.

When she tried on her own, without the distraction of her personal Ronald Weasley blanket, the stone skipped once and then sunk.

“Yes!” Ron cheered. “There you go! I knew you could do it!”

Hermione grinned at his praise.

“Let’s go for two, yeah?”

“Maybe three?” Hermione offered.

Ron shook his head with a laugh. “Don’t push your luck.”

After a few more tries, Hermione’s stone skipped across the water twice and they both erupted in cheers. Ron wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet in a hug, swinging her around once in celebration.

When he placed her down, she looked up at him wide-eyed. He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Knew you had it in you,” he smiled. She smiled back. After a moment, both of their smiles faded in the awkward silence.

Ron glanced at his watch and then back to the tent. “I uh…I should probably go and relieve Harry,” he mumbled. Hermione nodded and sighed as he turned to walk away. Relieving Harry from watch also meant relieving Harry of the locket. She knew her short glimpse of the Ron she knew and loved was gone for the day.

It was fun while it lasted, she thought as he disappeared over the rocks. Hermione turned back to the water and lost herself in thought for a moment. She glanced back to be sure Ron had cleared the rocks and was out of sight. Then, she picked up a flat pebble, toyed with it in her hand for a moment, and swung her arm back sending it flying across the water with a perfect flick.

It skipped the surface of the water five times and then sank. Hermione smiled, thoughts of skipping stones with her dad now intermingled with the fresh thoughts of Ron.

[x-aefx]

Back to you - Ellie Williams

Pairing: Ellie Williams x female reader

Modern au!

Summary: college!ellie au. Having once been close friends, Ellie and you begin to talk again while new feelings bloom and old ones return.

Part one

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Fuck!” You whisper yelled as you stared at your clock on your messy desk, internally wishing the hour would go back two hours so you wouldn’t be late for your first class since spring break.

Throwing an envious glance at your roommate, Lily, who didn’t have class until the afternoon, you climbed out of bed still half asleep. Walking to your dresser you pulled out the first thing your cold hands touched, your ‘Queen’ band t-shirt and black cuffed jeans. Brushing your hair quickly and spraying perfume you had no memory of buying, you awkwardly put on your shoes whilst trying to maintain balance in your standing position. Turning to your desk you grabbed the textbooks stacked on top of each other and your bag that was on the ground. You stole a quick glance in the mirror and said a mental ‘thank goodness’ for your somewhat decent appearance.

Grabbing the tin of mints on the edge of the desk you made your way out of the dorm and across the campus to your class.

Any other day and you would’ve taken your time seeing as you were already going to be late, but you wanted to get a good seat in class. Sure there was technically nothing stopping you from taking somebody else’s seat tomorrow when you would hopefully arrive on time, but you didn’t want to be that person.

Trying to hide your disappointment and annoyance as you walked into the class seeing you were probably the last to arrive, you looked to where your usual seat at the back beside the classroom wall was, now occupied by a girl who had the brightest blue eyes and straightest hair you had ever seen sat laughing loudly to her friend who looked nearly the same.

‘my fault for being late’ you thought bitterly to yourself.

Your eyes scanned the classroom for an empty seat. Finding one in the middle row you made your way towards it. Dropping your books on the desk and your bag on the floor you sat down. Not a moment later you felt someone kicking the back of your chair.

“what the fuc-“

“language’”

“seriously Dina?”

“someone's in a mood”

“Shut it Jesse”

“Hey!”

“You’re going to the party this Friday aren’t you? The one for Stacey’s birthday?” Dina asked smiling enthusiastically, seemingly not paying attention to Jesse’s angry mumbling about how rude people were.

“I can’t promise anything Dina” you sighed. “I could really use some time for myself”

“You had plenty time for yourself over spring break!” Dina pointed out.

“Yeah and I miss it already”

Jesse snorted at the comment earning a hit to the arm from Dina.

“Ow! Christ woman I’m fragile!”

“Oh I know” Dina rolled her dark eyes, “what about you Ellie? Your going right?”

You turned to the side slightly surprised having not noticed Ellie sat beside you. Hair tied in a half up- half down style, the sleeve of her blue flannel rolled up her forearms revealing her tattoo, legs stretched out to their full length under the table, Ellie Williams screamed confidence. Her attention focused entirely on what she was drawing in her sketchbook, Ellie didn’t notice her friend mention her name.

You doubted she even noticed you sat beside her if it weren’t for Jesse nudging her arm with his leg causing her pen to trail a messy line on the page

“hey what the fuck!”

“language! Honestly you two have the most foul mouths” Dina’s eyes glanced in your direction before looking back at Ellie. That’s when Ellie’s green eyes met yours. It was a quick glance but it was enough for you to look into those familiar green eyes.

“what’s up” Ellie ignored Dina’s comment. She placed her pencil on her desk and turned her body to face Dina and Jesse who sat behind her.

“will you be at the party on Friday?” Dina wasted no time in asking her friend.

“Eh-well, I was just planning on staying in.” Ellie looked at Dina with a guilty smile.

“Ellie!” Dina pleaded pouting her lips to really persuade the girl.

“Dina-“

“it will be so much fun I promise! And Y/N is going and everything!”

“wait no-Dina I never actually-!”

“please Ellie! You’ll have a good night, I swear!” Dina made her best puppy dog eyes. Ellie found herself accepting the invitation before she could really comprehend what she was doing. She never fell for Dina’s pleading looks yet she said yes.

Dina made a triumphant noise, her smile wide as she thought about the upcoming party she and her closest friends will be attending. Jesse smiled at his girlfriend, shaking his head with a chuckle at her antics.

Turning back around in your chair you opened your textbook to the page written on the whiteboard by your professor who was only now arriving. You never had a hard time concentrating in class, yet today you did. You couldn’t make your eyes move from word to word instead staring blankly at the white page.

“Ethan hasn’t quit staring at you since you walked in. It’s quite annoying.” A voice muttered.

Your head snapped to the side making eye contact with Ellie. Her brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

If you looked over to the other side of the classroom you would of noticed the captain of the basketball team, Ethan Gilbert, making heart eyes at you. But you didn’t break the eye contact between you and Ellie.

You didn’t think she had noticed you. Sure you and Ellie were close once, at the very start of college. You considered her your best friend but you two became distant with each other over time for reasons you were unsure of. Ever since then you presumed Ellie Williams had erased you from her life, that was how it felt for you anyway. To hear her say something to you at all was a change after all this time.

“What can I say Williams? I’m a total catch.” You shrugged your shoulders sending her a wink.

Ellie only scoffed before turning back to her drawing, a beautiful farmhouse you recognized as her home from the picture you had seen in her dorm. You noticed her smiling but said nothing.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 2

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Masterlist

Summary: Begrudgingly, you let Peter Parker help you with the story. Even if it leads you two going undercover as a couple...

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Fake dating!! Banter. More Criminal activity. Swearing. A lil bit of tension.

A/n: Well, I thought I'd share this smaller part before I head on vacation. Sorry it's not longer, but I hope this holds over until I'm back home! Thank you for reading, and let me know your thoughts <3

“Should I be regretting this?” you asked, immediately shaking your head as Parker wheeled over to your side.

“Too late.” He grabbed your notebook from your hands, kicking his feet up on your desk as he began to read. His lips moved silently along with the words, each curved syllable whispering past his mouth. You looked away when his eyes flicked to yours, those lips tilting into a grin even as he continued reading.

His fingers flipped the worn page of your notes, leaving you to pick at the hem of your shirt while waiting for him to finish.

You pulled your legs closer to you, trying to focus on the material of your pants rather than the urge to draw yourself into your body. But your nerves flared at the edges of your senses, telling you made the wrong choice. And only once you were about to pretend to need coffee just to step away, Parker blew out a tight sigh.

He muttered out, “Christ…”

Swallowing down the jolt in your muscles at his words, you turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Is that good or bad?”

His hand scratched along his jaw, his gaze following the words before slowly rising to meet yours. “Uh, your research is… good. Really good. But this,” he said, gesturing to the notebook, “is pretty bad.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, that quiet doubt inside your mind growing ever so louder. Barely blinking, you stared off wondering where this could go. Where you could end up if you went through with it. Your attention only snapped back when Parker cleared his throat.

He watched you, your expressions, with no humor on his face as he whispered, “So, you really went to this warehouse… by yourself in the middle of the night?” His finger pointed at your notes that indeed held your observations from last night. Still, that didn’t stop you from trying to lie and come up with anything that wouldn’t incriminate you.

When you didn’t answer, instead glancing at your fingers intertwining, he scoffed. “You know you could’ve really gotten hurt going there alone. Or worse. I don’t think these guys play around.”

“I wasn’t alone. I talked with Spider-Man,” you said, as if that could convince Parker that your plan hadn’t been a bad idea. But he raised an eyebrow at you, a half-smile on his face.

“Yeah? Now you’re buddy-buddy with him too?” A ghost of a laugh escaped him, but his eyes hardened, not leaving you. “I’m serious, sunshine. Spidey’s not gonna be there to always save you. We gotta do this carefully.”

Choosing to ignore the unyielding tone his words were wrapped in, you grabbed your notebook back from him, your jaw set. “I know that, Parker. And I’m not exactly in harm’s way now that I don’t have any other leads. All he’s got is some BS fundraiser I can’t get into,” you said, sitting back in your chair. Silently, as you traced a finger down the writing you’d gone over dozens of times already, you grumbled under your breath about the rude receptionist you’d talked to about it.

“A fundraiser?” 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The collar of his long-sleeve shirt swooped down an inch, drawing your eyes to the shadow of his chest before nodding. He then asked, “What could we find out from that anyway? Not like Beaumont is gonna be any more truthful with those rich people than he is with the general public.” 

He brought the end of a pen to his mouth, beginning to chew on it before you could realize he took it from your desk. You just pressed your lips together, letting it go as he thought out loud some more — now beginning to spin in his desk chair.

“He’s hiding plenty of secrets as is, I’m sure there’s gotta be some that we could uncover by getting close, right? Maybe we could-”

“Parker! Where are those pictures you promised me!”

Jameson’s voice boomed through the office, sending the both of you jumping in your seats. Parker cleared his throat and called back, “Emailing them to you now, sir.”

Beneath the sound of Parker’s squeaky desk chair rolling back to his side, you heard Jameson swear  under his breath. You didn’t dare peek over the half-wall and risk getting yelled at too. Instead, as frantic typing came from Parker’s keyboard, you wrote on a post-it note, “Able to stay late. We can talk about this piece. In peace. Haha…”

You folded it in half twice before tossing it over onto his side and returning to research — even as it felt useless to do so. A small twinge of hope trickled up your spine, so subtle you barely noticed it before it reached the base of your head. A hope that Parker said yes. 

As another site turned up blank, you told yourself asking him was just to move this story along, even if it meant spending the evening with the intern you always seemed to stand in the shadow of. But this story could bring you over the top and show Jameson you deserved that job.

A few minutes later, a flash of paper flew from Parker’s side and landed right on your eye.

“Shit…” you groaned out, lightly rubbing your eye and blinking it repeatedly — all while you heard suppressed laughter from the other desk. Quietly, you muttered, “Dick,” and opened up the note. The only thing added to it was a poorly drawn thumbs-up.

With that settled, along with the weird relief at his answer that you shoved lower and lower, you worked on some of your assigned stories. One blurred into the next, all of them superficial enough to turn your brain fuzzy over the course of the work day. You wondered what Alice was working on and if they ever made her feel like this.

By the time people began packing up for the day, long after your mediocre lunch from the closest food shop, your head nearly felt numb. At least this story could be the break you needed from all this — all the unimportant parts of reporting, like who broke up with who, and how Spider-Man is somehow the reason for it. Again.

You rubbed a tired hand down your face, letting the warm darkness of it swallow you for a moment. Your head shot up finally once a granola bar clattered across your desk.

Parker’s head then appeared from around the half-wall, the wave of his dark hair looking ran through. “I stole it earlier today, but I think you need it more than I do, sunshine,” he said, pointing to the bar with a tilt of his head.

Your stomach growled as you grabbed it, ripping it open. “That’s such a stupid nickname,” you muttered before taking a bite, looking up at him with a half-assed glare.

“It’s more creative than you calling me ‘Parker.’ That’s just my last name.” He laughed, his eyes lighting up.

Quirking your head, you blinked slowly at him. “If I’m sunshine, then you’re moonshine. Makes sense too, cause I need to be drunk to even tolerate you, Parker,” you grumbled, finishing off the granola bar.

And before he could open that stupid mouth of his, you threw away the wrapper and said, “I think Jameson’s gone if we want to start on the story. We-”

“Now?” Parker’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at you, his hand coming up to run down his neck. “Immediately vetoing. C’mon.”

Before you could ask any questions, he stood up and walked toward the doors, shouting over his shoulder, “Keep up!”

As much as your mind resisted listening to him, your eyes and legs definitely needed the break. So you followed after him, staring at his back as you made your way down the building’s steps.

Out on the sidewalk, the sun sat lower in the sky at this hour. Clouds scattered throughout kept the air from getting too hot, the feeling bringing a content smile to your face.

Blinking at him, you saw the way the sunlight showered down on Parker. The effortlessness of his hands sitting in his pockets and his hair laying perfectly messy — even his goddamn freckles glowing in the light — set a sparking anger in your chest. It only twisted, turned more sour, when he opened his mouth.

“You know… it’s not polite to stare at someone. Even if they are ruggishly handsome.”

A laughing scoff escaped your mouth, your eyes instead drifting across the crowd of people passing along the sidewalk. “I was just trying to figure out how your head fit such a little brain inside it. Does it just roll around like an acorn in there? Maybe a pea?”

Feeling the glare from his side-eye, you caught his growing half-smile. “Yeah? Could a pea-sized brain be smart enough to find us an actual dinner?”

“I mean… probably. But,” you said, tilting your head at him, “that’s not the worst plan you’ve had.” For emphasis, your stomach growled while you two walked down the street. And through grabbing carryout to eat back at the office, you made it a point to not stare at Parker — or do anything to give him a bigger ego than he already had. 

His often irritating words certainly made it easy enough, like now as he spoke in between bites of his food from the takeout box. “So, I’m thinking–”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

You let out a laugh as he flipped you off, the shaking in your shoulders helping lift a weight from them. At least it was easy to laugh with him — or at him.

With a pointed stare, he continued. “I’m thinking that we have to find the connection between Beaumont and spidey… man. Spider-Man. With that warehouse you nearly burgled.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him as he leaned against your desk. With your feet propped up next to where he sat, you ate your food from your desk chair. The office lay bare beside you two, your ID cards giving you access after hours. Unsurprisingly, the brainstorming hadn’t been terribly productive yet.

“I did not burgle anything… yet. But I haven’t seen anything between those two before. Maybe Beaumont’s just a big fan. He’s taking all our money just to grow his collection of supervillain memorabilia.”

Parker let out a quiet laugh. “Sounds like something Jameson would do.” 

You internally shivered at the idea of finding your boss’s secret stash of Spider-Man collectibles.

Silence slipped over the two of you, just the noises of eating and the building’s air conditioning as you both thought through the details. Eventually, he said, “So this Ellis Beaumont guy has to have some sort of conflict with Spider-Man, meaning we could research what crimes of Beaumont’s that Spider-Man has stopped.”

An unsure look overtook your face. “That’s way too many to look through — and it’s not like that information is recorded anywhere. This politician keeps things tightly under wraps…” you sighed, letting out a tired laugh that didn’t feel all that funny. “It feels like I’m right back where I started.”

“Could that fundraiser of his give us answers?” Parker asked, his eyes glancing at yours.

You hesitantly nodded as you swallowed your next bite. “Probably, since it’s at his house apparently. But without an invitation, we’re kind of shit out of luck.”

“So we get an invitation and do some snooping during the event. Easy enough.”

Parker had put his food down, and you did not like the growing smirk on his face. “Before you say anything,” he told you, “I know a guy. It’ll be fine — we’ll just dress the part and do some investigative journalism.”

“Oh, so it’s bad to check out a warehouse, but we’ll just crash the fundraiser of a member of the government body and suspected criminal? You’re insane.” A scoff escaped your mouth when he nodded. 

As you dropped your feet from the desk, you wanted to regret letting Parker in on this story or at least question who this guy was that could get you two into this fundraiser, but you had no better plan — or the guts to pull this off without him. 

“This has got to be pretty illegal…” you whispered.

Parker gave you a smile that both calmed you and let butterflies loose in your stomach. “Absolutely. But Beaumont committed the crimes first, so we’re just evening it out.” He crossed his arms, the fabric of his long sleeve wrapped tight around them. With an expectant look, he raised his eyebrows at you. “So, are you in?”

A minute passed as you thought, considering any other plans that wouldn’t end with the both of you in jail. But you came up with nothing. 

This better be one hell of a story. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

“Great!” he said, clapping his hands together. “One more thing, though. We’re going to have to go as a couple. I’m thinking our last name could be–”

“Excuse me?” You cut him off, your eyes widening. Despite your mouth opening, nothing came out. You just dropped your gaze to the wall behind him as you let out a long breath.

“How else are we going to be convincing? All the other people joining are families or couples, right?”

He explained it so matter-of-factly. You understood, really. But pretending to be married to him while sneaking through a mansion? All for a ridiculous unpaid summer internship?

“Parker, have you come up with a torture plan?” You put your face in your hands, quietly groaning. You could be cordial with him and cautiously appreciate his (persistent) help on the story, but the idea of acting as a couple in love with him brought an uneasiness to your body. 

Would Alice approve? It felt again like you weren’t following your heart, which wanted to hide deep down behind your ribs.

Parker looked at you, his mouth pressed tight. “Hey, not exactly like getting down on a knee to you was my original plan here,” he muttered.

Still, you looked back at him, ignoring the intensity of his stare. “So what will our last name be?”

Bennet, it turned out, would be the last name on your IDs and invitations for the banquet in two days. Sam and Rose Bennet. 

During the days leading up, the two of you worked on regular assignments under the eye (and screaming) of Jameson. 

But if someone looked closely, they’d see your leg constantly shaking beneath your desk and Parker’s nails being bitten down to the bed. They might be able to hear the whispered comments between the two of you — most about what your story would be. They would even see the things neither of you could make out, like the unasked questions on the tips of your tongues or the pull that seemed to exist between you and Parker.

The story you decided on was high school sweethearts — private school, of course. Something arranged by your equally rich and philanthropic parents, whose money you’d be happy to donate to Stronger Together during the fundraiser. 

In reality, you both scrounged up enough money to rent nice enough clothes for the event and hoped that you wouldn’t have to pay for any extra damage. Besides the money concern, the risk of something happening to the clothes (and you, more importantly) weighed over your mind. Parker didn’t seem to have any worries, or voice them to you at least, about this whole plan going sideways.

So, you planned for it by yourself. Which exits would be best, which people you should probably stay away from. And you still didn’t ask how Parker exactly got you two into this, not that you were sure you wanted to know.

It didn’t even cross your mind the night of, not as you stood in your apartment, slipping on a floor-length gown that seemed to lay just right. Your fingers ran along your body, fixing things here and there until you were sure no rich politician would look twice at you and suspect something. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you weren’t sure you recognized yourself — or the idea you had of yourself. Maybe that was a good thing.

Your frayed nerves turned electric as your phone went off, a text from Parker letting you know he was here. For a minute, you hesitated. The constant thrumming in your chest clouded your thoughts, telling you something that you couldn’t quite make out.

As a second, more impatient, text came through, you gave one last glance at yourself and walked out into the hallway.

Each step to the front door in shoes that squeezed your feet much too tightly felt like a jolt to your heart. A breeze pushed past you as you walked out to his car — one that he’d have to park far away so the valet couldn’t see his shitty 2004 Honda Civic.

Parker stood leaning against the side of the vehicle, one hand scratching at his jaw and the other shoved far into his rented tux’s pockets. He stared down at his shoes, his vacant look telling you he also had a thousand thoughts running through his mind.

But as his gaze drifted up, connecting with yours, that worried crease between his eyebrows smoothed out, his hand dropping from his jaw down to his lap. Your steps slowed, your fingers clutching tight onto a purse you borrowed from a friend. 

Those honeyed eyes turned bright as a ghosting smile spread across his face. You took in the image of him staring at you in that tuxedo — one that you could tell he wasn’t used to if you looked too hard. Not that you were doing that, of course. Still, the expensive material sat nicely along his tanned skin from the summer sun.

Though, you couldn’t figure out what felt off about him until you came closer, the buzzing in your ears growing much too loud as you neared. Reaching a hand up, your eyebrows furrowed, you went to fix his hair. The caramel strands sat straight and slicked back. It didn’t look like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times.

But as you felt his breath brush along your skin, saw the stillness of his body, you paused. Too close. Too much, even for a fake couple.

You dropped your hand by your side, begging your body to calm down. You avoided his eyes as you took a step back. “Sorry,” you whispered, maybe for the first time to him, “Your hair just looks so…”

“Stuffy? Obnoxious? Greasy?”

“Pretentious is what I was going to say.”

His tight laugh brought some sort of relief to your tense muscles, even as he pushed off his car and muttered, “Glad we both look the part then.”

You raised an eyebrow, staring at him while fighting a smile. “You know, Parker — or Bennet, I should say — a real gentleman would’ve opened my door for me.”

Right before he plopped down in his car, he said, “You’re lucky I’m even picking you up, Mrs. Bennet.”

Quietly, you let out a huff and got into the passenger seat. Your hands brushed along your dress, straightening it out.

As you picked off a stray piece of lint, you said, “I’m not sure this is the right way to start as a couple.” You tried to make your words sound easy, but it didn’t even sound convincing to you.

Parker began driving, keeping his eyes on the road as he drummed a finger along the steering wheel. “You’re right — but don’t let that get to your head, sunshine. Okay, when did we first meet?”

“We first met fifteen years ago, but we didn’t start dating until ten years ago when our parents put us together. Toward the end of high school…”

“Where we went to different colleges but made the long-distance thing work. Somehow,” he said, waving a hand as if it didn’t matter or no one would ask how.

“And now, using the money we’ve saved up through our parents’ endowment funds and-”

“Wait, what does that even mean?” you asked, realizing he came up with this without telling you until now.

“It uh… it’s something to do with donations. I Googled it — it’s fine. Anyway, we’re using that and their savings to give back like they have always wanted. Great, fool-proof.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded for a second before shaking your head. “Parker, that makes no goddamn sense. This is a terrible idea.”

“Well, we’re going to be there soon, so too late now.”

“It’s actually not too late,” you told him, your throat feeling tight. “Let’s just turn around, okay?”

“Hey,” he said as the car came to a stoplight. He turned to look at you, the shine of the light illuminating half of his face. 

His voice came out soft. “You nearly burgled a criminal’s warehouse, and you lied to a government official’s secretary, or something. This will be a piece of cake, alright?” Ever so quietly, a warmth bloomed in your chest, melting the cold fear that’d been wrapping around you. You gave him a short nod, making him give a tight-lipped smile and keep driving. “Great! Now, suck it up, sunshine, and come up with a better backstory. I can’t do all of the thinking in this marriage.”

A laugh bubbled up from your mouth. You rolled your eyes, even though your fidgeting had calmed down. 

With a long breath out, you said, “What about if my grandmother left me money in her will, and I’m honoring her memory by giving it back to the city she loved?”

“Not bad… and sorry for your imaginary loss. I think it’ll keep people from prying too much further.”

“I hope so,” you muttered, hoping this half-baked plan would work.

Eventually, Parker slowly rolled the car to a stop. He parked on a smaller residential road a few blocks away, but you could still see the lights shining into the sky from Beaumont’s place. His castle to overlook all the peasants of the city.

Your shoes clicked across the pavement, the two of you nearing the mansion. With each step, you tried harder to ignore your heart hammering louder. 

You breathed out a shaky breath when Parker held out his arm next to you. Hesitantly, you took it, wrapping your arm around his. Normally, you might’ve ignored the hardness of his body or the warmth seeping into your skin, but the solid, unyielding feeling of him brought some sort of grounding.

Leaning his mouth toward your ear, Parker said, “Which one do you think is going to pop first? The vein bulging from Jameson’s forehead or the huge one in his neck?” 

The laughs you let out were sharp and involuntary, a smile breaking out on your face. Looking at him, at the grin he sent your way, you said, “Definitely the one on his forehead. And you’re going to be the one to make him mad enough to pop it.”

“I’ll be sure to wear those plastic ponchos the next time I’m late.”

“So… Monday? We can pick one up after the fundraiser for you.”

The giggles underlacing your words slowly died down as you turned the street corner, your eyes catching all the other couples approaching the towering house. Valets stood at the front, taking car keys from guests before they came to the doors — guards standing on either side.

“You’ve got the invitations?” you whispered to Parker, your hold on his arm growing tighter. 

He quietly scoffed. “Of course I have them. Who do you think I-” His words stopped, his hands patting down his suit jacket for the invitation. Right as you felt your stomach threaten to curl in on itself, he flashed you a grin. “Just kidding, they’re right here,” he told you, grabbing them from his pocket.

With a forced smile plastered to your face in front of all these guests, you gritted out, “I’m going to murder you.”

“You are too funny, dear,” Parker said, or more likely, Sam Bennet said as the two of you walked up to the doorman holding his hand out for the invitations. 

The way Parker’s mouth curled around the affectionate name felt foreign at first, but the way the doorman looked at the two of you — as if you really were a happy couple — made it feel right. 

And that was it, that was all it took for a softness to flow over you and let yourself become Rose Bennet. For tonight.

@hollandweather @dil3mma @reidslovely

[the-californicationist]

The Logistics

This is (at long last!) a short request gift for the wonderful @glitterypirateduck who is an amazing source for all things COD fics!! Seriously, you are missing out if you're not following their blog. They've got challenges and recs galore. Be sure to stop by and give them some love!!

DUCKS! I'm so sorry this took me so long. Thanks for being patient. It's a little short and a little sweet, but I hope it inspires you. ✌️🩷

The goal was to capture the fun lovin' from this scene from Crazy Stupid Love. I have NOT seen this movie, so thanks for suspending your expectations, everyone.

Everything about him screamed man. He was brazen with his body language, making wide sweeping motions with his hands when he talked, using a voice that rumbled and boomed like thunder, using his heavy, muscled form to take up space in the room. His beard and hair were immaculately groomed, and his clothing choices all seemed to have a level of intent in their favor. 

His name was Alex Keller. You didn’t know him, but everyone else did, and they couldn’t stop talking about him. He was supposedly some hot-shot CIA agent with a license to kill, but that all sounded like a tall tale to you. And you didn’t really care to know the truth until you locked eyes with him from across the bar. 

You thought he’d look away, maybe turn back to his friends, laugh heartily at more of their jokes. A quick glance was all it was supposed to be. But, it wasn’t quick. He stayed bound by your gaze, and you watched as his face went slack. Those big blue eyes gleamed in the low lamp light of the bar. Then, as if suddenly thawed back to life, he started to make his way over to you and your friends’ table.

“Oh, my God,” Tara gasped, slapping you on your bare thigh.

You winced, looking over at her, 

“What?”

“He’s coming. Keller is coming over here.”

“What? He’s what?” Helena craned her neck around you to stare. 

“So?” You asked.

“So!?” They both exclaimed at the same time.

“Good evening, ladies,” his voice melted over your group like warm honey, soft and sticky, clinging to everything it landed on. 

You rolled your eyes, edging out of the booth.

“Hey, leaving so soon?” He smiled down at you from his towering height. He smelled expensive, and it was intoxicating. You did everything you could to ignore it. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, reaching for your clutch, “My carriage is turning into a pumpkin soon, and you really don’t wanna be inside it when that happens.”

“Yeah,” he said, following your movements with his eyes, watching you pull yourself together, “Sounds sticky.”

“Very,” you smiled curtly. 

Then, he started following you to the door. You looked at him over your shoulder, 

“You lose something?”

He laughed, putting his hands in his pockets, fully at ease in the most attractive way,

“No, but I’m looking for something.”

You made it to the curb and waited for a cab. It was raining hard enough to make you shiver, and you couldn’t help but glare as you turned to reply to him,

“What are you looking for, Mr. Keller?”

He was getting soaked, but he smiled slyly as he looked down at the glistening pavement in a brief moment of vulnerability,

“You.”

You scoffed, 

“Does that line work on anybody?”

He glanced up at you incredulously, 

“Sometimes, yeah!”

You smirked, rolling your eyes again and waving down a cab driver. 

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm.

You looked at him like he was out of his mind for touching you like that, and he let you go, raising his hands in surrender. He continued with his pitch,

“Come back to my place. Just for one drink. And if you’re still not into me, I’ll bring you home. I promise.”

“And what happens when you serial kill me?” You asked, impatient.

“I don’t think it’s serial if it’s just once.”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

He laughed, backing up a half-step,

“Okay, I promise not to serial kill you. You just…” His face softened and he looked at you in a way no one had ever looked at you before, “You look good. Please. One drink?”

“So, is this how it normally works?” You asked in a short tone. You could tell that you were fidgeting, feeling your hands tugging on the short hem of your dress, and you tried to stop. You just needed something to do while he was stripping down in front of you. It was the most delicious display you’d ever witnessed, and you couldn’t look away. 

“What?” Alex looked up at you as he stripped off his outer jacket, rolling it over those muscular shoulders.

All the words rushed out of your mouth at once before you could stop them, “You know, you, like, put on the perfect song and make them drink… and then you sleep together.” 

“…um, yeah.” He smiled, crossing his arms over his wide chest as he leaned against the back of his white leather sofa.

Everything in his place looked expensive. The CIA apparently paid pretty well. The countertops were a glittering white quartz, the floors were marble, and the walls all seemed to be made of glass. Everything shone, except for you, it seemed.

“I’m very nervous,” you laughed, not sure why you were confessing to him.

“I’m getting that,” Alex laughed, too. It made you feel better, though just a bit.

“Okay, ‘cause I know I seemed confident back at the bar. That was, um… that was mostly just because I was cold… and wet… and trying to be dramatic, a little bit.”

He was watching you through your whole speech, raking his eyes over you without worrying about hiding his leering. Then, he smiled again, tempting you,

“You’re adorable.”

“No!” You found some courage somewhere deep down in your heart and stood your ground, “I am sexy. I am R-rated sexy. Okay, I know what happens in the PG-13 version of tonight, alright? I know. It’s - uh, that - I get really drunk and pass out and you cover me with a blanket and you kiss me on the cheek and nothing happens! But, that’s not why I’m here. I am here…” You made sure to emphasize your words with your body language, turning up the aggression as far as it would go, “...to bang the hot guy that hit on me at the bar.”

“Alex,” he pointed to himself, helping you with his name.

“Alex.”

“Do people still say ‘bang’?” He questioned.

“Oh, I do. We are gonna bang. Yeah, this is happening,” you sighed, shaking off the nervousness quite literally. Then, resolutely, you commanded him, “Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

Breathless, you repeated yourself in a rush, hoping you wouldn’t lose your nerve,

“Please, will you just take off your shirt? ‘Cause I can’t stop thinking about it. And I need you to just…”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Alex started to take his shirt off, undoing button after button until he was able to shuck off his last layer.

“Okay, okay,” you mimicked, breathing steadily to keep yourself calm.

“Okay.” 

It was unbelievable that a real human person could look like that. It was even more unbelievable that a person who looked like that would be standing in front of you. You threw up your hands in despair, 

“Seriously!? It’s like you’re photoshopped! Can I…?”

Some demonic possession took over your body and stretched out your arms to touch his warm abdominal muscles. They felt smooth and pliant beneath your fingers, and when he flexed them, they went as rigid as a stone.

“Ah! You have cold hands!” He yelped, moving away, “Now, you take off your dress.”

“No!”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“No way! Not with all that goin��� on. No, thank you. Is there dim lighting somewhere?”

“No,” he smiled at you, holding back his laughter.

“Oh, God. Okay,” you ran your hands through your hair, trying not to panic, “So, what do we do? What happens now? Like, logistically? What’s your move?”

“I got lots of moves, babe,” his smile turned smug, and he shook his head as if to shrug off your doubt.

“What’s your big move?” You pressed.

“I’m not telling you about my big move. You’re not ready for the big move.” 

“Yes, I am! I want your big move,” you insisted. Alex was right; you were not ready, but you’d gotten this far, and you decided that there was no turning back.

“Dirty Dancing.”

“What?” You hadn’t heard him correctly, because it sounded like he was saying the words Dirty Dancing.

“It’s the song from Dirty Dancing. I put it on and then I do the big move,” he lifted up his hands in a mock rehearsal, making a strong base with which to lift his date up into the air, “You know, from Dirty Dancing. Works every time.”

“Oh, my God! That would never work on me,” you laughed out loud, eyes wide with shock. 

And that’s how you found yourself, seven feet up in the air, hoisted above Alex Keller’s head in the middle of his living room while the theme song from Dirty Dancing was playing in the background.

It should have been ridiculous, really. You wanted to laugh at yourself. But, you couldn’t. As he lowered you, keeping you close to his chest, sliding you all the way down his body with elegant ease, you could barely breathe. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room, and suddenly, you were taking Alex Keller’s big moves very seriously. You took them even more seriously when your thighs and belly grazed over the biggest move of the night: his hardening cock. 

He gazed down at you with the look of a starving man. His eyes had lost their humor, and he was studying you with sincerity, tuned into your every breath and movement. You were looking at his mouth, and you saw his lips part. You thought the kiss might be slow and careful, but it was everything else. 

Alex rushed you. His mouth was on you in a flash, pressing into your lips and teeth with blissful abandon, not caring how he was holding you or where he was standing. All of it - the whole room - fell away and it was just his tongue sliding across yours, his jaw pushing into yours, his body warming yours. You were overwhelmed by him. 

The straps of your dress were pulled down, and his belt jangled off. Shoes clattered, clothing pooled, and you were falling backwards onto the leather sofa together like two ravenous wolves, hungry for each other beyond measure. 

He kissed your neck, licking at your skin before he sucked on it, tasting your makeup, your perfume, your lotion, and you. He gasped, wrapping you tighter in his arms,

“Fuck… you are so goddamn fine.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. 

His hands found your panties, and he shuddered. It was as if he had just been shocked, bitten by the warmth of you. 

“Oh, my God,” you whispered.

“What? Are you okay?” Alex gave you his full attention.

“No. Yes! No, it’s just… you’re too hot.”

He smiled, 

“You’re one to talk. This is all your fault.”

You felt him slide his cock out of his boxer briefs and tap its rigid length against your lacy panties. It was sexy and absolutely ridiculous, and your body loved it. You let out a short moan, and he caught it. 

“Mmm, she’s naughty.”

“You’re a lot of talk for such a hot dude,” you teased.

“Aren’t hot dudes allowed to be nervous, too?” He asked, looking up at you, his cock still in his hand. 

There was the slightest hint of shyness behind his eyes, just enough to let you know it was there. You smiled at him, raking your hands through his shock of blond hair, 

“No. You’re too hot to be nervous.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I am, a bit.”

“Yeah, well… welcome to the club,” you kissed his cheek, worried that it was too sweet. 

But, it was just what he wanted. He melted into it, leaning into your kiss, sighing at its contact. Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, and he kept his face close to yours as he said,

“What if we just stay like this? Just for now. Is that okay, pretty girl?”

He slipped his cock inside of your panties and nestled his shaft between your wet lips, rubbing himself on you. 

“Yeah, that feels good,” you admitted, letting him kiss his way down your neck. 

His hands were everywhere. He plucked at your nipples, wetting his fingers before he did so, letting them slip and slide over your tight peaks, making you gasp for him. All the while, he was thrusting into you, slicking himself in your wetness, gasping and moaning with you. 

You angled your hips to give him more of you, more of that warmth you kept between your thighs, and he laughed. A look of shock was plastered on his face, and you asked him,

“What’s wrong?”

He was still reeling as he whispered back to you,

“I can’t believe I’m close.”

You brought his face back to yours to kiss him again, feeling yourself building up to a climax as well, though it was a ways off. You grinned at him softly,

“Why? Are photoshopped guys not allowed to get turned on.”

He chuckled, kissing you back,

“I guess we are. Maybe when a photoshopped girl is here, like this, yeah…”

You gave him a gentle slap on his chest, giggling together as he rubbed himself against you. Then, his hand joined his efforts, softly encircling your clit and coaxing you closer and closer to your peak. His thrusts became frantic, searching for pleasure with every push and pull.

The way his body was yanking against the elastic of your panties was intoxicating, and his hands seemed to sense exactly what you needed when you needed it. He picked up his pacing, and you watched in awe as all of those muscles and bones worked for you, struggled just to get you off, flexing and curling and flushing above you like a delicious morsel, ready to be devoured.

You heard yourself mewling quietly, and he egged you on,

"That's it, pretty girl. I like that. Need that..."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight to him, feeling your body tense and freeze as you melted into a warm, shimmering orgasm, crying out louder and louder as you lost control.

You still didn’t know Alex Keller very well, but you were starting to really enjoy finding out.

[aller-geez]

Snow Daze (part five [last chapter!])

Written & illustrated by: allergeez

(If you missed them, you can read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 here)

Finally, here’s the last part! Drunk, strip Never Have I Ever, almost 8k words. If you can’t tell, I had a ton of fun writing this series even if it wasn’t read by many people. So if you have read it all, you deserve an award 😂

@thekinkyleopard owns Kalypso as always 🖤

Vaelyn exhaled sharply through his nose, trying—begging—to will away the insufferable tickle that had been plaguing him for the last several minutes. It wasn’t working. His breath hitched subtly between words as he passed out full cups of top-shelf liquor, his voice coming out airy and uneven, barely managing to hold onto some semblance of control. "Dow, rules—if you’ve dode it, you dridk. If you haved’t, you take sobethi’g off—hhihh—" His nostrils quivered, betraying him as his already pink-tinted nose twitched in protest. He sniffled sharply, the sound thick and utterly useless, his lashes fluttering as his breath hitched again. "Ugh—fugk—adyway, we go arou’d id a circle, do repeati’g stateb—hhihhh'iehh—"

Kalypso, who had been watching him struggle with no small amount of amusement, rolled her eye. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Without hesitation, she reached over and smacked him lightly across the back of the head, just enough to throw him off balance. “Just fugki’g sdeeze before you talk.”

The sudden jolt shattered his already threadbare control. His entire body lurched forward, his breath catching sharply as the sneezes tore through him. “EISHH!-ISHH!-ISH!-SHH!!” The rapid-fire fit left him gasping, his chest heaving as he barely had a second to recover before the next one built up. His head tipped back, his nostrils flaring as he hung in miserable limbo for a second too long. His damp, swollen breath hitched violently before one last, massive sneeze ripped through him, shaking him to his very core. “HHH'EEIISSHHHHUH!!”

A moment of silence.

Then Vaelyn groaned, sagging forward as he scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve, bleary and obviously done with the entire situation. His blue eyes were glassy, his breath still slightly uneven as he sniffled wetly. "C'bod, I HAD that ode…" he muttered, voice thick and defeated.

Kalypso simply smirked, looking entirely unbothered as she scooted away slightly, using the edge of the blanket to wipe off the fine mist of spray that had landed on her hand. She let out an amused "Tch," and took a lazy sip of her drink before finally raising it into the air. "Alright, let's get this shit started.“

Kriia, already flushed from fever and alcohol, wiggled a little in Rexar’s lap before raising her cup with a dramatic, sniffly flourish. Her hood slipped slightly off her head, revealing her messy crimson hair as she smirked mischievously at the group.

“Alright, alright—Dever have I ever…” she started, pausing for effect as she wiped her nose against her sleeve.

“…Dever have I ever sdeezed byself awake so violedtly that I thought sobeode attacked be...”

Rexar was already laughing before he even grabbed his drink, shaking his head as he nudged her with his elbow. “C’mod, it was ode tibe!” he snickered, his voice thick with congestion.

Meanwhile, Vaelyn let out a long, exhausted sigh, his head tipping back against the headboard as he grabbed his cup. “I wish I could say do,” he muttered before taking a slow, begrudging sip.

Kalypso arched an eyebrow at him, leaning in with an amused smirk. “Wait—whed?”

Vaelyn groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “There was this ode tibe on tour,” he started, voice stuffy and rough. “Bus was parked. I was asleep. Allergies were already kicki’g by ass, right? I sdeeze so hard I flidg byself off the fugki’g budk add hit the floor so fast that I thought sobeode had sucker-pudched be.”

Rexar was practically wheezing at this point, gripping his chest as he coughed out a laugh. “B—Bro—”

Vaelyn ignored him, waving his free hand tiredly. “I wake up swi’gi’g. Dearly take Kriia’s head off ‘cause she was just tryi’g to check od be.”

Kriia, who had been taking a drink, nearly choked before bursting into laughter. “I rebe’ber that! You looked so fugki’g codfused—like you thought you got kid’dapped or sobe shit.”

Vaelyn sighed dramatically, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Yeah, well. You try waki’g up bid-air add tell be how it goes.”

Kalypso sighed through her nose, already regretting her choice to play this game. With a shrug, she grabbed the hem of her oversized sweater and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, her dark hair ruffling wildly with static as she tossed the fabric to the side of the bed. “There, happy?” she muttered, reaching for her drink again.

Meanwhile, Kriia, ever the dramatic one, waggled her crimson eyebrows and slowly, deliberately, glanced around the room as if preparing for some grand reveal. Then, with all the flair of a magician about to perform a mind-blowing trick, she peeled off her socks.

Rexar let out an exaggerated, scandalized gasp. “Oh, come od.”

Kriia smirked, instantly tucking her now-bare feet back under the thick blanket as if she’d just pulled off some master-level loophole. “What?” she said innocently, blinking up at him with feigned surprise.

Rexar shook his head in mock disappointment, clicking his tongue. “You absolute bedace. Strippi’g in the bost Kriia way possible.” He sniffled sharply, rubbing a knuckle under his nose before giving her a fond, amused look. “Y’dow, at this rate, I’m godda have to start checking your cards for cheati’g.”

Vaelyn, still recovering from his drink, arched a tired brow. “You’re just dow realizi’g she’s a little shit?”

Kalypso snorted into her cup, while Kriia only grinned wider, winking dramatically. “Gotta keep you boys on your toes~.”

Smirking, Kalypso makes eye contact with Rexar from across the room before lowering her cup. “Okay thed, dever have I ever beed an overgrowd flabethrower with aba’dodbent issues.”

Rexar, already mid-sip, almost choked as well. His attempt at a comeback was immediately cut off by a harsh, grating cough that made Kriia wince from her spot on his lap.

“Wait, does that bean I have to dridk?” she asked, eyes a little glassy, but focused.

Kalypso blinked. “What? Do? You’re dot a—”

“I ab ki’da fireproof,” Kriia cut in, wagging her finger as if she had just uncovered a government secret. “Like, id theory—because of hib—” she gestured vaguely to Rexar, who looked far too entertained, “—so I feel like that techdically coudts—”

“Babe, you’re dot—” Rexar tried to interrupt, but Kriia had already taken another sip, nodding sagely to herself.

Vaelyn squinted at her, shaking his head like he was trying to physically process whatever the hell just happened. “Okay, I dod’t dow if you’re drudk already or just really fugki’g sick, but you’re so wrodg—”

“Do, do,” Kriia insisted, gesturing dramatically with her cup, completely unfazed. “Like, thidk about it. If I were actually flabbable, I would’ve beed dead a lodg tibe ago.”

Rexar nearly choked on his drink again, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he barked out another wheezy, fever-warmed laugh, his flushed nose scrunching slightly before he swiped at it with the back of his wrist. “God damn it, HOW ARE YOU THIS CUTE?” he crooned between wheezes, already reaching out with both hands to cup Kriia’s cheeks. His large, calloused fingers were warm and rough against her feverish skin as he squished her cheeks together, forcing her lips into a ridiculous little pout.

Kriia let out a flustered, congested little squeak, trying to shove at his chest in protest, but the attempt was half-hearted at best. A sleepy, stuffy giggle escaped her as she sniffled softly, her nose twitching against the press of Rexar’s palms. “I’b dot cute,” she whined through her squished-together lips, her voice muffled and hopelessly nasal. But the small, lazy grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth said otherwise.

Rexar grinned, pressing a sloppy, tipsy kiss to her forehead before finally letting her go, only to sling an arm around her and pull her back against his chest. “Oh, Pridcess,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr. “You’re so adorable when you’re drudk~”

Kriia scoffed, rolling her eyes as she nestled further into him, her fingers idly playing with the hem of his hoodie. "I'b dot eved that drudk," she grumbled, though the warmth in her expression betrayed her. She had it admit, that fancy shit Vaelyn bought might taste generic but damn, was it strong.

Across the room, Vaelyn groaned dramatically, rubbing at his temples before raising his own cup. "Cad we please get od with this before you two start baki’g out right id frodt of be?"

Kalypso smirked, knocking back the rest of her drink in one go before leveling Vaelyn with a challenging look. "What, feeli’g threateded?"

He shot her a tired, red-rimmed glare, but it lacked any bite. "—shut up."

Kalypso and Vaelyn exchanged a knowing glance as they begrudgingly reached for their next article of clothing.

“Well,” Kalypso drawled, slipping her hands under the blanket—but instead of reaching for her socks like Kriia, she peeled her shirt off in one smooth motion, flinging it carelessly across the room without a hint of hesitation. “Guess we dod’t qualify as oversized flabethrowers with daddy issues.”

Vaelyn barely had time to snort at the joke before catching the faintest tremor in her posture. The moment her shirt left her body, a chill crept over her, and before she even realized it, she was scooting a little closer to him, drawn to the warmth radiating from his fever-flushed skin.

He hesitated for only a second before huffing a quiet laugh and tugging his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside with just as much carelessness. It took everything in him not to stare at Kalypso. “Yeah, thadk God for that.”

"Wow, alright, Vee, I see how it is," Rexar chuffed playfully, lazily swirling his drink before flashing a smug grin. Then, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather, he dropped the first bomb of the night.

"Dever have I ever bet sobeode who chadged by life."

The room went silent.

For a game that had, up until now, been nothing but loud, drunken nonsense, the sudden quiet hit hard.

Vaelyn drank first. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just a quiet lift of the cup and a long swallow, his expression unreadable. Rexar and Kriia both silently followed suite.

Kalypso, watching him, narrowed her eye slightly. Then, without a word, she took a sip as well.

A slow smirk curled onto her lips. “You’re so full of shit,” she mused, voice dipping into something softer, teasing but not sharp. “You dod’t believe id that ‘people chadge people’ bullshit.”

Vaelyn huffed a low laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I didd’t.”

Kalypso rolled her eye, but she didn’t push. She just tilted the bottom of his cup a little higher with her fingertip, silently prompting him to drink again. He did.

For a second, the room was too quiet. The kind of silence that felt like an unspoken cloud hanging in the air, thick and heavy.

And then—

A sharp wolf whistle from the couch.

Rexar, his voice still rough with congestion but way too smug for someone who was half-buried under a blanket, drawled, “Ohhh, get a roob, you guys! …Oh, wait… this is your roob.”

Kriia cackled, and just like that, the mood snapped back into chaos. Kalypso groaned, chucking a pillow in Rexar’s direction, and Vaelyn—flushed from either alcohol or something else entirely—shook his head with a smirk, downing the rest of his drink as the game went on.

“Okay, uh…” Vaelyn tapped his chin as he thought, his brows furrowing in concentration before he suddenly perked up, a huge grin stretched across his face. “Dever have I ever beed so sick that I forgot I was sick and tried to go do sobethi’g du’b.”

Kalypso raises an eyebrow. “That’s rich, cobi’g frob you.”

Vaelyn feigns offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “Be? I would dever be that stupid.”

Kriia snorted mid-sip, then quickly turned away to stifle a tiny, “Hh’Gxxt!” into her wrist before continuing like nothing had happened. “Vee. You walked out idto a blizzard last year to ‘get sobe air’—” She paused, nostrils twitching before sneaking another into her sleeve. “hH’GNxtch!—and thed passed out in a sdowbadk.”

Rexar, already wheezing with laughter, chokes on his drink once again. “Oh by god—THAT was that dight? I thought you were just bei’g drabatic.”

Vaelyn groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Listed. I forgot I had a fever. And techdically, I was odly out there for like… 20 bidutes?”

Kalypso narrows her eye at him. “You were bissi’g for two hours.”

Vaelyn shifts uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in the label on his drink. “...Tibe is a codstruct.”

Rexar wipes tears from his eyes. “Bro. You tried to argue with the mboon before you passed out.”

Kriia slams her cup down, giggling. “You did?! What the hell did you eved say?”

Vaelyn groans dramatically, grabbing the bottle for another swig. “I bight have told it to ‘fight be’ because it was looki’g at be fuddy.”

Kalypso smirks, leaning toward him. “Add did the mboon accept your challedge?”

Vaelyn glares at her, cheeks flushed—whether from the alcohol or the memory, no one could tell. “I don’t wadda talk about it.”

The room loses it, laughter echoing off the walls. Even Kalypso chuckles, shaking her head as she nudges Vaelyn’s foot under the blanket.

Everyone but Kriia had taken a sip from their drink, and as all eyes turned expectantly toward her, she let out a tiny, pitiful whimper. “Ugh, fide,” she huffed dramatically, peeling off Vee’s oversized hoodie with exaggerated reluctance. She held onto it for a second, pouting, before finally tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes.

Almost instantly, a sharp shiver ran down her spine, and she curled right back into Rexar’s side, burying herself in his warmth. The temperature shift must have been just enough to set her off, though—her breath hitched, and she barely had time to bring her wrist up before a soft, rapid “Hh’tgxt!—ngsh!—Hh’nxgt’chh!” escaped her.

“Bless you, babygirl,” Rexar murmured, voice low and warm with amusement, still rough with congestion. His eyes lazily raked over her now that the hoodie was gone, lingering appreciatively on the way her bare shoulders disappeared beneath the blanket. He licked his lips slowly, gaze darkening as he gave her an exaggerated once-over, taking his time as he smirked. “Damn. Ki’da like the view frob here.”

Kriia, already sniffling into the blanket, caught the look and immediately flushed. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, aiming a half-hearted punch at his shoulder.

Rexar laughed, his smirk widening as he effortlessly caught her wrist and pressed a slow, teasing kiss to the back of her hand. “What? Just adbiri’g by girl. Cad’t help it if she’s sitti’g id by lap looki’g like a damn sdack.”

Kriia rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. She coughed softly into the blanket, then rested her head against his chest, her breath evening out as his hand traced slow, firm circles over her arms, warming her up.

“There’s by girl~,” he murmured, voice dropping to a husky rasp.

She sighed contentedly, “Always dow I cad coudt od you~”

Rexar smirked against her hair, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head. “Damn right.”

Meanwhile, Kalypso sits stiffly beside Vaelyn, her breath hitching just slightly as she fights a sneeze of her own. Her jaw tightens, and she presses the edge of her shirt sleeve against her nose, determined to keep it at bay. She hates sneezing in front of people—especially Vee, who’d normally take every opportunity to mock her about it.

She had barely brought her cup to her lips before the telltale itch flared up deep in her sinuses. It started as a dull, irritating prickle, but the moment she inhaled, it was like a switch flipped. Her breath hitched sharply, shoulders tensing as her chest rose in quick, shallow jerks.

No. Not now.

She swallowed hard, willing her nose to behave, but the the more she tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to only worsen the tickle. She turned slightly away from the others, nostrils twitching as her breath wavered on the edge of a release that refused to come. A sharp inhale—nothing. Another—still nothing. Her body rocked forward in helpless anticipation, her eye fluttering shut, but the sneezes wouldn’t fully cooperate, each one dying out before it could properly manifest.

The frustration made her throat tighten. They were stuck, painful and unsatisfying, leaving her feeling like her entire face was buzzing with irritation. She sniffled sharply, rubbing the back of her wrist against her nose, only for the sensation to intensify.

“H’GGKT!” The first one finally broke through, but it was weak and incomplete, barely clearing the congestion that plagued her. Another followed, and another, each one just as unrelieving. “Ng’KXT! H-H’gNXT!” Her breath kept hitching between them, her body practically begging for a full release, but her malformed sinuses refused to grant her even that small mercy.

Rexar and Kriia were still wrapped up in each other, Rex laughing hoarsely at something she’d muttered against his chest. They didn’t notice.

But Vaelyn did.

For once, instead of the expected teasing, he nudged her lightly with his elbow, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. “You okay?”

Kalypso blinked, caught completely off guard by the genuine concern in his tone. She chanced a glance at him, expecting some kind of smirk, but there was none—just tired, glassy blue eyes watching her closely.

For a second, she forgot about the sneezing entirely.

Then another breath caught sharply in her throat, and she pitched forward again with another utterly unsatisfying stifle. “K’NgxT! h-H-H!!!” A low, frustrated noise escaped her, almost a growl, and she scrubbed at her nose furiously.

Vaelyn, still watching, tilted his head slightly toward the others. “They’re dot payi’g attedtiod,” he muttered, voice barely above a rasp as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Just let it out.”

Kalypso’s fingers twitched against her glass. It was unlike him—no mocking, no smug amusement, just a quiet, almost knowing patience. And maybe it was the fever, or the alcohol, or the sheer exhaustion of the fit dragging on with no relief, but she exhaled slowly and did something she rarely ever let herself do.

She reached up, moving all of her piercings to be able to stretch one of her nostrils slightly, adjusting the passage just enough to counteract the deformity. The effect was immediate. Her breath caught sharply, and this time, the sneezes came fast and unrestrained.

“Hhh’KSSHH! Hhh’NGSHHhh! Hh’TSSCHHhhUhh!”

The force of them rocked her forward, and she barely managed to catch them in the crook of her arm, her entire body sagging in relief as the tickle finally, finally subsided.

Kalypso sat back with a heavy, exhausted sigh, rubbing the side of her nose with two fingers, the aftershocks of her sneezing fit still tingling in her sinuses. The irritation had finally settled into something dull and manageable, but she could still feel the lingering itch deep inside, like a warning.

It wasn’t until she blinked away the haze of exhaustion that she noticed Kriia watching her carefully from the other side of the couch. Not saying anything. Just watching.

Kalypso raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, sniffing softly and flicking her gaze toward Vaelyn instead. He was already turning his attention back to the game, leaning forward slightly to grab his drink like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just been nice to her when no one was looking.

She wasn’t sure what to do with that.

She’d expected him to laugh, to mimic her, to make some sarcastic quip about how tragic it was that she couldn’t sneeze properly. That was what Vaelyn did—poke, prod, rile her up just to see what would happen. But instead, he’d just… nudged her. Quiet. Casual. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the alcohol was just making her think too hard about something that didn’t matter.

But the way her fingers tightened slightly around her drink said otherwise.

Leaning forward, she lazily swirled the liquor in her glass, the ice clinking softly against the sides. A slow, sly smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she spoke, her voice smooth and deliberate, like she was setting up a trap just to watch it snap shut.

“Dever have I ever sdeezed… and then had some jackass ibbediately bibic it right after.”

She pauses for effect, her eye flicking pointedly toward Vaelyn, her smirk widening as she lifts her glass to her lips. “But, y’dow… cad’t all be tre’dsetters.”

Vaelyn, already squinting suspiciously, sighs heavily as he reaches for his drink. “I hate you.”

Kalypso just shrugs. “No you dod’t. How could you hate sobeode who cad do this?”

Vaelyn’s glare sharpens as he watches Kalypso exaggerate every little detail—his breathy hitching, the way his head tilted back, the dramatic pause right before the sneeze actually hit.

Then she lets out an obnoxiously accurate impression of his signature rapid-fire fit.

"Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………hh’EISHHhhhuhh!"

Vaelyn blinks.

Rexar? Gone. Absolutely gone. He’s doubled over on the couch, cackling so hard that his shoulders shake. Even Kriia, despite her best effort to stay composed, snickers into her sleeve.

"Oh, you thidk you're fuddy?" Vaelyn mutters, voice thick with congestion, setting his drink down with exaggerated care. "You thidk you're so dambn fuddy, huh?"

Kalypso just smirks, completely unrepentant. "Dah, I dow I am."

Before Vaelyn can shoot back a response, Rexar suddenly jolts upright, his expression shifting from amusement to urgency. His breath catches, nostrils flaring, before—

“heT’CHXOO!! het’CHXIEW!! Hh’EXSHhh’uhh!!”

The sneezes explode from him in forceful bursts, and with them, a thick cloud of maple-scented smoke billows into the room.

The effect is instant.

Kalypso and Vaelyn both cough as the heavy, warm haze washes over them, making their limbs feel just a little heavier, their thoughts just a little fuzzier.

Kriia, caught mid-sip of her drink, barely has time to register the smoke before she snaps forward with a stifled, rapid sneezing fit of her own.

"K’tchh! Nkch! Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!!”

Rexar groans, still breathlessly recovering, as he wipes his nose against his wrist. “Ahh, shit. Bless be, by bad.”

Vaelyn waves a hand in front of his face, blinking sluggishly. "Dude, ward us dext tibe. Feels like I just took a sedative."

Kalypso, eyeing the dissipating smoke, raises an eyebrow at Rexar. "You sure you dod’t do that od purpose?"

Rexar grins lazily. “What, bake everyode a little bore cobfortable? Nahhh, dever.”

Vaelyn rubs at his face, still squinting at Kalypso. "You're still ad asshole, by the way."

Kalypso just raises her drink in a mock toast. "And yet, you're still here od this lovely hodeybood with be~”

Vaelyn groans dramatically as he takes a drink, shooting Kalypso a glare over the rim of his cup. Kriia giggles as she sips hers, and Kalypso just shrugs smugly, tossing back her own drink without hesitation.

Rexar, meanwhile, sits back on the couch, arms folded behind his head, the picture of smug amusement. “Mad, cad’t relate,” he drawls, watching as the rest of them drink. “Probably ‘cause whed I sdeeze, people are too busy dodgi’g for their lives to bock be.”

Kriia snorts mid-drink, coughing slightly as she sets her glass down. “You do have a te’dedcy to set thi’gs od fire,” she teases, sniffing and rubbing at her nose.

“Odly sobetibes,” Rexar says with a toothy grin before casually grabbing the hem of his shirt. Without a second thought, he pulls it off—except his hoodie stays perfectly in place. The group collectively pauses, watching as he tosses the discarded shirt onto the already absurdly large clothing pile.

Vaelyn squints. “…Did you just—how did you—?”

Rexar shrugs, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Duddo, just taledted, I guess.”

Kalypso narrows her eye, reaching for the bottle again. “I hate that you cad do that.”

Vaelyn, shaking his head, mutters, “I really hate that you cad do that.”

Kriia leans into Rexar’s warmth as she lifts her drink, her feverish violet eyes shimmering with something softer than their usual playful mischief. “Dever have I ever thought I’d be where I ab dow.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, weighty yet gentle. She turns her head slightly, flashing a quiet, loving smile toward Rexar before taking a slow sip of her drink.

Rexar doesn’t hesitate to follow suite, his grey-and-red eyes locked onto hers as he drinks. The admiration in his gaze is unmistakable—not just for the woman in his arms, but for the journey that led them here. For all the chaos, all the bullshit, and yet somehow still finding something this good in the end.

Vaelyn, silent for once, lifts his drink and takes a long sip.

Across from him, Kalypso does the same.

She sets her cup down with a smirk, leaning toward him with a teasing glint in her eye. “What, you dever thought you’d be a washed-up rockstar with a drinki’g probleb?”

Vaelyn snorts, rolling his eyes as he swirls the liquid in his cup. “Didd’t thidk I’d still be here at all.”

He says it casually—too casually. The words slip out with that same sardonic ease he uses to deflect anything real, but this time, it doesn’t land like a joke.

Kalypso’s smirk falters.

The room doesn’t go silent, not entirely—Rexar is murmuring something low to Kriia, and the faint clink of ice shifting in glasses still lingers—but her world tilts just slightly. Just enough for the booze in her system to lose its grip for a second.

She studies him.

His posture is the same, that usual lazy slouch, one arm draped over his knee. But his fingers are tight around his cup, and his eyes—sharp, tired, too knowing—are focused on the swirling liquid inside rather than on her.

“You say that like it’s a joke,” she says, her voice quieter than before. “But it’s dot.”

Vaelyn doesn’t look up. He just takes another drink, tipping his head back, throat bobbing with the swallow. Then, finally, he meets her gaze, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Doesn’t batter,” he mutters. “I amb.”

Kalypso watches him, her chest tightening with something that has nothing to do with congestion.

Kalypso doesn’t look away, even as the conversation shifts around them, as Rexar leans in to murmur something low in Kriia’s ear that makes her laugh sleepily. The warmth in the room—booze-fueled, fever-heavy—still lingers, but for a moment, she and Vaelyn exist in a bubble outside of it.

Her fingers tighten around her cup as she searches his face, as if there’s something hidden beneath the drunken bravado, something she isn’t sure she’s ready to pull to the surface. But Vaelyn’s walls are practiced, and before she can decide what to say, he’s already moving past it, reaching for the bottle to top off his drink like nothing happened.

“Alright, by turn” he announces, his voice sliding back into its usual cocky ease as he leans back against the headboard. His grin is sharp, teasing. “Dever have I ever—”

A sharp breath cuts through his sentence, and his expression shifts in real time from smug to annoyed. His hand flutters to his face automatically, a deep inhale hitching in his chest before he turns sharply into his elbow.

“Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………HEHHH!—EEISSHHUH!”

His whole body snaps forward with each one, knocking back against the headboard by the force of the last sneeze. The room is momentarily silent, the sheer violence of the fit demanding attention.

Then, predictably, Kalypso scoffs.

“You dow, I was just about to tell you to say sobethi’g actually personal for odce,” she says, reaching lazily for the bottle, “but I see your body has decided to betray you before I eved got the chadce.”

Vaelyn groans, sniffing sharply and dragging a sleeve across his nose. His voice is hoarse, irritated. “You could just be dorbal and say ‘bless you,’ but I forget who I’b talki’g to.”

Kalypso lifts an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from her drink before replying. “Bless your sorry ass, thed.”

From the couch, Rexar laughs, deep and rumbling, before smirking against the rim of his cup. “Mad, you are so fugked whed spri’g hits.”

Vaelyn grumbles something unintelligible under his breath and flips him off.

Kriia, half-draped across Rexar’s chest, giggles softly before curling in closer. “Your turn,” she reminds Vaelyn with a sleepy smile.

He sighs dramatically, rubbing at his face, but his lips twitch slightly despite himself. “Right, right. Where was I?”

Kalypso watches him for a beat longer, the weight of his earlier words still pressing at the edges of her mind. But he’s already thrown himself back into the game, the moment gone.

So, with a sharp inhale, she lets it go. For now.

She leans back against the headboard, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of her blanket as she waits for his next move.

“Alright,” Vaelyn hums, tilting his head with a lopsided grin, mischief lighting up his still-fevered blue eyes. “Dever have I ever... beed id love.”

The room goes silent.

Vaelyn doesn’t even pause, reaching for the waistband of his pants and shoving them down in one smooth, practiced motion. He’s clearly drunk enough not to care that he’s stripping down in front of everyone, but it’s the Jaws-themed boxers that really cement the moment.

Kalypso? She hesitates.

Vaelyn catches it immediately.

His smirk is lazy, all amusement and sharp edges as he tosses his pants toward the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing. He settles back against the headboard, one arm draping over his knee while his other hand holds his drink, fingers tapping idly against the glass. His fever-warmed cheeks are flushed, but that’s probably just the alcohol. Probably.

“What?” he prods, tilting his head slightly. “You godda dridk?”

Kalypso stares at him for a long moment.

The air shifts.

Her fingers tighten around her glass, and Vaelyn is suddenly way too aware of how his own pulse pounds at his temples. He watches as she lifts the drink to her lips, her expression unreadable. And then, without a single word, she tilts her head back and downs the entire thing in one go.

Vaelyn? He stops breathing.

Rexar, completely oblivious to whatever the fuck just happened, lets out a loud, breathy laugh. “Holy shit, okay, I’b officially drunk now,” he wheezes, already starting to push himself up. “I thidk that I deed a fugki’g cigarette… you guys dowd?”

Kriia, still sniffling miserably, casts him a mildly confused glance but adjusts just enough to let him untangle himself from their shared blanket. “Okay, but dot close to adythi’g eved rebotely flabbable! I dod’t dow why you eved sboke those thi’gs… or weed, for that batter… they just bake you sdeeze— Albost like you’re cosplayi’g Vaelyn...”

Vaelyn groans loudly as Rexar bursts into obnoxious laughter.

“It’s dot that bad!” Rexar argues, waving a hand dismissively before immediately regretting it when the motion throws off his already questionable balance. He wobbles where he stands, blinking slowly like that alone will help steady the room. “It’s just the sboke bothers my dose, I cad’t help it! But I’b already so stuffed up, it’ll be fiiiiiiiiiide.”

His words slur together, thick with congestion and alcohol, and Kriia watches him with a mixture of exasperation and affection, adjusting slightly under their shared blanket as he fumbles through his pockets. Vaelyn, sitting on the bed, merely smirks as he leans over to grab his own discarded pants, fishing through them before pulling out his crumpled pack of cigarettes.

Triumphant, he taps the pack against his palm, glancing toward Kalypso with an arched brow. Without a word, he lifts it slightly in her direction, offering her one with nothing more than a silent, questioning tilt of his head.

For a second, she hesitates again.

But then, slowly, she nods.

Vaelyn doesn’t let himself think too hard about why that makes his stomach flip.

Instead, he grabs the half-full ashtray from the table beside the bed and collapses back onto the mattress, lighting his cigarette with a smooth flick of his lighter. The first drag burns just right, and he exhales slowly, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling.

“Yeah, I learded very quickly to keep by distadce from hib whedever adyode’s sboki’g,” he mutters, jerking his head toward Rexar as his best friend put the cigarette to his lips. “He just spits flabes at adythi’g in a ted-foot radius. And sobetibes that ‘adythi’g’ is whed you’re walki’g through stalls with hib at the flea barket and you pass hib the cigarette, and suddedly, you’re fradtically tryi’g to help save, like, twedty differedt ve’dors’ bercha’dise, and also dow badded for life.”

His voice is flat, but his smirk is sharp with amusement.

Rexar throws his head back with a loud, wheezy laugh, barely managing to get his lighter to spark between breathless chuckles. The second the cigarette catches, the thin stream of smoke curls up into his face, and his breath immediately falters.

“Hh’NGKXTchh’uhh! Hehh’NXGSSHh! …hh’IHHZSSCH’UEHH!!”

The first stifle sends only a few stray embers drifting harmlessly into the night, but the last one—completely unstoppable—erupts with a sharp burst of flame that momentarily illuminates the back door.

“Okay, okay—but that wasd’t eved by fault,” he insists between hitching breaths, voice thick with congestion. “Dude just—hhHihh’NGXXSSHhh’uhh!—why would you set up a stall selli’g dried herbs right dext to a food cart with oped flabes? That’s a safety hazard.”

Vaelyn stares at him, unimpressed. “You are a fugki’g safety hazard.”

Kalypso snorts, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as she leans back against the headboard, one knee pulled up to her chest. “Wait—wait—so you’re telli’g be you actually got badded frob a flea barket for cobbitti’g accidedtal arsod?”

Vaelyn gestures at Rexar with his cigarette, confirming, “He got us badded. I just happeded to be there whed he lit the whole place up like a goddamn bodfire.”

Kriia groans, rubbing at her forehead before giving Rexar a pointed look. “You probised be you wouldd’t get badded frob adywhere else!”

“I didd’t bead to!” Rexar insists through a grin, swiping at his nose before taking another slow drag—only for his breath to immediately betray him again. His nostrils twitch violently, breath catching with a desperate hitch before—

“hh’ZSSHH’UEHH!! hH’IHHZSSSHh’UEHHH!! HAHH’EGZZSHH’OOHhh!!”

This time, the fire is more dramatic, licking up into the cold air in a brief but brilliant burst before smoldering out just as quickly. Rexar blinks dazedly, dragging the back of his wrist under his nose as the cigarette dangles precariously between his fingers.

“In by defedse,” he continues thickly, like nothing happened, “that lady was super drabatic about it. ‘Ohhh, by ha’d-carved statues are ruided forever!’ Like, girl. Chill. You were selli’g driftwood sculptures. They were already, like, halfway burded by the sud.”

Vaelyn groans, dragging a hand down his face before inhaling a deep, slow pull from his cigarette. He exhales through his nose, watching as the smoke curls lazily in the air before muttering, “I fugki’g hate you.”

“No, you dod’t,” Rexar singsongs, voice wrecked with congestion.

Vaelyn just flips him off.

Kalypso watches him as he flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, the glow of it casting faint shadows across his already fever-flushed face. He still hasn’t said anything about what just happened—about her drinking when he didn’t—but she can feel his thoughts running wild behind those stormy blue eyes.

She’s not going to give him the satisfaction of bringing it up first.

But she also knows him well enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.

So, before the tension can settle too thick in the air, she raises a single eyebrow and smirks. “So, Jaws boxers, huh?”

Vaelyn exhales sharply through his nose, flicking a glance down at his own underwear like he forgot about them before shaking his head. “You wish you could pull these off,” he says smoothly.

Kalypso grins, tilting her head. “Oh, I could definitely pull theb off. Just dot in the way you bead.”

Rexar immediately howls with laughter, but the sound gets cut off halfway when his breath catches again—

“hH’GZZSHhh’OOH!! Hh’NXGZZSHh! hAH’ZZSCHhh’uehh!!”

Kriia snickers, shaking her head with an affectionate smirk as she watches her boyfriend sniffle miserably, his cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers.

As the conversation carries on, Rexar stands by the back door of the room, cracked open just enough to let the smoke drift outside. The freezing air does little to help his already miserable congestion, and the second he takes a deep drag from his cigarette, his breath shudders—eyelids fluttering as his nostrils twitch.

“Hhh’ETSHCHXIEW!! heT’CHXOO!! et’tCHOO!!”

The force of the fit bends him slightly at the waist, embers briefly flaring in front of him before settling. Kriia, tucked against the couch, pretends to be unbothered, but every single sneeze is making something inside her stir. She glances away, swallowing down whatever weird warmth is pooling in her chest.

Vaelyn, however, is already grinning. “Oh, buddy,” he drawls, flicking ash into the tray, “add here I thought I was the delicate ode.”

Kalypso hums in agreement, smirking as she exhales smoke through her nose. “I dod’t dow, Vee. Rex bight actually have you beat.”

Rexar, recovering with a rough sniffle, flips them both off before stubbornly taking another drag, only to immediately lose the battle again.

“Hh’ESSHH’iUE! hh'ieXSHHH! Hhh’ETSHCHXIEW!”

The last one is so strong it nearly jolts the cigarette from his fingers. He barely manages to steady it in time, his other hand braced against the doorframe as he sniffles thickly, smoke curling lazily from his mouth. Kriia watches him from the couch, hiding a fond little smile behind her drink.

Vaelyn gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “At this poidt, ban, you’re the odly ode who should be badded frob flea barkets.”

Kalypso leans into the joke. “Yeah, this whole roob is about to be up in flabes frob seco’dha’d exposure.”

“Fugk y-you. Damn, d-does do ode say ‘bless you’ a-adybore!?”

Rexar barely manages to get the words out before another sneeze wrenches through him, forcing him to turn his head toward the open door.

“Hh’ESSHH’iUE!! Hhh’NGXXSHH! H—hH’IHKTSCHHHH’UE!!”

The first sneeze flares to life with a crackling burst of embers, and the second sends a fresh puff of dark smoke billowing out into the night. He barely recovers before the third tears through him, sending an extra burst of flame flickering down toward the floor.

“Jesus,” Vaelyn laughs, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. “You sure you’re getti’g ady nicotide out of that, or is your cigarette just collateral dabage at this poidt?”

Kriia, smirking against the rim of her glass, tilts her head at him. “See, baby,” she teases, “sbokin’g a cigarette caddot be that edjoyable whed you cad’t eved take a seco’d to feel it betweed sdeezes.”

Vaelyn nods in agreement, gesturing vaguely with his drink. “If that were be? I’d quit ibbediately. Do way I’m putti’g byself through that for fud.”

Rexar shoots them both a pointed look, smoke still trailing lazily from his nose as he squares his shoulders. “I dod’t deed to feel it. That’s what separates the weak frob the stro’g.”

Vaelyn lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, by bad. Didd’t realize we were id the presedce of a true warrior.”

Kriia hums in agreement, tapping a finger against her chin. “Yes, how brave. Pushi’g through your... very debilitati’g handicap.”

Rexar narrows his eyes at her, exhaling sharply through his nose as he takes a slow, deliberate drag—just to prove a point. He holds the smoke in for a long moment, making eye contact with Kriia like he’s daring her to challenge him further. But before he can say anything else, his breath catches hard and his expression crumbles.

“hEH'NKXSHH!! H’NXGtCHHHhh!—fuck’s sake—Hhh'ihGZSHHhh’UE!!”

He barely has time to aim the last one toward the open air before the force of it nearly doubles him over, leaving him hunched forward, blinking bleary-eyed and dazed.

Kriia bites back a laugh, watching him sniffle miserably before finally lifting her drink in mock admiration. "Yeah. So strodg."

Vaelyn grins, reaching all the way over Kalypso and clinking his glass lightly against hers. “Udstoppable.”

Rexar sniffles thickly, rubbing at his nose as a thin, steady stream of smoke curls lazily from his nostrils. The irritation never quite left—his entire face felt hot, his sinuses packed tight with congestion, but that goddamn cigarette was still hanging between his fingers like he refused to be bested by it.

Just as he lifts it for another drag, his breath shudders, and he barely has time to shove his wrist against his face before—

“hhH'IHNXGSHh’UE!! Hh’NXGTSSH’HHUE!! hAHH’NGXXTCHHhh!!”

The first two are tightly stifled, forcing embers to flicker through the air in soft, glowing sparks, but the third? The third erupts from him before he can stop it, sending a sudden burst of flame straight toward the door.

Kalypso throws up her arms as the fire flares just a little too close. “HEY! You fugki’g blowtorch, aib that shit sobewhere else!”

Rexar barely recovers, coughing and sniffing thickly, his eyes watering as another stream of smoke drifts from his mouth with each exhale. He looks mildly dazed, like he just knocked some brain cells loose, but still somehow manages to shrug it off.

He sniffles roughly, adjusting his stance, clearly unamused but too stubborn to give up. “You dow what? You guys cad burd in hell. Look, I cad’t codtrol it. Fire’s gotta breathe too, y’dow?”

Vaelyn, who had been lazily flicking the ash from his own cigarette, suddenly freezes.

His expression goes slack for half a second, like his brain just short-circuited, before his eyes widen in something almost maniacal. Without a word, his cigarette slips from his fingers, hitting the floor with a barely audible thnk.

“That’s it…”

The words leave his mouth in a stunned whisper.

Kalypso, who has seen exactly this brand of unhinged creative revelation before, immediately stiffens. “Oh, do.”

Rexar, still dazed from his sneezing fit, furrows his brows, rubbing aggressively at his nose. “What the fuck are you od about?”

Vaelyn doesn’t answer.

Instead, he launches himself to his feet so fast that the sudden movement nearly sends him crashing back down. He stumbles, bracing a hand on the bedpost, but it doesn’t matter—his brain is on fire.

“FIRE’S GOTTA BREATHE! THAT’S FUGKI’G IT, REX! YOU GODDAMN GEDIUS! I COULD KISS YOU ON THE MOUTH—”

Kalypso flinches. “Jesus, ward a bitch before you go duclear.”

Rexar, still looking like he just got hit by a truck, wrinkles his nose before flicking his cigarette butt out the door. “Please don’t kiss me on the mouth, bro. I mean, I love you and all, but geez—”

But Vaelyn is already across the room, practically ripping open his guitar case to grab Michelle. His notebook gets flung open on the table, pages flipping furiously as his fever-ridden brain blazes with inspiration.

Rexar just stares, still sniffling, then finally sighs and trudges back toward the couch, flopping down beside Kriia with a miserable groan.

Vaelyn, preoccupied, mutters fragments of lyrics under his breath, his fingers twitching with barely-contained excitement as he scrambles to jot down whatever’s buzzing in his head.

Kalypso watches, unimpressed. “Okay, but what the fuck does ‘fire’s gotta breathe’ have to do with adythi’g?”

Vaelyn doesn’t even look up. “That’s the sodg, Kal. That’s the title. That’s the fugki’g hook.”

Rexar, still dazed and visibly congested, sniffs pitifully from his spot on the couch, rubbing aggressively at his nose before groaning. “So I’b a gedius add I’b dyi’g. Love that for be.”

Kriia, suppressing a smirk, reaches over and gently brushes a stray piece of red hair away from his face. “Poor baby, you just had to have your cigarette, huh?”

Rexar sniffles again, this time so thick and miserable that even Vaelyn pauses mid-scribble to glance up at him. "I’b so codgested dow….”

Rexar’s voice is utterly wrecked, thick with congestion as he pouts dramatically at Kriia. But he doesn’t hold the expression for long—his nose twitches, his breath stutters, and before he can even think about bracing himself—

“hH’IHNXGSHHh’UE!! Hh’NXGTSSH’HHUE!! hAHH’NGXXTCHHhh!!”

The first two are barely stifled into his sleeve, forcing out a flurry of glowing embers that flicker through the air like fireflies before fizzling out harmlessly. But the third? The third erupts from him, a deep, guttural sneeze that unleashes a sudden gout of flame toward the floor, briefly lighting up the dimly lit room before it vanishes into curling smoke.

Kriia barely reacts, lifting her drink just enough to keep it from getting knocked over while Rexar hunches forward, groaning in absolute misery.

The force of the sneezes leave him momentarily dazed, blinking sluggishly, his nose still twitching as residual smoke trickles from both nostrils in thin, lazy streams. His next breath is thick and unsteady, and he drags his wrist under his nose with an utterly pathetic sniffle.

Kriia hums, amused, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back.

Rexar, still reeling, just gives her a bleary-eyed, lopsided grin.

No regrets.

Vaelyn, still riding the high of his musical epiphany, grins at him.

Vaelyn was on fire. Not literally—thankfully, because Rexar had already put them dangerously close to losing the security deposit—but metaphorically, in the way that every line, every riff, every goddamn thing that had been just out of reach for months was suddenly right there, pouring from his fingers like he’d been possessed by the ghost of rock legends past.

His notebook sat open in front of him, pages filled with frantic scribbles and half-sketched chords, his guitar balanced on his lap as he plucked out the melody with an almost feverish intensity. It wasn’t just good. It was the song. The missing piece. The one that had been clawing at the edges of his brain for months, just waiting for some dumb, fire-breathing idiot to sneeze out the final puzzle piece.

Kalypso, draped in her blanket, watched from the bed with an unreadable expression—somewhere between amusement, exhaustion, and, dare he say, admiration. Kriia leaned into Rexar on the couch, looking like she was about three seconds from passing out, but even she cracked a small, proud smile at the sheer energy radiating off Vaelyn.

And Rexar? Rexar was having a moment.

The pyromancer, flushed from alcohol, congestion, and the warmth of the room, was sprawled dramatically across the couch, his arm slung over Kriia like some kind of medieval prince making a grand proclamation.

“Y’dow what?” he announced, voice thick and stuffy, “Kriia deserves ad award for putti’g up with our bullshit.”

Kriia snorted, hiding her laugh in Rexar’s hoodie, but he wasn’t done.

“Do, do, listed—she dragged our asses od this ‘hodeybood’ or whatever—”

“Vacatiod,” Kriia corrected.

“Right. Vacatiod. And look at us dow.” He sniffled dramatically, rubbing at his nose with the edge of his sleeve before gesturing wildly toward Vaelyn, who was still lost in his own world, humming as he scribbled down lyrics. “That’s the best sodg we’ve writted. We’d still be sitti’g od our asses, pulli’g our hair out, if she didd’t bake us cobe here.”

Vaelyn, finally looking up from his notebook, shot Rexar an incredulous look. “Are you actually sayi’g you’re glad we all got sick together?”

Rexar smirked, sniffling deeply before pressing a kiss to the top of Kriia’s head. “I’m sayi’g I cad’t rebe’ber the last tibe I laughed this hard. Or the last tibe we actually edjoyed each other’s cobpady without all the pressure. Baybe we deeded this, y’dow?”

Kalypso made a face. “God, you’re sedtibedtal whed you’re drudk.”

“And codgested,” Vaelyn added.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Rexar waved them off, settling back into the couch as he exhaled another lazy stream of smoke. “Point is, sick or dot, this was a damn good weeke’d.”

The room fell into an easy silence, broken only by the sound of Vaelyn’s fingers idly strumming against his guitar strings, the soft rustling of blankets, and the occasional exhausted sniffle from someone.

And for the first time in six months, everything just… clicked.

The end 🖤