#like hes not the problem. i haye feeling like this.

[secondplayercanada]

.

[jaethaone]

Claiming What’s Mines

Part 2 Of “Coming for What’s Mines”

Parings: Roman Reigns x Black female reader, mentions of Carmelo Hayes x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Ratings: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut!! , Bad Smut Possibly, unprotected sex (Always Wrap It Up) , Possessive, Toxic Roman

Summary: After Trying To Avoid Roman Since His Return, And Show That You’re Moving On, Roman’s Had Enough Of The Games And Decided To Let You Know Who You Belong To

A/n: So The Creative Juices Have Been Flowing So Part 2 Is Here Faster Than Expected, Its Also My First Time Writing Smut So Bear With Me. I’d Also Like To Thank Everyone Whose Loved The First Part, I Wasn’t Expecting How Well Its Been Doing So Thank You .. I Hope You Guys Enjoy This Part.

GIF Credit: @jeysuso

The atmosphere backstage was electric, thrumming with the echoes of the crowd that had just departed the arena. The deafening cheers from the arena still reverberated in the air, vibrating with the energy of the crowd that had just witnessed an electrifying episode of SmackDown.

Among it all, a palpable tension brewed, one that was far more intimate than the public scene.

Two weeks had passed since Roman had unleashed his fury, reminding everyone why he was the Tribal Chief of the Bloodline, and why challenging him was a grave mistake. But it wasn’t just the wrestling world that was in upheaval. Your feelings were a storm, tossed between the lingering memory of Roman and the magnetic pull of Carmelo.

Charming and charismatic his attention had become a reprieve from the chaos, a welcome distraction from the heat of your complicated emotions for Roman. You had needed space, yet the distance had only stoked the flames.

You had been avoiding Roman these last two weeks.. or at least trying to. Flitting between the chaotic backstage life and stolen moments with Carmelo.

You had tried to spend more time with him.. with Carmelo, trying to show Roman that you could move on.

And yet, the longer you avoided Roman, the more you sensed his relentless pursuit, a force too strong to disregard.

You had been trying to escape from Roman’s looming presence and his possessiveness, the latter being something you haven’t experienced before, using every ounce of willpower to stand firm in your decision that you’d move on.

But still, Roman lurked in the corners of your mind. The memory of his gaze, smoldering with a fierceness that made your heart race, haunted you. He had a way of making your very being tremble, leaving you unsure yet yearning—caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

After the recent events at SummerSlam, where you had stood up to him, Roman had taken your rejection with a sort of nonchalance that made you ache. “Just know that I’ll be waiting,” was all he had said with that signature smirk, leaving you simmering in uncertainty. You thought avoiding him would help, but Roman was relentless; he always had to be in control, always had to get what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

Tonight, everything had exploded during his showdown with Solo, anger and frustration spilling over. His rivalry with the Bloodline had ignited a fire in him, but it was the sight of you laughing with Carmelo backstage that had truly pushed him to his breaking point. Roman had always been possessive, and right now, he was more determined than ever to stake his claim.

Roman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the shadows emphasizing his chiselled jaw and sharp features. His dark eyes tracked every movement of the two figures in front of him.

He watched as you retreated down the hall, waiting until you were out of view before stepping to Carmelo

“Still think you can dance with fire and not get burned?” Roman’s voice broke the charged silence, low and dripping with menace.

Carmelo raised an eyebrow turning around, a sly smile playing across his lips. “I’m just here to have a good time. You know how it is, Reigns.”

“That’s the problem,” Roman leaned in, closing the distance. “You’re having too much of a good time and forgetting who belongs to who.”

“Like I said, it’s just fun”

“Well you can go have fun with someone else”

“Nah” Carmelo stepping up to Roman despite size difference, “I think I’m going to continue to have my.. fun.” Patting Roman on the shoulder and walking away.

“Yeah” Roman says rubbing his hand over his face. “We gone see”

With that he walks away.. towards your dressing room

Finally in the confines of your dressing room you sat on the couch that was positioned in the corner letting you have a view of the whole room. Letting out a long breath, you sat contemplating Carmelo’s offer. He suggested you come back to his hotel room tonight. And any other time you’d be all for the distraction. Yet, in the depths of your mind, like an ominous shadow, Roman loomed large.

He wasn’t just the crowd’s favorite. He was a force—a storm of confidence wrapped in simmering danger. You had seen it in his eyes when he fought for what he wanted, and it terrified you.

You were about to get up to change your clothes when the door burst open with a force that caught your attention, revealing Roman—jaw clenched, eyes ablaze with determination.

The tension in the air thickened as he pushed the door closed, his imposing presence filling the small space.

There was a moment—silent, electric—between you and Roman.

“What are you doing here, Roman?” you asked, a hint of defiance in your voice, but knowing full well what the answer was.

“I came to set things straight,” he replied, his tone smooth but laced with underlying menace. His eyes bore into yours, dark like a storm cloud, intense enough to make your heart leap in both fear and excitement.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of Roman's gaze pulling you closer. The air thickened as you crossed the space between you and him, the palpable tension wrapping around you both.

“Roman, I—” you began, but he cut you off with a sharp shake of his head.

“No more games,” Roman asserted, stepping forward until he was mere inches away. “Two weeks of hiding from me, running around with him…it ends now.”

“Look I’m just trying to move on,” you challenged, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to mask your own growing irritation.

“Move on?” He laughed, a cold, harsh sound that resonated in your chest. “You think you can just move on from me, after everything? Look around; we both know it’s not that easy.”

“Roman, you don’t own me,” you asserted, your voice steadier than your pulse.

His eyes darkened, the air between you heating up, igniting something that had been smoldering for far too long.

You crossed your arms, grounding yourself as you tried to resist the storm brewing in your chest. “Honestly, What do you want, Roman? I thought I made myself clear.”

“Clear?” He stepped forward some more, invading your space, heat radiating off him like the sun. “You think you can just brush me off? You think you can move on with him?”

“Carmelo has nothing to do with this,” you snapped, trying to stand firm against the overwhelming presence of the man before you. But even as you said the words, doubt trickled in. ”Besides, you made your choice.”

“Did I?” Roman scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk that sent a thrill through your core.

“Look, I don’t belong to you, Roman,” you asserted, your voice stronger than you felt. “So this walking around thinking that i do, is going to stop”

The corners of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk forming. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“You’ve always belonged to me.”

“Roman…”

He silenced you with a fierce kiss, capturing your lips with an urgency that sent shivers dancing along your spine. It wasn’t the softness of Carmelo’s charm; it was raw, passionate, and intoxicating. You felt yourself surrender, your body responding instinctively to the heat of his kiss, the touch of his hands as they roamed down your hips, pulling you deeper into him.

“Do you understand now?” he murmured against your lips, hungry and possessive.

“You’re mine. You always have been and always will be.”

As he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, there was a wildness in him—desire mingled with desperation. You could sense it; he was a man who didn’t take no for an answer, a man who had always gotten what he wanted.

“Roman, I—” you began, though it came out more breathless than you intended.

But he was relentless, pulling you flush against him again, his mouth capturing yours once more in a heated frenzy.

“You belong to me,” he murmured, a low growl that resonated deep within you. “And I’ll remind you of that.”

With renewed fervor, his hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly until you were wrapped around him. You gasped at the sudden heat pooling within you, pressing your hips against his as if trying to draw him in further.

“Roman, please—”

As he backed you against the locker, his hands traveled over your skin, igniting sparks everywhere they touched, and your body replied in ways you couldn’t control. Every ounce of reason faded into a haze of pleasure, a growing fire that consumed everything else.

You couldn’t deny how intoxicating it felt to be wanted in such a primal way. The air around you thickened with sexual tension as he devoured your mouth, hands slipping beneath your clothes, caressing the bare skin beneath. You gasped, a mixture of desire and shock, but it only fueled his hunger further.

“Roman,” you gasped, struggling to regain control over your senses, but he silenced you with another fierce kiss. He devoured you, as though he were trying to consume your very essence, fueling the desire that had always simmered beneath the surface.

“I’ll show you who you belong to,” he murmured, pulling you away from the wall and into a flurry of movement as he led you to the couch in the room.

Roman's hands traced your figure, each caress igniting the fire inside you until it blazed beyond control.

With raw, hungry intent, he pushed you down, his body pressing against yours

“You’re mine, always will be,” he growled, his lips trailing along your neck, seductive and overwhelming. The unmistakable urgency of his actions ignited a hunger you could no longer resist.

Your breath quickened as you felt his tongue trace a path along your collarbone. You wanted to be selfish, to keep this moment for yourself. But more than that, you wanted Roman, and you wanted him now. You couldn’t deny that anymore.

"Please," you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair. "Don't make me wait any longer."

With a growl, Roman ripped your clothes off, exposing your lace bra and the swell of your breasts. You gasped at the sudden exposer, your nipples pebbling against the soft fabric.

Roman took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling as his hand drifted down to your core.

"You're so wet for me, YN," he murmured, his fingers tracing the outline of your pussy through your panties. "Tell me it’s mines."

"It’s yours," You moaned, your head falling back as he teased you. "Roman, please. I need you inside me."

With a rough tug, Roman ripped your panties aside, his fingers plunging into your heat.

You cried out, your hips bucking off the couch as he thrust his fingers deep inside you.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, adding a second finger. "Take it all. Take my fingers and wait for your turn to have my dick."

You were on fire, your body throbbing around his fingers as he worked you towards an orgasm. You cried out, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he slammed his fingers in and out of your wet hole.

"Come for me, YN," Roman demanded, his thumb seeking out your swollen clit. "Let me feel you cum around my fingers."

You couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled cry, you convulsed around his hand, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Roman rode out your orgasm, his fingers never slowing as he prolonged your release.

"That's my girl," he growled, withdrawing his wet fingers and bringing them to his mouth.

In a heady haze, you surrendered, losing yourself in the raw ferocity of his desire. He gave in to every fervent longing—the taste of his lips, the intensity of his touch—every action a promise that surged through your veins. This was not just physical; it was declaration, a statement of who you belonged to.

"You taste so fucking good."

You were panting, your body spent as Roman feasted on the taste of you. He kicked off his jeans, freeing his hard length, and positioned himself between your legs.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with desire as you watched him slap his dick on your throbbing core.

"Tell me you want my dick," he demanded, his voice hoarse with need.

"I want your dick," you whispered, your eyes flicking to his thick length. "I want it inside me. Please, Roman."

With one swift thrust, Roman filled you, moaning as your tight heat enveloped him. You gasped, your eyes rolling back as he stretched you, filling you in a way you had only dreamed of.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, beginning to move, his hips snapping as he set a relentless pace. "Tight little pussy was made for my cock."

You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, along with your grunts and moans. Roman's eyes never left yours as he fucked you, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

"Look at me, YN," he demanded, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her head back. "Watch me fuck you."

Your eyes flew open, locking with his as he thrust deep, again and again. Your pussy clenched around him, milking his length as he hit all the right spots.

"Roman, I'm gonna cum," you cried out, her body tightening around him once more.

“Let everyone know who you belong to,” he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and needy. “You’re mine, say it”

You couldn’t do anything but moan

“Say It” He said one more time, thrusting harder

“I’m Yours!” You all but yelled

"Cum for me," he growled, his hips never slowing. "Cum around my cock, baby."

As if in a trance, you tensed, your body shaking as another orgasm ripped through you.

Roman felt your pussy pulse around him, and it sent him over the edge. With a roar, he thrust into you a few more times before he stilled, his release flooding your insides.

Panting, you stayed joined for a moment, Your legs wrapped around his waist as you both came down from your high. Then, with a soft smile, Roman gently withdrew, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That's how I claim what's mine," he whispered, helping you sit up. "And now, everyone will know who you belong to."

Your heart raced as you realized what you had just done. The dressing room offered just enough privacy, but your passionate encounter could easily have been overheard. But instead of feeling embarrassed, you felt empowered. You had just experienced mind-blowing sex with the man you wanted, and didn't care who knew it.

"You're right," you said, a smile playing at your lips. "And I can't wait to do it again."

The reality of your earlier struggles faded away in the face of his unwavering conviction, a promise to remind you of your place beside him.

After you both got dressed and a promise of round two and a final kiss, Roman left your dressing room, a satisfied smirk on his face. He knew that he had just reignited a past romance, and this time.. you were going nowhere

You belonged to Roman Reigns—always had, always would.

TAG LIST

@whatdoeseverybodywant @trippinsorrows

@loloschive

[lynrasa]

To Dust You Shall Return: Phantom/Secret

Why is there not more of this? She's basically canonically a halfa.

(I know the answer is because Young Justice is vastly underappreciated. Shh.)

Some notes on Greta Hayes | Secret as a halfa. 

Based on her described power set, she is absolutely a halfa and would fit right in to Danny Phantom without any real adjustment. 

Given the specific variety and format of her powers, she is a halfa almost exactly as OP as Danny. 

The only part of her story that doesn't fit the 'halfa' thing is the simplicity of her death. There doesn't seem to be a portal involved in her death, and Danny doesn't appear to be a psychopomp. That's fairly easy to fix: the tape deck that Billy | Harm used to kill her was chanting a summoning spell / portal opening spell. It's clear that she and / or Billy had some magical ability before their respective deaths, so that might have affected things as well.

Alternatively, Greta was mostly just an extremely powerful ghost until Darkseid (Side note: the fact that Greta called Darkseid Doug Side [and he let her] is not played up nearly enough) returned her to life, at which point she becomes a halfa or maybe some other flavor of undead since she doesn't seem to have access to her powers anymore.

If she is a full halfa and possibly just as a ghost- Greta has a Smoke Core. Also, I like the idea that, like Danny, she has Ancient potential from the beginning. She can literally be the Ancient of Secrets, which would neatly explain both her Core (Smoke and Mirrors) and The Abyss. On the other hand, The Abyss can just be the jacked up version of Danny storing shit in his chest. 

Her Obsession would be her greatest weakness because Greta is basically obsessed with Normality / Life. I like the idea that Obsession loss- Secret starting to give up on the idea of Normality helped lead to her insane jealousy over Robin. She briefly fixated on him from an Obsession point of view- the secondary obsession (which could also fit into the larger obsession- CompAllo) helped shore her up. Also, I generally see Tim as a late-bloomer in the whole Romance thing. He does stuff more because it's expected of him not because he actually feels things. I am also heaadcanoning him as on the younger end of the Young Justice group. I don't know if I'll put Secret on the higher end, but even so, girl puberty generally starts before boy puberty.

Also, Tim is very much a product of CompHet 90s masculinity, honestly as bad as Kon. So he did not grow up reading romances, he did not watch romcoms, etc. Greta did. So she takes it as a love declaration, but Tim was thinking more of emotional support / backup. He meant it; he was sincere, but he doesn't really understand overpromising (he never will). It's part of his problem with Spoiler, too and Jack Drake. Tim's emotional priority is Batman Gotham. In the words of Eliot Spencer "You can't make that promise to more than one person."

I really like the idea that Greta is a halfa and the one Secret eluding her is transforming on her own. First, she can't find the secret to being human, then she can't find the secret to being a ghost. Given Doug Side's involvement, I expect her transformation is paradoxical, something like the moment she stops wanting to be alive she can be returned to life or the moment she stops wanting powers she can be a ghost again? No, that doesn't seem to fit.

Something about the Anti-Life equation though. And she is a psychopomp, she is a portal? The anti-life equation incites a death wish in people right? Or a wish to cause death? Harm may have been an early devotee of the Anti-Life equation, which means it could have been involved in Secret's death. Why did Secret make a good sacrifice for Buzz / for the Anti-Life equation? Was she already a paradox? Someone filled to the brim with vitality, but with a dark / death-seeking place inside them? Or was it about potential? The most life converted to death? Something like that. 

Regardlesss, I really really want to write something with Greta and Danny. Do I want to write them together? I mean, that feels cutesy and too perfect and Mary Sue-ish, but honestly it would be reasonably true to both their characters. Maybe this could be college shenanigans.

Actually, I really like the idea that Greta's 'secret' nature means that her ectoplasm is completely undetectable if she's not in Ghost form. So Danny has no clue that she was ever Secret, was ever a ghost, and they're dating.

At some point Danny comes clean about he was to Greta and she blows up, something on the order of "NO! NO! NO! I GOT AWAY FROM DEATH. IT CAN'T HOLD ME ANYMORE. I WAS FREE!" I think the key word there is 'was'. Her emotional distress forces her back into her ghost form. At which point, she, somewhat understandably, blames Danny and attacks him, "YOU DID THIS TO ME! TURN ME BACK! LET ME GOOOOOO!"

Danny had absolutely no idea that Greta was a halfa before she transformed, and is confused by her apparently out of nowhere halfa transformation, especially the bit where he couldn't sense her until she transformed. He can sense Dan, Ellie, and Vlad. And even Val and Jazz and Sam and Tucker (high level liminals). Also, she's really strong. Like really strong. Like, if she actually knew how to fight other ghosts at all, she'd probably be the most dangerous person he'd faced since [either Pariah Dark or one of the Ancients]. She's only used to fighting the living though and she's busy having a mental breakdown, oh, and there's the bit where Danny is King. So, he's able to soup her and take her to Frostbite, since he's really worried about her. [Also, ship name is now Dry Ice]. Absolutely going for Ghost Emote Communication, so the entire time, Danny is apologizing to her in Ghost. 

Shit. I was thinking about playing this for laughs, but now I've accidentally had Danny repeat one of her major traumas. Fuck. Okay, There will be lots of Greta learning about her biology- not her powers, she knows how to use those, she just needs to figure out how to transform. She will not figure it out immediately, but Danny is able to help her transform back by transforming with her. (Very shoujo, I know, whatever, she's a 90's character and by making her a halfa I gave her a magical girl transformation. Also, ectoplasm follows Green lantern rules, so when she first masters transforming on her own, Greta absolutely has a Sailor Moon style transformation sequence, though she gets to skip the pose at the end, and her halfa outfit is always her Young Justice character design.)

Actually, I really like the idea that- while this is a forced to remain in contact scenario- Danny leaves everything for Greta to choose. Also, while he didn't tell the specifics until the start of this story, she did know he wasn't standard human. He was open about that, just not that he was dead instead of meta. When she first transforms out of anger she goes straight to Secret's outfit. The first time she means to transform from human to ghost, she appears "in the outfit she died in". Greta died in the bath, so she's naked. Danny immediately closes his eyes (despite having seen her naked while they were dating- I don't know that they actually had sex- that might have been skinny dipping or an "almost" or just a changing situation [Anita has no body modesty; I suspect this rubbed off on the rest of YJ after they knew Tim's identity].) and talks her through how to change her outfit as a ghost.

At first, her transformations happen due to extreme emotional distress. She's always furious when she finds Danny to help her transform back. She manages to stay out of sight- she's good at stealth, but she hasn't figured out invisibility. Danny earns back a little bit of goodwill by teaching her to go invisible immediately. Especially because Danny does not treat her as stupid for not knowing. He keeps up a running commentary about all the trouble he had when he first encountered his powers and how shit a teacher he is. (This is actually true.) It also helps that he treats invisibility as a basic safety precaution rather than a 'cool power'. So, for future transforms, if she transforms, she immediately goes invisible.

She also appreciates (once she notices) that Danny stopped assuming she was his girlfriend as soon as the fight happened, but did not stop being available for emotional support. She also appreciates that he's never asked about her death. [She didn't get the cultural stuff any more than he did. She doesn't know that asking is severely taboo in ghost culture.] Danny, for his part, desperately wants to give her the culture stuff he didn't get, particularly the stuff that caused him so much trouble, but has noticed Secret's particular aversion to discussing her powers or ghostliness. Jazz or maybe someone else warns him to let Greta set the pace, and he takes the advice. 

Things start to turn around when a Young Justice fight- ooh, no, better. Cissie is taken hostage / kidnapped by a particularly crazed fan. This has happened before. I think her identity is public (need to check), so normally this is solved by Cissie shouting for Kon. Or better, she shouts for Cassie whose identity is also public, but usually Kon shows up. They set this up specifically- lots of people think to shout for Superboy; no one shouts for the Wonders; they're not known to have superhearing.

Except this time: the core four are in space. All of Young Justice is still in a group chat, so Cissie knows shouting won't do her any good and Greta knows that Kon and the rest can't help Cissie when she sees the breaking news alert. She has contact info for the Justice League, but her justified experience as a member of Young Justice is that the Justice League will not listen to them and can not be counted on. She makes a mental note to bug [Red] Robin into giving her the information for the Titans and the Outlaws. Then she hunts Danny down in their human forms so he can switch them to ghost and she can go save Cissie.

She isn't the only Young Justice reservist who shows up. Anita can teleport. Also, Danny follows her, but when he sees Secret and Empress flawlessly fall into fighting together, he wisely decides to stay well out of it, except at one point he turns Cissie intangible to prevent the crazed fan hurting her. Cissie and Anita assume Secret did it (No they don't, but they aren't going to press Greta about it. Headcanon: Young Justice rules of order state that the person gets three strikes or until it reaches WTF level before there's an intervention to demand an explanation. There are levels to acting on a Young Justice league WTF by the way. Level 1) Bart is told. Level 2) Tim is told Level 3) Cassie is told Nuclear option: Tell Kon and ask him to keep it from Tim and Cassie.) 

Once Cissie is free, Anita and Cissie's main concern is figuring out if Secret is dead again. They're really upset about that idea which makes her happy. She assures them it's only sorta and tells them she can change back. She ducks out of sight. Danny helps her change back without a word- he can manage invisibility in human form, but mostly just stays hidden. Cissie and Anita are desperately happy Greta's not dead, but also concerned. They know Greta wasn't really interested in her powers. All she wanted was to be normal.

Greta assures Cissie that Cissie's safety is worth more than Greta's normality. Anita's a little tactless about it, but that's Anita. Greta and Cissie get it; Anita loves heroing and wants to get back to it full time. Anita heads home. Greta ducks back into hiding so Danny can help her transform back, then carries Cissie to the police station. Cissie lies and says she was saved by Superboy and Empress, but they had to rush off to some other disaster. Greta and Danny fly back to campus and Greta quietly and more than a little grudgingly- she doesn't want to forgive him yet- thanks him for helping her save Cissie. She also thanks him for staying out of the way. Danny admits a little about his own vigilante past and they fly back in silence. 

Sometime after Greta has started to figure out transforming on her own, someone on the campus dies. Greta feels the pull towards her duties as psychopomp. When she gets there, Danny is also there, pulled by something he doesn't know to the spot. Greta starts to do the psychopomp thing, but something about her appearance specifically sets the soul off. She sighs and tells Danny to try. Danny does not know what she's talking about.

Uno Reverse Card. Greta hadn't known they were halfas; Danny hadn't known they were psychopomps. He freaks out- less violently- but otherwise a lot like hers. Danny is surprised he's never had to do it before. Much later, they find out he actually has. Greta is a psychopomp for those who will move on, Danny for those who will remain. She is Mercy and Judgement and the End. He is Compassion and Memory and the Beginning. Some souls, like the one on the campus, are undecided, so they both get pulled to them. They don't meet everybody who dies, just those who need a little help.

Also, like with Kathy, sometimes they can lead the person back to Life instead of to Death and the Afterlife. When Greta does this, the result is no more than a little liminal. When Danny does it, it makes undead of some sort or another, or at the very least, high level liminals. This is due to the excess of ectoplasm in Danny and the difference in their roles as Psychopomps- she's Death / The Abyss, he's Afterlife / The Infinite Realms. Or, in their role as dualities, She's Life or else Death he's Life and Death.

I may end up altering their uniforms so she has a ⊻ and he has a ∧ as part of their costumes (Logic symbols: Either Or for her, And for him). Possibly on capes. Maybe capes which only appear when they're being formal. This amuses me immensely, because I'm a dork. Also, I'm adding notes: On his cape, the shape is basically made out of galaxy- matching the representation of the milky way. On hers, it's curls of smoke and / or whitewater. (Because I will absolutely reference Abhorsen whenever I can. Always. Continuously.) 

[delilahcalicocat]

I need a Cody Rhodes smut coz damn that man is 🔥. Cody Rhodes x reader smut, reader interviews Cody after one of his matches and he can't keep his hands to himself and keeps whispering dirty things in her ear 😉 even though their live on Smackdown

A/N: Of course, I honestly feel like Cody would do this. And as soon as they go to break. He'd try to pin the reader to the wall.

{~Off Air~}

{Rating: Smut and Semi-Fluff}

{Warnings: Dirty talk, kissing, fingering, Oral Sex (M Receiving)}

{Pairing: Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader}

You were an interviewer for SmackDown, and you knew trouble was coming when Cody got the title-

Because he was protected from the Draft. And you were too- but you always had a problem keeping composure while interviewing Cody.

So after his match against Carmelo Hayes, before you guys went off air. You had to interview him.

So you began to ask who he'll be facing at Backlash. And that's when it started.

"You'd look good with my cock in your pretty little mouth right now princess" He whispered into your ear

You blushed for a second then began to interview him again.

Again, within seconds he was saying vile, nasty things he'd do to you. Making your thighs tighten..

"C-Cody stop..." You whimpered.

"You'd look really pretty taking my dick right now." He whispered.

You tried to carry on with the interview, but at that point you'd ran out of time. So they ended it with a awkward interview segment.

As soon as it ended, Cody dragged you to his locker room.

"Like I said earlier, you'll look wonderful while I fuck you silly." He said

"P...Please... Sir.." You mustered.

Before you knew it. He was basically fucking your throat, as you tried not to do anything to get you in trouble.

But before he could release, he got you into his car and got back to the hotel swiftly. Then proceeded with the abuse on your throat.

The result of him being so rough, had you wanting more and physically whining.

But he decided not to tease you, like he did sometimes. He let you have your own time.

Watching you whine everytime you basically fucked yourself on his fingers.

You had your fun, and your legs were shaky by 3:00am.

[cyn-if]

Wow when I read it for the first time I shuddered. From the first scene I could already imagine how it's painful. Wow. My poor poor MC �� nah, no ROs can have them. This poor little meowmeow did nothing wrong. Nuhuh. Never-ever. Gonna kill everyone that participated into shackling them or stayed aside and didn't help (looking at you, best friend) 🥰

*ok maybe I'll reconsider it about no-romance route... but MC gonna be super feral >:0

But fr your description of what torturous life (existence even, not a life tbh) MC had led is soo detailed. My jaw hurt while l read about all spikes and things.

Hmm if it's okay could you give us ROs reaction at MC that flinches every time they try to pat/hug/or just move their hand towards MC (maybe to hold MCs hand or just touch them). In the crushing stage 👀

I'm glad you found the writing compelling. I really was anxious about the tone/description of more darker themes because I find that I write a little too sarcastically sometimes. But I'm glad the darker themes are shining through that.

As for the reactions of the ROs at a flinch on first touch: (I've actually got a pretty good scene in mind for a really similar situation coming up in the book, so look forward to that as well as my little explanations!)

Everix would get so concerned about the MC's flinching. They'd instantly accept that the MC might need a lot more time to be comfortable with touch then a normal person, and do their best to respect that. In that moment, they'd probably (somewhat alarmingly) politely apologize and try to comfort the MC with words instead. Everix would, depending on how private the location the first time this occurs, try to play a little therapy with the MC, seeing if there is anything they could do to help the MC feel more at ease.

Hayes would be a little confused, being someone who enjoys touch greatly. The moment would probably linger a little awkwardly, with Hayes thinking over what happened before brushing it off. They wouldn't try to comfort the MC, but would apologize and drop the topic. Restraining themselves from trying to touch the MC, unless the MC initiates or asks. And probably failing at that as well, eventually they'd (in private) want to talk about what they can do to help the MC.

Sam would get irrationally angry, in their head at least. The MC and Sam had been very close (even in a platonic relationship) during their childhood and so seeing the MC flinch at their touch would piss Sam off, most likely being pissed at themself mainly. Sam would apologize, not try and pry or address the topic. But they'd then relentlessly "guard" the MC, if anyone tried to touch them Sam would warn them off. Not (just) because of possessiveness, but to protect them.

Quinn would try to gracefully pivot the situation to give the MC an out, if they didn't want to talk about it. However, if the MC is willing to talk about the topic, Quinn would be obviously curious about why the MC flinches, and would want to try to work with the MC to overcome their tocuhaverseness or at least address it. Depending on just how much Quinn likes the MC, she may even try to think of potential remedies for anxiety (think alchemical solutions to calm the MC down). She would tell the MC about her thoughts, very much trying to "solve" a problem.

Maverick is a unique case, because unless absolutely needed, at the crushing stage of a relationship, he would never dare touch the MC. In his case, I seem him observing someone else try to touch the Mc and noticing the flinch. He'd do his best in the moment to tell that person off, not angrily or violently mind you, but he would be there. Afterwards, depending on if the MC talks to him like friends would and not like a sovereign to a subject, he'd bring up the incident and try to better understand the MC.

[swiftlyinlove]

Anti-hero ;; Peter Hayes

pairing: Peter Hayes x GN!Reader

summary: Peter Hayes is exhausted of seeing his girlfriend, the only good thing in his life, always rooting for the anti-hero.

warnings: enemies (brief) to lovers, a little angst mixed with fluff, Peter thinks he's undeserving of love, deviation from canon, Evelyn is a manipulative bitch, more book-based than movie-based.

word count: approximately 4.1k.

a/n: Hi! I'm so excited to be publishing my first one-shot here on Tumblr. This one has kinda been sitting in my drafts for a couple of months. never actually saw the movies, I just read the books, but I really liked the way his redemption arc was handled, and I found myself imagining how different it would've been if he had someone who loved him by his side.

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser

Midnights become my afternoons

Peter couldn't sleep. Maybe it was because he was uneasy on his new surroundings. Maybe it was the fact that everyone in the Bureau of Genetic Welfare knew the terrible things that he'd done, all the sins he committed back in Chicago, and hated him for it. Maybe it was the fact that almost all of his traveling companions hated his guts. Maybe it was all of those combined.

Despite of the cause of the problem, Peter found himself sitting near the peculiar fountain at the center of the Bureau's headquarters. His gaze was fixed on the letter he held delicately in his hand, his eyes not moving away from the swooping, sloping cursive letters. Your handwritting.

Your letter was the only thing he brought with him when he joined Tris and her friends on their quest to explore the world beyond the city's limits. You had written it back when he was serving Jeanine Matthew's and holding Tris and Tobias captive. You had been trying to free the two of them from Jeanine's villainous clutches, while at the same time trying to save Peter from succumbing into his own darkness.

In midnights like that, as Peter read your letter over and over again, he thought he didn't deserve you. You two had met back when you were still initiates at Dauntless - you had left Erudite, along with your good friend Will, while Peter had left his family behind in Candor.

You didn't have the best of starts, he had to admit. You grew up in a very toxic environment, where you had to excel at every single thing that you did in order to receive even the minimum amount of love and approval from your parents. He, on the contrary, was raised by a very loving family, but he simply craved to be the best at everything.

So, when training started and you both competed for the best pontuation in every activity, Peter wasn't exactly thrilled. And neither were you. Hatred started blossoming within the two of you like a rose full of thorns, your frustration towards each other close to the exploding point.

You were a very kind-hearted person, as Peter noticed early in your rivalry. You quickly became friends with Tris, Christina, and even Al. The fact that he seemed to bully Tris the most, since she was transfered from Abnegation, only added fuel to the fire that was your loathe for Peter Hayes.

However, with time, Peter caught himself noticing every little thing you did. He caught notice of how his heart would flutter - but only a little - whenever he saw you helping out your friends, either with training tasks or just normal day-to-day things.

He realized how his gaze would linger on you when you weren't looking, how he couldn't help the way his lips curled up whenever he saw your name placed high on the scoreboard. Hell, he didn't even mind if you scored better than him. Not anymore.

Turned out, the line between love and hate truly was thin. He tried to swallow his feelings, because he was aware of how awful he had been to you and your friends. He was sure you'd never like him back; he would never stand a chance with a good person like you.

It was in the middle of the second stage of initiation that you realized how your banter actually amused you. How Peter's snarky comments would bring a genuine smile to your face, and his absence left you feeling empty. You knew you shouldn't feel that way; he was incredibly mean to your friends, especially Tris, but you couldn't help how you felt.

There was one night in particular that changed everything. You couldn't sleep, so you sat on your bed. Your eyes were immediately pulled towards Peter's bed across the room, where the boy himself tossed and turned, similarly unable to sleep.

You put your shoes on before approaching his bed. “Hey, do you wanna take a walk? I can't sleep. It seems like you can't, either. We could just walk in silence... I just want some company.” You whispered.

He was quick to accept your offer, much to your surprise. In a few moments you were both crossing the transferred initiates' dorm. You cast a look upon Drew and Al's empty beds, but payed it no mind as you and Peter sneaked off onto the dark hallways of the Dauntless headquarters.

"So..." Peter started the conversation, to your delight. "Do you usually have the urge to sneak off the dorms and go on walks with your arch-nemesis in the middle of the night?"

His words made you chuckle. "No. Only you, I suppose." You teased. If the hallways weren't dipped into darkness, you would've been able to see the faint blush rushing to his cheeks due to your comment.

After that, you pretty much talked about everything. About your life before Dauntless, about the families you left behind, about your hopes and fears for the future. You were amazed by how funny, vulnerable and good he could be once he let his walls down. So, when he leaned in to kiss you right as you were telling him about the painted ceiling of your old bedroom back home, you didn't really opose to it.

You decided to keep your relationship secret, at least for a little while. You knew your friends wouldn't be too thrilled with the idea of you dating Peter Hayes.

Especially because, as you'd find out the next morning, Drew and Al had sexually harassed Tris, and also tried to kill her, on that very same night. You couldn't believe your own ears; how could Al, such a sweet boy, do that to his own friend?

It became pretty clear to you that Tris was convinced Drew was only doing Peter's bidding, and Al just came along for the ride. You knew that wasn't true - you noticed the disgusted glint in Peter's eyes when he found out what his alleged friend had done. But there was no way you could change Tris' mind.

Your relationship was filled with discreet, longing glances across the room at lunch, dates in the middle of the night and little notes left in your pockets, telling you how beautiful you looked and how much he missed you. Peter even stopped coming after Tris and the rest of your friends; he couldn't do that to you.

Being with you made him want to be a better person, made him want to fight the darkness within him so he could be the man you deserved.

You were so excited when you passed the initiation in third place - Tris was first and Peter was, obviously, second - that you hugged him without even thinking, in front of everyone, and he was so thrilled that you were willing to be seen with him that he didn't really mind.

Your friends inquired you about your relationship with him after that, about his intentions. Yes, they had noticed Peter's sudden shift in behaviour after you began dating, but that didn't erase all the horrible things he did before.

After you explained everything, you could see the glint of forgiveness in Tris' eyes. She was very happy that you found love, even if it was with him, and the rest or your friends soon followed in her steps and congratulated you.

That was the night you exchanged your first 'I love you's. As fate would have it, that night would also be remembered by History as the night Chicago's experiment turned into a massacre.

When my depression works the graveyard shift

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

Peter closed his eyes, his hold on the letter only tightening slightly as he recalled the events of that fateful night. He remembered being confused as he saw everyone, including a very clumsy Tris, march out of the dorms with soldier like movements.

However, the image that would stick to his brain whenever he remembered that night would be of your soulless eyes looking past him as if he didn't even exist.

The following hours were a bit hazy in his mind. Peter had no idea what was happening, why all of his colleagues were leaving the premises heavily armed, looking like mindless puppets.

But when one of the Dauntless highest class members approached him and told him to guard the halls of the headquarters, it became pretty clear to him that he would be dead if he didn't oblige. And then he would never see you again.

As he roamed the halls, holding his gun tightly with both hands, his mind drifted towards you. He was afraid of so many things. He was afraid of how the city would be once it was all over. He was afraid of getting shot, of being unable to live to see another day.

And yet, his biggest fear was that you would be hurt. He feared that you would be killed, that you'd be another body lying still in the streets full of corpses, mostly from Abnegation.

He didn't know when he would see you again, if he would see you again. The fear and the anxiety of not knowing anything clawed at his insides, begging him to do something other than comply to the enemies' orders. But he couldn't act on his impulses, not without a good plan. So he waited.

When Tris marched into the Dauntless corridors with Caleb, Marcus, and her father, Peter couldn't be more relieved. Maybe she knew where you were, if you were safe.

That relief quickly evaporated once Tris, under the impression that Peter had gladly and willingly allied himself with the enemy, shot him in the arm and dragged him at gunpoint towards the simulation control room, where Four was operating under the influence of the divergent serum.

Peter wasn't too happy to be following Tris and Four to the Amity compound, but he did need to get his wound taken care of. Although all of that was forgotten once he saw you, alive and well, standing next to Johanna Reyes, the leader of the Amity section.

He ran towards you, enveloping you in the tightest hug he could muster. His bullet wound was hurting like hell, yes, but the feeling of you in his arms, again? Nothing could beat it. So, when you felt your neck get wet from the desperate tears running down his face, you only placed a kiss to his temple and stroke the back of his head. He was finally in your arms again. He was finally home.

Your reunion, although emotional, was short lived. Soon the Erudite and the Dauntless traitors invaded the Amity headquarters in order to arrest the Divergents and you parted ways once more - while you had managed to escape with Tris, Four, Caleb and Susan, Peter and Marcus remained behind.

You were devastated. How cruel fate was, to bring you together only to pull you apart, over and over again. You didn't even know if he was alive. Therefore, when you arrived at the Factionless sector, you felt like a big piece of you was missing.

Peter, on the other hand, had nowhere to go after his near encounter with death. He didn't know where you were, nor did he have any friend that he could track down. His only choice was to go back to the Erudite section and beg Jeanine Matthew's to trust him.

He could barely mask his disgust of the spineless woman, but little by little he gained her trust. She thought she could take advantage of his poor little soul, that he was alone in this world with no one else to trust. Oh, how wrong she was.

It was only when Tris surrended to the Erudite and was held captive in their headquarters that you caught wind of Peter's stay in the Erudite headquarters.

You wrote him a letter, the letter he held in his very hands right now, begging him to come home. To save Tris and Tobias, to betray the cruel Jeanine and to come back to you.

And so he mustered a plan. With Cara's help he switched the death serum with a paralytic one, saving Tris from execution and successfully escaping with her and Four. The proud look in your eyes when the three joined you in the Abnegation factor was one he'd never forget. In that moment, he felt invencible.

He felt like he could beat the voice within him that implored for him to succumb to darkness. He felt like he could, finally, be deserving of you.

I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crisis (tale as old as time)

Peter didn't want you to come with them to the city's limits at first. Only God knew what they would find beyond them, what the world would be like outside of the chaotic Chicago.

But you had been separated so many times before that you couldn't even bare the thought of being left behind in the messed up city while he walked towards the unknown. What would you do if he never returned? If he died, or if he simply found someone else and decided to abandon you?

Therefore you insisted upon going. You wanted to be there for him, for your friends, no matter what was waiting for all of you on the other side of the rusty old train tracks that marked the end of your city, of your whole world. Up until now.

Whatever your group was hoping to find on this expedition, it surely wasn't this. It wasn't the Bureau of Genetic Welfare waiting for you. It wasn't the revelation that all of you, except Tris and maybe Four, were genetically damaged and were isolated from the world with the sole purpose of healing.

It wasn't the knowledge that the government had been watching your actions the entire time, not doing anything while the inhabitants of Chicago killed each other by Jeanine's command.

On nights like this, when he couldn't sleep, Peter could feel the anger overtaking his body. How dare the Bureau stand by watching while multiple lives were being destroyed? How dare they call them damaged and lock them up on the city, disconnecting them from the whole world?

How dare they sit and observe his entire life, completing riping him of his privacy? The privacy of his first kiss, the privacy of his mourning for his fellow classmates and strangers that were murdered in cold blood.

That's why he always brought your letter with him on his late night walks. Your written words soothe him, strip him from his fury towards the Bureau, towards the world.

He can feel his eyes starting to close, sleep slowly dominating his body, so he promptly returns to the dorms. He can feel a smile forming on his lips as he finds you peacefully asleep in your bed - you always looked cute when you slept. Peter carefully slid under the cover next to you, leaning his body against yours. You were his anchor, his home, and he couldn't wish for more.

You woke up at the first signs of dawn, when the sun rays emerged through the windows. A sleepy smile formed on your lips once you took notice of Peter's arms around your waist. You turn around in his arms, planting a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose before carefully getting up. You did your best not to wake him, knowing he was probably tired from his nightly walk.

Despite his best efforts to conceal his angry thoughts from you, you knew what was going on in his head. You knew he resented what you discovered outside the city you've known your whole life. You knew he felt betrayed - of course he did, and so did the rest of you.

And you knew all his wrath was keeping him up at night. You desperately wanted to help him, to comfort him, but you decided it was better to give him some space. You waited patiently for him to come to you, to vent about your current situation. But he never did.

You noticed curiously how Uriah's bed was neatly arranged, despite it being very early. Christina's bed was also empty, you realized. You knew they were getting close lately, a little too close to be just 'friends', and you were very happy for them. After all they went through, with Christina losing Will and Uriah losing Marlene, they deserved to find love again.

You left the provisorial dorms provided to you and your friends by the Bureau while you decided whether you wanted to stay in the facilities or return to Chicago.

You made your way to the cafeteria, humming to whatever song was playing on the Bureau's radio, praying that Peter was finally resting well.

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

For the last time

A few hours later, you were making your way back to the dorms when you heard a guttural scream that sounded a lot like Peter echoing through the room. You rushed towards his bed; luckily enough, everyone was already up and wandering, so it was only the two of you.

“Pete, love, wake up.” You said lovingly as you gently shook his trembling frame. Once his eyes opened and you could see how glossy they were, a few tears already escaping and cascading down his face, your heart broke in two. “It was just a nightmare, everything is okay. I'm right here.”

Your presence seemed to calm him slightly, but flashes from his nightmare kept plaguing his mind. Deep down, he knew it was only a manifestation of his fear; but it felt so real... Your figure, lying lifeless and cold on the ground, seemed so real to him.

He knew his life would lose all its meaning if you weren't in it. Before you, he was ruthless. He was cruel. The only thing he was interested in was coming in first place in everything, even if he had to push people down to get there.

After you... Well, he was a whole different person. You saved him without even knowing he needed to be saved. You made him want to be better, want to be kind. Without you, he was absolutely sure he would be lost.

He couldn't even bare the thought of you leaving him, it was way too painful. But the thought of you dying in his arms while he was completely helpless? That fucking broke his heart, shattered it into a million little pieces.

“Promise me you'll never leave me.” He requested, his voice trembling as you gently wiped away the tears that continued to roll down his cheek. “Please, that's the only thing I'm asking.”

You sat down next to him on the small bed and he immediately threw himself into your open arms, your caresses on his brown curls soothing him. “I know you're afraid of what might happen while we're here, or if we go back to the city. But believe in one thing, I won't go away. Even if I died, I'd come back to haunt your ass.”

Your words made him chuckle, feeling alright for the first time in what felt like forever. Your reassurance melted his heart and he pulled you down so you were lying next to him, snuggling his body closer to yours and letting you rest your head on his chest.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem it's me

At tea time, everybody agrees

It had been a few weeks since Peter's nightmare and things were slowly starting to get better. You often woke up in the middle of the night and found Peter sleeping next to you, his chest slowly rising up and down.

Despite how calm everything around you seemed, you sensed something coming, something big. And, in an apparently random thursday, that something did indeed arrive.

You were outside of the Bureau, training with Tris and Four to keep your combat skills in good shape, while Peter was in the dorm getting dressed after awaking from a well-deserved nap.

As he tied the laces of his black combat boots, a loud ring echoed through his mind, interrupting his actions. His head was throbbing, sending shockwaves of pain through his body, and he sat back down on his bed.

That's when he'd heard it. “Hey, Peter. Guess who finally found you? " Evelyn's voice rang to his head, and his eyes widened.

Shit, he thought, as he recalled the Dauntless graduation day, when Eric had injected the serum on all of the initiates. His hadn't been activated on the night of the massacre, it was true, but he still had it flowing through his veins, and Evelyn could've easily found a way to activate it, or at least to communicate with him through it.

"Didn't know you had the guts to run away, Hayes. It must be exhausting having to live with people who hate you. " Evelyn spoke once more.

“Shut up!" Peter yelled out loud in response. "You don't know anything about me!"

"Sure I do." Evelyn replied. "I know your little girlfriend is with you. It would be a shame if she was suddenly attacked out there by one of my soldiers, wouldn't it?"

Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm his speeding heart and his growing nerves. Tightly closing his trembling hand in a fist, he muttered. "You wouldn't dare."

"Do you really think I wouldn't?" She questioned, but continued before he even had time to answer. "What if we made a deal? You do one little thing for me and I won't kill your girlfriend. How does that sound?"

He thought carefully about his next move. The last thing he wanted was to be under that evil woman's command. But, then again, he couldn't risk losing you. "What do I have to do?" Peter asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Peter's gun pointed forward towards an all-familiar enemy - Tris -, hands shaking in fear, an aching regret spreading rapidly through his chest like a burning fire.

He doesn't want to do this at all, but it's what's expected of him. It's what Evelyn expects of him, to be a good little puppet. It's what everyone expects of him, to be a villain, to betray the hero in the end. But not you.

No, you don't see him as the villain, like everyone else. If anything, you see him as a hero in his own way. An anti-hero of sorts.

A salty tear slides down his face at the thought of you; what would you say if you saw him like this? Would you be angered by his actions? Would you be disappointed? Would you leave him, like everyone else?

He didn't notice as you walked into the room, your doe eyes falling upon his figure. Your heart started beating faster, but not by anger or fear of him. No, you feared for him.

You feared he would do something he'd regret. You feared the guilt that would soon after invade his brain, filling him with melancholia. But above all else, you feared what would happen if he didn't press the trigger, you feared your friends' reaction.

So you rushed towards him and hugged him from behind. He didn't need to turn around to see it was you. Every bone, every fiber in his body recognized your scent, your embrace.

“You don't need to do this.” You whispered in his ear, tightening your hold on him to remind him that you would always be there.

And so he let go of all the cruel expectations and the ridiculous anger that were sewed into his soul from the moment he was born. With a loud bang, his pistol fell to the marble floor, and he turned around only to bury himself in your embrace.

In front of you, Tris sighed in relief, her face twisting into a somewhat empathic expression. On her left side, Four visibly relaxed, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders.

Peter hadn't realized it, but more tears were now cascading down his face, loud sobs escaping his lips as one of your hands caressed his hair.

“Everything's okay. You're okay.” You muttered. And, for the first time in his life, he believed it. He didn't give a shit about Evelyn or her threats anymore; as long as you were with him, he would always protect you.

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

I'm going to give you a prompt my brain gave me but that I haven't made any progress writing. My idea is that Adam from The Bright Sessions is Atypical and his ability is fusing with other people like the gems in Steven Universe. Because this requires some degree of physical, emotional, and cognitive synchronicity, he probably wouldn't discover it until one of the many moments he and Caleb almost kissed before they started dating. Then Adam has to deal with becoming a new person sometimes when he's with Caleb, figuring out who that person is and their name, whether Adam wants to tell his parents about this, how Wadsworth would react, and a slew of other issues. I imagine that Adam's fusion with Caleb would get to experience the world on the stakeouts. The College Tapes would also definitely happen differently, since I'm not sure Caleb could hide his pokemon evolution from Adam if they fused and Adam being Atypical himself deals with many of the problems that caused them to break up in the first place

Me, who's seen zero (0) episodes of Steven Universe, looking at this prompt: hmm... I don't really know what to do with this... but I bet I could get 750 words out of this concept somehow.

Me, 2000 words later:

No but for real, this prompt ended up bringing me SO much joy to write. Once I figured out the general idea I was going for, I really hit the ground running, and wrote the whole thing in just a couple hours! I really hope you enjoy what I came up with!

(and as always with prompts, if I didn't end up writing your idea exactly how you envisioned it, you are of course so allowed to write your own fic with the same idea! Or a continuation of my version! Or you can always request that I write my own continuation! Two cakes, etc!)

This takes place vaguely post-season four. CW for references to Safe House, kidnapping, depression, PTSD, etc. Canon-compliant angst :)

Send me prompts to help me finish my 2024 writing goal!

By this point in his life, Adam Hayes feels like he’s pretty much got a handle on how all the atypical stuff works. There are specifics that keep crawling out of the woodwork to shock him– Damien, for example, as Adam’s recent brush with kidnapping proved, as well as his Aunt Annabelle’s evil villain arc, which Adam is admittedly still getting used to– but the general gist of it all, he’s got down.

The gist being: there are people with superpowers. And there are people like Adam. Normal. Boring. Safe, until they’re not anymore.

He’s not worried about it. Not consciously, anyway. He trusts, for reasons he can’t even explain, that Damien really is gone for good, and that even if he weren’t, Caleb’s beating has officially moved him from the “superpower” category to the “boring” one, leaving him no more threatening than any other asshole white guy.

(He does not let himself think about the fact that Damien was as good as powerless when he hit Chloe with a lamp, or how six months later she’s still dealing with the effects of the resulting concussion he gave her. Adam will simply keep a can of pepper spray in his backpack and continue to convince himself that he will never let his guard down around Damien like Chloe did, should their paths ever cross again).

He has enough other things, better things, to focus on– his Yale application, and then finals, and then preparing to live away from home for the first time ever, and on top of all that, his boyfriend– that for six months, he manages to think about the safehouse incident as little as humanly possible (nightmares notwithstanding). And not once does it occur to him to make the connection between almost being kidnapped by a whackjob mind manipulator and something his mom said to him almost a year ago when he first got her to sit down and talk about atypicals with him: Sometimes abilities start to manifest after instances of trauma.

After all, making said connection would require Adam to admit (even just to himself) that he experienced a trauma, which he has no intention of doing because that would mean he’s even more fucked up now that he already was.

Besides. There are two kinds of people in the world. People like Caleb. And people like Adam. An atypical ability “starting to manifest” is just something that was never going to happen to him.

Until today.

He’s at Caleb’s house, which is always a little bit complicated because Caleb’s parents (not to mention his nosy little sister) are way more likely to be home and “interested in what you boys are up to” than Adam’s. They try not to complain about it, because it’s sort of a miracle that the Michaelses’ only reaction to Caleb’s endangerment at the safehouse was “no more therapy” and not “no more boyfriend,” and the last thing Adam wants to do is give them any reason to change their minds on that, but it is annoying. They’ve learned to be quiet.

Caleb’s sitting up against the headboard of his bed, facing the “just ajar enough to be plausibly called open” door, while Adam straddles his lap, poised purposefully on his knees to be able to roll off and into the desk chair placed strategically next to the bed at the slightest sign of someone approaching.

Like I said. They’ve got a system.

Adam usually enjoys kissing Caleb more than he enjoys just about anything, but he’s not feeling it today. Not even in a “his depression is bad so every sensation is muted and foggy, much less his libido” kind of way, but just like… he’s preoccupied by something.

Caleb must notice, because he breaks the kiss and takes Adam’s face in both his hands so he can look him in the eye. “Hey. You all right?”

Adam opens his mouth to lie, but if he tells Caleb he’s fine then they’ll go back to making out, and he’s not sure he actually wants to do that. So instead, he says, “What am I feeling right now?”

Caleb gets the little crease between his eyebrows that Adam loves and hates in equal measure that means he’s really focusing in on his empath ability. Adam knows him well enough by now to be able to track the turning gears behind his eyes– he can see the moment when Caleb separates his own feelings in his chest from Adam’s and starts to analyze them.

But then his frown deepens, and he says, “I… don’t… know.” His eyes meet Adam’s. “Purple. And like… stretchy. It’s not an Adam feeling I’ve ever felt before.”

Adam sits back in surprise, hands falling away from where they’d been looped around Caleb’s neck. “Wha– seriously? We’ve known each other over a year. I thought you’d have felt all the Adam feelings by now.”

“So did I,” Caleb says, frowning into the distance again. “It’s weird.” Adam’s stomach flips, just as Caleb adds, “Oh, shit, now you’re– sorry, I didn’t mean to make you, like. Feel bad. New feelings are probably super normal.”

Adam rolls his eyes, trying to brush away the guilt eating at him, and whatever he’d been feeling before– the purple, stretchy distraction– intensifies.

“So, uh… what is that feeling?” Caleb asks, rubbing absently at his chest, like Adam’s emotion is causing him some kind of physical discomfort, which does not help much on the “Adam not feeling like a burden” front.

“I don’t know,” he admits, climbing all the way off Caleb’s lap to sit cross-legged in front of him instead. His feet were starting to fall asleep, and his hands feel a little numb– he wrings them, trying to rub feeling back into his fingers.

“Is something on your mind?” Caleb asks, laying a comforting hand on Adam’s knee.

“No,” he starts to say, because there isn’t really except for the fact that he feels a little weird all of a sudden, cold like there’s a draft and a little unsteady, but somehow what comes out of his mouth is, “Damien.”

“What?” Caleb says, voice sharp and close in Adam’s ear in a way it wasn’t before, even though neither of them has moved. “You were thinking about Damien?”

“No!” Adam says, for real this time, and then winces, knowing Caleb can feel the untruth, and amends, “I mean, not– I guess, not consciously, just… I guess maybe I’m always thinking about him? In the back of my mind?”

The purple, stretchy feeling inside him– and damn Caleb’s stupid emotion color metaphors, but that is a good way to describe it– expands even further, pressing tight against his ribs like it’s trying to break out of him, and maybe Caleb can feel that too, because he takes Adam’s hands in both of his.

“I think, sometimes,” Adam continues, words flowing out of his mouth almost without his permission, “I just hate that he got away with it. Like, okay, he spent, what, four months? In a basement cell that Mark was trapped in for the better part of five years? Oh, so his only consequence was having to leave town and be normal like the rest of us? Like that’s so fucking bad? Chloe still gets headaches and you’ve got all this guilt to deal with and Damien just has to be normal?”

The more he talks, the more the purple feeling fills him up, and red hot anger right alongside it, and a distant tiny part of himself knows that he should calm down before he says or does something he’ll regret, and that he’s probably freaking Caleb the fuck out right now, but his vision is starting to white out around the edges, and the purple and red warring for dominance in his stomach are making him feel sick, and for a moment or two, the only thing Adam can focus on is the warm, rough sensation of Caleb’s hands in his his.

Adam blinks, and the world turns upside down.

Or, no, wait– not upside down. Backwards. He’s facing the door now– sitting where Caleb was just a second ago. His anger has dissipated, but the purple stretchy feeling is still there, if settled, somehow, like it’s filled him up enough that he can mostly ignore it.

But something’s still wrong.

Maybe it’s that he feels bigger now. Taller. He brings his hands in front of his face and they’re hands he’s never seen before– big, with thick fingers and skin a lighter shade of brown.

Maybe it’s that Caleb’s gone– nowhere to be seen, the room totally empty, the spot on the bed in front of him already growing cold– or that Adam is too.

Because he’s not… quite… Adam anymore. He’s not Caleb, either.

The thing that’s wrong is that he’s someone new.

He scrambles off the bed, stumbling a little on new big feet, and rushes over to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of Caleb’s bedroom door. He touches his face, and those big hands cup Caleb’s stubbled cheeks. He touches his head, and thick fingers tangle in Adam’s messy curls. He’s wearing Caleb’s jeans, tight around the waist, and Adam’s Black Keys t-shirt, hanging just above his belly button like it’s been cropped. He’s gotta be at least six and a half feet tall.

“Holy shit,” he breathes in two voices, and the purple thing inside him snaps.

Adam hits the floor with a shout, curling protectively around himself out of instinct. Next to him, there’s a twin cry and thud as Caleb is thrown to the ground with equal force. Adma pats himself down, feeling his skinny arms and pianist fingers, the shirt that fits and his hair on his own head.

“Holy shit,” he says again, voice high with panic but purely his.

“What the hell!” Caleb agrees, scrambling back away from him. Adam backs up against the opposite wall, giving Caleb as much space as he can without leaving the room– Caleb doesn’t need Adam’s alarm in his chest on top of his own.

Plus maybe Adam feels like something you shouldn’t get too close to at the moment.

“What was that?” Caleb gasps, staring at him with big, wide eyes.

Adam shakes his head. “I don’t know?”

“But that was– that was you, wasn’t it?” Caleb pats his chest, like he’s still trying to convince himself he’s real and solid– Adam knows the feeling. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know!”

Footsteps pound up the stairs, and Mrs. Michaels calls, “Caleb? Adam?” She raps perfunctorily twice on the half-open door before sticking her head in and sizing them up: Adam cowered against one wall, Caleb still on the floor and huddled up against the other, both of them looking disheveled and wild, like they’ve been up to who knows what. “I heard a thud, are you boys all right?”

Caleb looks from Adam to his mom, and hurriedly gets to his feet. “Yeah! Yeah, Mom, sorry, we’re– we’re fine.” He takes a calming breath, like he’s gotta prove it, and gives Adam a charged look. “Right, Adam? We’re okay?”

But Adma can’t imagine lying right now, not even just to get the adult out of the room so that he and Caleb can debrief in private. He feels wrong still, and monstrous, and so far from normal it hurts.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, and can’t help the first dark thought that springs to his mind:

Is this how Damien felt?

--

TBS tag list (lmk if you want to be added!)

@pandoradeloeste

@genericgirl420

@sizzlingjudgebanditpaper

@ziggy-st4dust

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@alexacat57

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@mercale

[distantdarlings]

WITH THE BAND // vi arcane

RATING: PG-13 / 2.2K WORDS

Vi Arcane x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - For the first time ever, your band is performing at The Last Drop. But the memories of your time spent there under Vander’s ownership come flooding back. *Heavily inspired by ‘I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend’ by Cameron Hayes. Imagine the reader singing this while reading*

+ WARNINGS - Language, Kissing, mentions of trauma + PTSD, passing mentions of death (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC -

I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend - Cameron Hayes

Hey y’all! I just wanted to say I’m trying this out as I’m hyper fixated on Arcane rn lol. But don’t worry, I’m still primarily writing for the Slytherin boys and will be working on requests later this week!

- - -

The deep blue lights that hovered over the backstage area made the whites of your guitar glow like a beacon.

Your fingers traced over the curves of its body, skin stuttering over miscellaneous bits of old tape stuck to its polished wooden hull.

The performance manager for The Last Drop stood before the crowd, just beyond the crack in the giant black drapes that separated you and the band from the spotlights. He shouted excitedly into a rusty microphone, announcing your band.

You’d never performed here before, considering this was only your second gig ever, but everyone knew that The Last Drop was the spot in the Undercity. If you wanted to get anywhere, you had to perform there. If you didn’t, you’d surely never see your band’s name splashed on a record.

“Ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, please welcome them to the stage!”

The drapes split farther down the middle, creating an entrance. Your band walked ahead of you—three members, and then yourself. Your bassist, Irena, glanced back at you and raised an eyebrow. You were a bit distracted and she could tell. You couldn’t help it, though.

You’d never performed here, but you’d been here a number of times. Deep, detailed memories had taken root in your brain long ago, forcing you to relive them everyday.

As you stepped into the spotlights and caught a glimpse of the full room, you began to nervously chew at your lip, the cold metal of your lip ring slipping between your teeth.

Flashes of her hands brushing against your arms, your first kiss, and your first love, slid across your eyes. You knew she wouldn’t be here—that she was gone. You’d heard a thousand rumors about what had happened to Vi—that she’d run away, become a Shimmer junkie, and even died. There was no clear answer, and you feared there never would be.

All that was left of Violet in your world was grief. Being back here only exacerbated that, and you didn’t bother to explain that to your band mates. It wasn’t really any of their concern, and you didn’t want them to think you’d be too distracted to perform. You weren’t.

You stepped up to the microphone, clutching the neck of your guitar to distract you from any further pesky memories.

“Hey, y’all! Thank you for having us! We’ve got a few things prepared for you tonight, and you can decide at the end if you like us enough to bring us back!”

A decent applause with a few laughs scattered about echoed in the room. The sliding of glasses across wooden bar tops and drunken shouting created a dirty ambience for the start of your song—the first one you ever wrote.

It was the first one you ever pitched to the band, as well. It seemed to do the best at the last show you did, and your band mates insisted on playing it tonight. The only problem was, of course, that you had written it about Vi. It was back when you were sixteen with her, learning everything you knew about the world, stealing, family, and love. You could almost taste her on your lips.

Vi had been your first kiss and you’d never forgotten it. And probably never would.

You leaned into the mic and began to sing, feeling the energy of the music behind you, and strumming the low chords. And you watched as dozens of people danced and swayed and kissed to the song you’d written for her. Even worse was that no one even knew who it was truly about, because you’d changed her name. No one knew Hannah because she didn’t exist—‘Hannah’ was Vi.

It was pathetic but it was the best way to get your feelings out back then.

Your drummer picked up the pace as you laid into the bridge.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, watching every person who dared to love another to your music. It felt far more intimate than it should have. You loved the effect music could have on people, especially when it was something you’d created. Even if it was something you partially regretted making.

There was a girl walking through the crowd. She was pretty and seemed focused on something, as if she had somewhere important to be. Sleek blue-black hair reflected the neon lights from all around the room and nearly distracted you from the woman just behind her. Flaming magenta hair.

You glanced away lazily before double-taking and flipping your head back to the two women. The dark-haired girl and the…holy shit. It was Violet. It had to be. There was no way it was anyone else. It couldn’t be.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled through the rest of the song, your lips hardly remembering how to form words.

Your voice rose in pitch a bit as you came to the end of the song. At the rise in volume, Vi glanced up at the stage and made eye contact with you. Just as you had done, she saw you, looked away, then quickly looked back.

Her eyes widened as she stopped dead in the center of the crowd. The girl with her realized that Vi was no longer behind her and looked back, trying to spot the woman.

You could hardly breathe beneath the woman’s gaze. I wanna be your bitch.

You could’ve sworn she smirked before disappearing behind the stage with the other girl.

A weight removed itself from your chest as you continued to scream your hidden confessions to the world. Then the song was done and you were calling time-out.

You practically dropped your guitar off of you and sprinted back through the drapes. Your band mates seemed confused but shrugged and mingled anyway. No matter if they wanted to get this set over, you knew they’d enjoy a few drinks while they were waiting on you.

Head spinning, you tore through the backstage, pushing past all employees of The Last Drop, groupies, and the performance manager who were all in varying stages of non-sobriety. You couldn’t breathe.

You slammed through the door that led to a long winding hallway—barely lit by dirty, blinking light bulbs of all colors—that connected to the dressing rooms.

The black-haired girl was standing in the middle of the hallway. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows scrunched together, and her face thoughtful. You weren’t thinking straight in the slightest.

“Hey! Where did she go?” you said, stepping right in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise and glanced around awkwardly.

“Er, who?”

“Vi—she was with you!” you breathed. “I saw her—”

The sound of your name shut you up immediately. Your lips snapped shut as you turned to look behind you. Standing there in all of her glory, was Violet. The girl who’d left you behind, who’d given you everything, and who had taken it away.

“V-Violet?” your voice stuttered and cracked beneath the tears welling in your throat and eyes.

“It’s me,” she breathed, smiling genuinely. A small sob left you as you pressed yourself into her quickly. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, her scent encompassing you like a blanket. Though it had been years, she still smelled the exact same. The floral and metallic tones circled in your head, stirring up every memory it could. Your heartstrings strummed like your guitar.

The force of your shaking hug sent the two of you off-balance and crashing into the wall behind her.

“I thought you were dead,” you shuddered into her shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her jacket.

“I tried to come back…I was arrested.” Her voice was just as comforting as it had always been. You kept her clutched between the wall and your body, refusing to let her go as if she was going to disappear from you again.

She hadn’t become a junkie, or run away, or died, or abandoned you in any way. She had been arrested and tried to come back. All those years you spent hating her for leaving you had been for nothing. You felt so guilty.

Your fingers clutched deeper into her jacket, never wanting to let go again. Nearly a decade of time had passed since you’d last seen her, yet you had retained every feeling you’d ever had for her. In your love’s eye, it was as if no time had passed at all.

When you finally pulled away from her, the only sound was the flickering light bulbs and the distant footsteps of her dark-haired partner leaving. You had no idea who she was—holy fuck, was Vi with a new girl now? And you’d just grabbed onto her like this?

“Vi, was she—? Are you with that girl?” You glanced down the hallway.

“No,” she whispered. You looked back at her. Her voice was deeper and more like a whisper. When you found her eyes again, they were dark and lidded. A breath of lust blew past your body as her expression reminded you so deeply of that night when you’d first kissed her.

“I’ve waited for this moment since I was taken,” she whispered, her voice sending cold chills down your arms. “Every night…dreams of you—they were the only thing keeping me going in there. I waited and waited until I could touch you again.”

“Vi,” you breathed. The two of you were inches apart now. Her arms were still wrapped so tightly around you, demanding you stay pressed against her. Her lips were parted and halfway into a smirk.

So many emotions flashed through your body, you didn’t know what to do. Grief to relief to adoration to burning, hot lust was an insane pipeline that was making your head rattle like a drum.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered. “Please.”

You shuddered against her, wanting so badly to say yes but terrified that this was some kind of joke. Perhaps this was a dream and you’d wake up any second.

Unable to form any words, you nodded breathlessly. There was only a moment or so before she seemed to inhale the world and then exhale into you.

Her lips pressed to yours in a fiery passion. Your hands captured her jawline, fingers crawling into her hair, scratching against her scalp. A moan of surprise echoed against your mouth.

Her hands wrapped around your face just as yours and done to her. With the smallest amount of her strength, she managed to push herself away from the wall and roll you into her previous position. She pressed her body into yours, caging you between her and the cold wall.

Your lips moved in tandem, panting and wanting, never able to get enough of the other.

The thought of ever pulling away from her felt like someone had stabbed you in the gut. Everything about her, everything that you had craved for the last several years, had manifested itself tonight. If you lost it again, you didn’t know what to do

It was almost too much. The familiar scents, the muffled music blasting from the front room, the flickering reds and blues all around you, and her. It felt like nothing bad had ever happened to you—that you were back in The Last Drop because you were fooling around with Vi whilst waiting for Vander to blend the both of you a virgin cherry margarita. It was sickeningly sweet, like a syrupy medication you were forced to choke down. You knew it would make you feel better but it was painful to handle.

When Vi finally pulled away, you gasped silently. Your head spun with a dizzying lack of oxygen, stolen by the girl in front of you. If it weren’t for the girl before you holding you up against the wall, you were sure you’d have collapsed by now. You could hardly breathe.

“Violet,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I’m here.” Her thumbs gently caressed your temple, swiping through small beads of sweat.

“When you left…,” you choked, holding sobs back. “I never thought I’d see you again. I thought you’d—thought you’d…died.”

A small tear had betrayed your facade and slithered its way down your cheek and down across her strong wrists. You could see tears pooling in her eyes as well.

“I know,” she shuddered. “I tried to come back to you. I swear I did.”

You nodded sadly. You could appreciate that she did, you just wish it never had to happen. All of it.

“Please don’t go again,” you whispered. You placed a hand around her wrist, holding it to your cheek. “I couldn’t do it again.”

She smiled sadly, the pools in her eyes threatening to spill over. You raised your hands to her cheeks and pressed gentle thumbs beneath her eyelids, catching the small tears there.

“I’ll never leave you again, even if I have to kill to get back to you.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead and pressed your face into her chest. She rested her chin atop your head and hummed lightly, drawing sweet circles against the skin on your back. Your heart swelled with adoration and, though you knew it’d burst and never fix itself if she left again, you couldn’t help but fall to your knees in the presence of the woman you love and had always loved.

[viagracex]

Terms and Conditions Prologue

george glarke x fem!oc

Summary: A fake relationship, real emotions, and a whirlwind of complications.

Note: So I've posted a couple chapters of this story over on Wattpad, I decided to post the prologue on Tumblr. If you guys like it, I'll post both on Wattpad and here

Persephone Hayes had always prided herself on being in control. Every decision in her life had been deliberate—every Instagram post meticulously curated, every caption carefully worded, every partnership weighed against her brand. Her world, a picture-perfect stream of fashion, travel, and enviable moments, was her domain. She'd built it, sustained it, and thrived in it. But tonight, staring at the document on her laptop screen, she realized control had never been further out of reach.

A contract. One Year. Fake dating.

She pushed her chair back and rubbed her temples, the ache behind her eyes growing with every passing second. Her management team had spun it as a win-win. George Clarkey, the wildly popular YouTuber, had an image problem. A series of headlines painted him as unfocused and immature—traits that didn't exactly endear him to his growing mainstream audience. Persephone's polished reputation could help balance that out.

Meanwhile, her career, despite its surface-level success, had started to feel stagnant. Her engagement metrics were slipping, brand offers weren't as lucrative as they once were, and her followers were hungry for a glimpse of a personal life she refused to share. Enter George, the perfect "boyfriend" to humanize her pristine image.

Neither of them had agreed to this. Not really. Their respective management teams had presented the idea as a mutually beneficial arrangement—a year spectacle designed to make them both more marketable. The details had already been worked out before Persephone and George were even looped in.

She'd met him once, briefly, at some influencer event she barely remembered. He'd been funny in that sarcastic, self-deprecating way British men often were, with a boyish charm that probably worked wonders on his audience. But this wasn't some lighthearted collaboration for their channels. This was her life.

On the other side of London, George was having an equally miserable evening. His phone buzzed incessantly with messages from his team, pushing him to sign the contract.

George opened and stared at the email on his laptop, the cursor blinking in silent mockery. His agent had been blunt: "This is good for you. Sign it."

Good for him. The words tasted bitter.

Leaning back in his chair, George ran a hand through his hair, the familiar mess of curls as unkempt as his thoughts. The proposal sat in black and white before him, laid out in nauseating detail. One Year. Fake dating. A PR stunt designed to "reshape" his public image.

He hadn't even thought his image needed reshaping, at least not until his team started shoving articles in his face. "Directionless." "Unfocused." Words that stung more than he let on. He had been coasting for a while, sure, but wasn't that the point? He was supposed to be the laid-back, funny guy who didn't take life too seriously. That was his brand.

But brands, apparently, needed evolution. And Persephone Hayes was his shortcut.

Persephone Hayes.

George had seen her online more times than he could count. She was one of those Instagram types: impossibly poised, her life a carefully curated montage of designer outfits, enviable travel destinations, and captions that seemed both profound and painfully rehearsed. The kind of person who wouldn't spare a second glance at someone like him if they passed on the street.

Now, she was supposed to be his girlfriend.

He rubbed his temples, exhaustion settling in. His management had spun it as a golden opportunity—a way to not just salvage his reputation but elevate it. A polished, successful woman like Persephone was perfect, they said. Her refined image would balance his chaotic one, showing the world he could be serious, committed, even mature.

It was all a load of rubbish, of course. They didn't care about maturity or balance. They cared about numbers. His numbers. Views, followers, brand deals.

George slammed the laptop shut, the snap echoing in the quiet of his flat. His housemates were out, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which wasn't much of a comfort.

He wandered to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, and leaned against the counter, staring into the middle distance. His stomach churned. The idea of parading around in a fake relationship with someone he barely knew was bad enough. But it was the loss of control that really got to him.

He prided himself on keeping his personal life just that—personal. Sure, he shared bits of himself on YouTube, but the real stuff? His family, his struggles, his relationships? That stayed offline. Now, he was about to hand over a year of his life to a manufactured story, written not by him, but by the people who managed his career.

George took a swig of his beer, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

The worst part was, he couldn't even say no.

His career wasn't in shambles—not yet—but it was teetering. A few bad headlines, a couple of underperforming videos, and suddenly brands were "hesitant" to collaborate. His agent had warned him that this was how it started. A slow bleed. A reputation slipping through your fingers until you weren't marketable anymore.

"This is temporary," he muttered to himself, the words sounding hollow even as he said them.

Temporary. 12 months of staged outings, fake smiles, and interviews where they'd gush about how they met. 12 months of pretending to be smitten with a woman who probably found this whole situation as ridiculous as he did.

Persephone had agreed, of course. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

The email had mentioned their mutual obligations. They would need to attend events together, appear in public just often enough to sell the narrative, and occasionally post about each other on social media. It was, in every sense, a business arrangement.

But even business arrangements had consequences.

George set the bottle down and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just going to complicate his career—it was going to complicate everything.

With a sigh, he reopened the laptop and clicked on the contract attachment. His eyes scanned the text, but the words blurred together. The name at the top stood out, though: Persephone Hayes.

He didn't know her, not really. But for the next year, the world would think he did.

George hesitated, his finger hovering over the digital signature box.

"One year," he muttered again, as if saying it aloud would make it feel less like a prison sentence.

With one final exhale, he clicked.

The screen flashed, confirming the signature. And just like that, his life wasn't entirely his own anymore.

As he closed the laptop for the second time, his phone buzzed on the counter. A notification from Twitter. "BREAKING: YouTube Star George Clarkey Rumored to Be Dating Instagram Model Persephone Hayes."

The beer bottle slipped from his hand, clinking against the counter but not breaking. He stared at the screen, the headline searing itself into his mind.

This wasn't love. This wasn't even real. But for the next year, he would have to convince the entire world that it was.

[bananacorn-limeade]

1961's The WORLD of ICE and FIRE

I'm going to do it. I'm going to self-indulge!

The Roger Corman ASOIAF production post is mostly just a novelty, but since I'm me, I have a lot of FEELINGS and OPINIONS about this cast. Naturally.

Anyway. Here's how well I think the actors in my post would play their roles, from worst to best.

#19, Worst: John Ashley as Robb Stark

You know how Ben Affleck has a face that knows about emails? John Ashley has a face that knows about sock hops. Woefully miscast.

#18: Tor Johnson as Gregor Clegane

God love the big guy, but I've only ever seen him make this face. Also, despite his repertoire of roles suggesting otherwise on paper, he just doesn't seem like a mean guy.

#17: John Agar as Jaime Lannister

Another terrible choice. The only reason he's not ranked as worst is because his soulless performance would make viewers interpret Jaime as an absolutely irredeemable sociopath, which at least would be... uh, interesting, I guess.

#16 Robert Reed as Renly Baratheon

Renly, but only if he was the most boring Baratheon. Go ahead, try to picture Reed eating a peach. You can't.

#15 Dawn Bender as Arya Stark

Aw, she'd try. But I feel like her attempts at Arya's fire would mostly come off as petulance.

#14 Richard Carlson as Ned Stark

Sorry, what? I fell asleep for a minute there.

#13 June Kenney as Daenerys Targaryen

Kenney would try her level best, but you know Corman would do a terrible job incorporating her storyline with the main plot, so she wouldn't have much to do except lounge around on mildly offensive orientalist sets and talk to her force-perspective dragon puppets. (Stop-motion you say? What, you think American International is made of money?)

#12 Dolores Faith as Sansa Stark

Again, no knock to Faith, but as with Daenerys, I think a 1961 production would flatten Sansa's character away to nothing. She'd get to pine and wear some nice dresses.

#11 Anthony Dexter as Petyr Baelish

This guy can play oily like nobody's business (check him out in 1962's Married Too Young), but 5D-chess-level deviousness might be beyond him.

#10 Michael Dunn as Tyrion Lannister

Full disclosure: I'm plopping him in the middle because I've never seen him in anything! The only little person I've personally seen in Corman's movies is Billy Barty (playing an actual, literal imp), and Dunn was someone I found who was said to play much meatier roles. In general, I think the depth of Tyrion's character would seriously challenge 1960s casting directors who were used to casting little people in jokey roles or as something less than human. One of many problems they'd have with the source material, no doubt.

#9 Lon Cheney Jr. as Sandor Clegane

Here's another actor who would do the best with what he was given - which would be an essentially empty role. This Sandor would be a beast used only for jump scares, with too much rubber over his face to ever show an emotion.

#8 Glen Langan as Stannis Baratheon

Langan would be serious, but dull, with lots of droning sermonizing. In other words, perfect. Still boring though.

#7 Basil Rathbone as Tywin Lannister

Who better to play a role totally owned by Charles Dance than an actor who's even Charles Dancier? The only reason I'm not ranking this legend higher is because I do think he'd kind of sleepwalk through this role, especially at this stage in his career.

#6 Raymond Burr as Robert Baratheon

The future Mr. Perry Mason was damn good at playing hard-drinking, prowly, "beastly" men. See him in this fabulous trailer for 1951's Bride of the Gorilla (spoiler: Burr is the gorilla). Of course, for this production, he'd be about 10 years on from that virile role, but that's perfectly on brand for Bobby B.

#5 Michael Landon as Jon Snow

Landon's tortured James Dean era would be a great fit for angsty goth teen Jon, though he might have trouble keeping his feelings as hidden as Jon does.

#4 Allison Hayes as Melisandre

Should she be ranked this high? Eh, maybe not, but this woman is a goddamn B-movie bombshell goddess. Her Red Woman would be a little less mysterious, sure, but her perfectly arched eyebrows and bullet bra would do R'hllor proud all the same.

#3 Marie Windsor as Catelyn Stark

They didn't call her Queen of the B's for nothing. Windsor always did great with roles that call for strength and verve. She'd be a fantastic Cat, and - dare I dream it - an even better Lady Stoneheart.

#2 Jack Nicholson as Theon Greyjoy

Now this would be fun. If baby Jack Nicholson had half the presence and charisma he would show in later movies, his Theon would be legendary.

#1 Coleen Gray as Cersei Lannister

If I can get Tumblr to understand one thing, it's how much Coleen Gray would absolutely eat in the role of Cersei. She's beautiful. She's a schemer. She's a helpless victim. She's back for revenge. I challenge anyone to watch her insane, murderous, fierce, gorgeous, duplicitous performance in 1960's otherwise pretty terrible The Leech Woman and not come to the same conclusion. I'm serious. There would be no survivors. 👑

[alittlefrenchtree]

Nick saying being misunderstood is his biggest fear and that happens pretty much every day with fans, randoms and movie pages twisting his words or not focusing on the important things he says. He says he doesn't want to be only a pretty face meanwhile his fans only talk about how pretty he is, the talk on M&G is only about how good he looks. He doesn't want to be stuck in one role and wants to prove he can do more, meanwhile his fans keep making joke about him being always a gay character or royal. Some so called fans twisting his words on rwrb on top of pretending the journalist opinion is Nick opinion. Journalists (including those that are supposed to be his friend) keep setting him up with stupid question or by leaving out part of his answers. I'm so tired of this and I'm just a fan, I can't imagine how he must feel.

<For the record and context, this message has been sent to me a few days ago, after the Just for Variety Podcast and before the podcast with Taylor.>

Note: I understand Anon’s expression of feelings but it’s always important to remind that we don’t stigmatize fandoms on this blog, neither Nick’s or Taylor’s as individual or RWRB’s as a whole. A few loud voices don’t speak for the whole group. All Nick’s fans don’t fall into these categories we’re speaking of here. Hashtag not all fans.

All of that being said, and without wanting belittle your feelings, I did heart a lot of promising things in the way Nick’s answered this question. Maybe not in the way fans behave but regarding of the intelligence and maturity with which he’s looking at the whole situation.

For me, the most important thing he said is that he knows he has to accept that he won’t be in control of the narrative — ever. I think someone said it was something linked to Hayes’ character (and if the movie can carry at least this message, it will be something already). And it is so hard to see someone (and multiple someones) says something wrong about you and not correct them, not react, and not do anything. Many people have already experienced it at a smaller scale, so it’s not hard to imagine what it must feel like for public people. But it looks like he already has the first tool to deal with that. As a public person and as an actor, he is not in control of his narrative. His narrative is told by the audience and by the people he’s paying and trusting to lead the narrative in the right direction (maybe not the true one, but the right one for his career). And actually, it’s not even his narrative. It’s the narrative of a person that looks like him, is a bit of himself and represents him but isn’t exactly him. So even if this persona is misunderstood, it has to be annoying at a professional level and not hurting at a personal level. Of course I’m not saying it should allow fans to say crazy things all the time or that it’s easy for him (and for any of them) all the time but he seems to already know how to look at the problem, so it should be reassuring.

He’s also quick to remind that "ultimately, it all goes down to the work" and even if it’s also an easy way to dodge a question he doesn’t want to answer to, it’s still a good answer. As long as people are still connecting with the honesty in his work, it’s not all bad.

That’s how I received this part of the podcast at least. I hope it helps a bit 🙏🫶

[hysteriaforthemasses]

The Myth of Donald Trump

At 6:30am I heard my phone vibrating and it sounded more like an Amber Alert than anything celebratory. I knew that she had lost, that we had lost. Elections happen, and more often than not they do not go the way you hope. Elections are normal, elections are a right, elections have happened in this country for 235 years, and elections are not the problem here. This is about Donald Trump.

For almost ten years now we the American people have made him a taboo, a dirty word euphemized and alluded to softly amongst the like-minded only. In reality, calling him evil, calculated, masterful, frankly gives him too much credit. At the end of the day Donald Trump is an illusion, he’s three neglected children in a trench coat held together by duct tape and safety pins. If you take a look throughout history at “strong” and powerful men you will realize they are only strong so long as people believe they are.

In this election, lies the difference between myth and truth. Myth, derives from the Greek word “mythos” which means “story” “saying” or “fiction”. Trump is all of those things. His story is that of a cartoonish caricature of the greed-laden, fraudulent, corporate America. His saying is, a four letter maxim which shares the sentiment of many other four letter words, one of them start with h, ending with “ate”, and his fiction lies in the separate reality that his supporters have created. Truth, on the other hand, does not need belief to make it so. Since 2016, truth was and still is the real prize in America and what is at the center of the tug of war between past and present.

Today, and forever, I implore you to remember that the myth of Donald Trump only persists because people believe in it. That is not to ignore the very real implications of a Trump presidency, or the emotions that come with it. You can cry (and you probably should, honestly it feels amazing) but crying only does so much. You can give into the fear mongering that serves better as a business model for captivating headlines than an actual life philosophy. You can throw in the towel, hell, you can even want to hang yourself with it. All of it is warranted and fair.

But what you cannot do is continue to feed the myth. See this man, and his supporters, for what they are instead of what they want to be. See lies for lies instead of the truths they imitate. See hatred as a reminder of the capacity to love. And most importantly, see fear as inspiration to act. It is vital these next four, forty, and four-hundred years to preserve and protect the truth of America and to dispel the myth of Donald Trump.

Written by Kazziah Hayes

Nov, 6, 2024.

[asterhaze]

✨Nearly 30 • All Pronouns OK • Sapphic✨

You've probably come here after I liked half your blog and then followed you to see if I'm insane, a bot, or have no life. Unfortunately for the universe, I am insane, have no life, and possess extreme freak privileges on the internet. I am very friendly, love being tagged or asked things, write, and art occasionally. Please feel free to message me.

I write:

Horror for children, horror for YA, and mature horror.

Vampires, Demons, Fair Folk, and Stinky Humans oh my!

Old protagonists, people of color, LGBT+ characters, neurodivergent characters, and healthy romantic relationships when appropriate.

My Kofi

Oh no, you're lost again? I know all of my works are masterpieces and that must be why you're confused, it's fine. Here are my Writing Prompt Replies. Here is my Original Fiction.

Post Master List - Here

About

A series that follows Glen, the vampire heir to the Sunniva kindred, after he returns from the Tiletsu Clan a broken and different person. Battling against the traumatic memories of his centuries long past, the impatience of his immortal kind, and the temper of a demon lord, Glen finds that the choices he made when he was barely immortal are coming back to haunt him and threaten the very existence of vampires altogether. Are vampires worth saving? If vampires are ultimately more dangerous and powerful humans, is humanity worth protecting?

Genre

Horror • Supernatural • Adult • LGBTQIA+

TW/CW

Death • Grief • Mental Illness • Abuse

Tags:

masterpiece • masterpiecewip • masterpiece • masterpiece ask answer

Read below to see a breakdown of the three most important characters in Masterpiece.

Characters

Willow William Sean Frederick Widower Quin Lucian

Glen

"Just call me whatever you like."

Just so we're not all confused, I think we should call him Glen. Lovingly nicknamed The Stupid Sexy Vampire on this blog, Glen is the heir to the Sunniva kindred and the main character in this series. He's a lovable, funny, and charming guy that is haunted by his past decisions and the deaths of his friends and family. The whole package, really.

Pansexual • Cis • Neurodivergent

Tags: Glen the vampire • masterpiece Glen

Dr. Vladimir Hayes

"Is there a problem with an incubus that knows everything? Should I have found a succubus instead?”

A fearless human psychiatrist that is fiercely dedicated to his patients, both human and otherwise, that no one wants for an enemy. Hiding in plain sight, Vlad seems to be able to figure out anything that catches his interest. When he is mistaken for someone he is not, Glen and Vlad's paths cross and are interconnected throughout the rest of the series. Someone else as well dressed and handsome as Vlad, who knew?

LGBT • Cis • Possessed

Tags: masterpiece Vlad • dr vladimir hayes

Ska

"I should throw you into the light of day."

A demon lord that takes an immediate interest in Glen after his return from the Tiletsu Clan and swears to teach Glen's kindred a lesson for an unknown transgression. Does he want Glen to recover just to tear him down again? What has the Sunniva done to anger such a powerful demon? Is there anything Glen can do?

Homosexual • Trans • OC Sexypants Award Winner

Tags: ska the demon • masterpiece ska

Wattpad: [Coming Soon]

Website Link: [Coming Soon]

Meme Dump Post: [Constantly updated, coming soon]

Taglist: [Message, reply, or ask to be added]

@outpost51

I do have sensitivity writers for Masterpiece and my other projects since many of my characters are LGBT. Currently, I have sensitivity checkers to look over non-binary characters, trans (FtM) characters, twins, and sapphic characters. If you'd like to help, please feel free to ask!

(Re-joined Tumblr Dec 6th 2023)

[lucawrites11]

re arsenal v city:

i am a die hard gooner til the day i die but will i be wearing a city shirt and cheering against my own team? yes. (i feel less guilt ab buying the shirt because it’s a roord 23/24 3rd shirt and it looks sick af)

anyways i hate chelsea and i want to see emma hayes trophyless. jonas and his fuckall tactics have screwed us all season, the girls deserve a rest and some need more minutes and so i want child labor fc in and emma hayes and chelshit out x

i totally agree especially on jonas' tactics and you mentioned the word tactics which is a mistake because now i am going to torture all of you with my unsolicited opinions of the formation that a fully fit arsenal should be playing or even a not fully fit arsenal and jonas is a fucking idiot for not doing it.... more under the cut because i don't need to torture you all with the long post analysing why exactly jonas' tactics are so shit

Jonas' tactics are the classis, basic bitch of all formations: 4-3-3 typically looking something like this... (a mock-up combining the last couple of seasons and what i'd think he might do with a fully fit squad)

and there are so many problems with this and most of them if not all of them stem from his too fatal tactical flaws: a chronic lack of rotation and refusal to give youth a chance in the squad, a stubborn-ness and bias towards english players, a clear bias towards his favourite players even when they aren't in form or fit and a complete and total refusal to play anything other than a 4-3-3.

(if you are wondering why russo + stina isn't working too well in the last few games it's because he's making them play it in a 4-3-3)

what do these problems cause?

a lack of rotation + his clear biases: over-worked players, unhappy players and INJURIES

this shows most in his clear centre back preference in the last few games being leah + lotte but that doesn't work too well. they are too similar as players but that is not a bad thing. it means it's perfect for rotations especially because leah williamson is quite injury prone. one game on, one game off for each of them. especially when they can pair up well with codina, catley, ilestedt in that centreback so the other option CAN ALSO BE ROTATED. which would REDUCE INJURY

again, this shows with his midfield choices. kyra is a central midfielder and a defensive midfielder but he decided she's just defensive. he has one ONE purely defensive midfielder and that's lia walti. kyra is more like kim little, can play any midfield position and then there are two purely attacking midfield options in pelova and maanum (who could play defensive if absolutely necessary) THEY ARE ALL GOOD ENOUGH TO FUCKING START BUT HE DOESN'T ROTATE then he uses them as super subs and expects them to fucking fix everything JUST START THEM. it would also again PREVENT INJURY. there is a reason kim and lia are constantly injured. THEY ARE OVER FUCKING PLAYED. JONAS CAN YOU HEAR ME!!! FUCKING ROTATE

again, in the nine. there are options: russo, blackstenius, miedema and foord can all play really well and quite frankly mead if forced also the kids: little viv and michelle can do that

then the wings. WHY DO YOU KEEP PLAYING FOORD WHEN SHE'S STRUGGLING lacasse was the best scorer at benfica for so long she was SO good. PLAY HER. ROTATE THE WINGS. i am honestly shocked caitlin hasn't had a more serious injury. foord, lacasse, mead, MCCABE and russo can all play the wings

the only thing i have no problem with is the full back choices

now the problem of the 4-3-3.

jonas has said on multilpe occasions that his tactics is playing a 4-3-3 and possession football because he is the most basic bitch on the planet. it's like he has never heard of fucking creativity. seriously someone get him some, IT'S KILLING ME also a fashion sense because i am still traumatised by the shit-coloured gilette under the blue suit 🤮🤮

anyway the actual problem with it. he uses it to force the world's best striker (miedema) out of position and into a 10 and then cries when they don't score. he has bought about five nines and only uses one with no decent 10 and cries when they don't score. maybe jonas YOU ARE THE FUCKING PROBLEM

i swear to fuck arsenal fire him and hire carla ward, i think she could do such a good job omg.

what formation doing i think a fully fit arsenal should play?

4-4-2 (with rotation)

goalkeeper:

rotate it (buy mearps) and then you have three starting goalkeepers you can rotate based of the game and the style of keeper needed. if you are playing a team that scores from set pieces and headers, you want manu. a game where you need a ball-playing keeper and you want sabs. if you buy mearps, she's best for a team that loves a quick counter or lots of shots in open play

centreback pairing:

no CB should play two matches in a row at arsenal unless there's an injury crisis because there is so much talent competing for that spot. the top four: williamson, wubben-moy, codina, ilestedt and then catley and katie reid can also do it in rotation if necessary and reid as a sub.

and unless there is an injury crisis, wubben-moy and williamson should NOT be on the pitch at the same time. they are too similar. i can't say what partnerships are best but a decent manager will find it out and create two amazing centreback parternships of lotte/leah and ilestedt/codina that can be used interchangably to rest players and prevent injury especially if there's uwcl

left back:

this should be a purchase priority for arsenal. a cheap third option as opposed to catley and the wildcard (mccabe) whose position can be chosen out of a hat and she'd still play it well. it's unreliable but strong atm with two good options that can rotate just in the case of injury, it's a lot on one player and we saw this at the start of the season

right back:

weinrother, fox, mccabe. the options are strong. no notes. just ROTATE THEM.

the midfield pairing:

so there just needs to be one more defensive midfielder and one more attacking midfielder. imo the best combo at the moment for me is little and walti. the experience and the talent is unmatched but THEY CAN ROTATE. i want to see a combo of pelova/maanum/cooney-cross as a secondary midfield pairing to switch out the matches like the centreback pairings to rest players. they would also be good sub options for each other and can be chosen based on the style of play of the oppostion. pelova, kyra, maanum are better when there is a need for speed or fast counter-attacking whereas little and walti would be better for a deeper defense but they could all do anything

the wings:

just rotate between lacasse, foord, mead and hurtig if she comes back and if not, buy another winger and play them in the rotation. at least one winger needs to be subbed in a game and imo none of them should start two games in a row so they can REST

the strikers:

in the nine, there is so much choice so why not play two? it literally makes so much sense especially when the pairings available work like they do.

russo + miedema would be the best. both can drop back and grab the ball interchangably and both know how to cross and finish. i would love to see that link-up develop

russo/miedema + stina, russo/miedema can drop back and stina can lead the line and BOOM goals. it's not hard JONAS

then you can also rotate with the kids. take notes from barcelona. they know how to win shit.

in conclusion, jonas is terrible. get him out. hire carla ward.

[natcliachen]

TASK 004 - THE TEEN YEARS

LOCATION: Woodrow House DATE: 1994 & 1995 (Natalia at 16 and 17) TASK: Reflect on a memory your character had in the Great Room as a teenager.

Woodrow House 1994 - Natalia is 16

When the time for high school came around, Natalia opted to attend a private boarding school a couple of hours away instead of continuing her education at Woodrow. After years spent living and learning within its walls, she craved a change — to experience the outside world now that she was no longer a child and to discover if there was a challenge she was missing in a classroom filled with more than just a handful of teenagers she grew up with.

True to her meticulous nature, Natalia crafted a list of goals she wanted to achieve while at private school.

To be socially well-liked.

To have the top grades in her class.

To attend a school dance.

To join an extracurricular where she was part of a team.

To date someone.

Growing up in a house like Woodrow where more often than not you were surrounded by brilliant minds, pushing yourself to rise to the occasion wasn't out of the ordinary, especially for someone like Natalia who wouldn't consider herself gifted by any means. Unlike Vikram or Mickey, who seemed to breeze through complex science and math problems with ease, Natalia had to work diligently to keep pace. She was no stranger to putting her mind to something to get what she wanted.

So to no one's surprise, with her dedication and diligence, Natalia accomplished everything on her list by the end of her first year. By her sophomore year, she was well-known, on the Honor Roll, a member of the Student Council, and the girlfriend of one Hayes Harrington.

Hayes Harrington checked every box on Natalia's list when it came to a significant other. He was dashing, tall, from a family of impeccable social standing, popular among his peers, and most importantly, obsessed with her.

Natalia liked how she could take his hand and lead him anywhere and he'd follow. The giddy feeling she'd get when she wrapped her arms around his neck for a kiss. How he lifted her off the ground just a little when they hugged. She also liked how if she mentioned she liked something he wore, he'd wear more of it.

They were a high school powerhouse, though not the clichéd head cheerleader and football captain you'd see in every high school romcom. (She was the Student Body Treasurer; he was the star player of their school's lacrosse team.) They were the kind of couple people assumed would go the distance — attend the same college, marry shortly after graduation, and have two and a half kids. Hayes often talked about wanting her to meet his family, making it clear he saw a future with her.

Natalia, however, wasn't sure if she felt the same. It was why during one weekend, when she knew most of the wards would be out of the house for some Woodrow Foundation event with Richard, she convinced Hayes to drive her from their school to Woodrow. "You wanted to know where I live, right? I'll show you," she told him one morning after months of him prying about it.

("Wait, so they're like 16 of you?" He'd ask when she'd share bits about her home life. "How big is this house?")

For someone who wasn't a stranger to things that were grand, the number of whoa's and holy shit's that left Hayes as they drove from the gate to the house itself was more than she expected.

"If I recall correctly, Richard mentioned it was built in the 1870s," she shared as she pushed open the front door and let them in.

Like the flip of a switch, once she'd passed the threshold, Natalia felt more at ease. She hadn't even realized how tightly wound she'd been until she walked past Tom and Jerry; Hayes’ wide-eyed gaze taking in every corner of the Entry Hall. At the rate he was going, she half-wondered if his jaw would drop when they finally reached the Great Room.

"This is the Great Room," she announced once they got there.

"Why is it called that?" Hayes asked, his gaze sweeping up to the ceiling, taking his time to look from one end of the room to the other. "Man, this room is huge."

Natalia only held his gaze for a moment when their eyes finally met again until he went, "Ohhh. Great Room. Because it's huge. Great, like big. Got it."

It was moments like this that made Natalia genuinely wonder if it was true that part of one's intelligence was hereditary. Hayes' father was a successful investment banker, and his mother a respected author. Surely, that had to do something for him. But then Hayes would smile, with perfect white teeth, a chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a flawless complexion. It was enough to forget that he wasn't the quickest to the point.

"I'll show you the rest of the house," Natalia then said.

She led him through the significant rooms of Woodrow — places where she spent much of her time growing up. The library, the music room, the study room. Beyond a casual head bob or a 'cool', he wasn't particularly curious. Perhaps the most interesting thing Hayes managed to say the entire tour was when she showed him the library and he wondered if there were more books here than in the library at their school.

By the time they reached the common area of the third floor, Natalia had come to grips with a harsh reality: despite how great Hayes looked on her arm and how nice he made her feel, she didn't like him. He was an accessory, a perfect prop to her high school narrative. But that's all he was.

"Wanna see my room?" she asked, instead of voicing any of the realizations she'd just come to.

"Do we have to leave the door open?"

The rule at their dorms was that boys could visit only during certain hours of the day, and the door always had to be open if they were.

"Nope," she answered, a hint of a smirk on her lips as she turned and headed toward her room, knowing he'd follow behind her.

Woodrow House 1995 - Natalia is 17

The break-up with Hayes was surprisingly tear-filled. Though none of which were hers. He didn't understand why they were breaking up, and why she was leaving school on top of that. He told her he loved her, and that he always will. That he hated this. That he'd miss her. That they could make it work if she just gave him a chance. Natalia only pressed her lips together and patted him twice on the shoulder before leaving him sobbing in the courtyard.

Returning to Woodrow House for her third year of high school felt like sinking into the plush sofas of the Great Room after a long day on your feet. Every muscle relaxed. Her body could sense it was home. Trivial concerns melted away, leaving only a feeling of ease.

It took no time at all for Natalia readjust to life at Woodrow. While there were less people in this house than there were at school, it didn't feel like it. There was always someone walking by, someone in a room, or someone running down the hall. Old and far removed as Woodrow was, people often assumed it was somber and quiet place, but the wards made it anything but.

The Study Room was a welcome sight. Its deep mahogany walls, grand shelves, and large desks greeted her like old friends. She took her usual seat at the front, only briefly wondering if anyone else had claimed it in her absence. Then she set about readying her desk for class. First, she took out her textbook, then her notebook, followed by a pencil, pen, and highlighter all lined up in perfect order. Each thing set down felt like puzzles pieces being put into place.

When class finally started for the day, she couldn't help but recognize that she didn't miss Hayes, or the friends she'd made there. She didn't miss private school one bit quite frankly. But as the teacher delved into the first lesson of the morning and she picked up on the noise of someone's scribbling to her left or the sound of someone's bouncing knee to her right, it struck her just how deeply she'd missed this.

[kiarakarlisse]

It’s been about two weeks since I’ve talked to Noelle. I’ve texted, and called her but no answer. I even went to her apartment to check in on her. I know what we did was wrong and her ending her engagement to Carter has affected her. I didn’t think it would this much, but I have to look at her perspective. She did love him even if she loved me too. So she’s grieving her relationship and needs time. I’m willing to give her that but I hate that she’s not communicating with me. This was one of our issues the first time around. She holds all her feelings in.

But as the CEO of Hayes Magazine, I can’t just be in my feelings and not go to work. So I headed in to work Monday morning. I ended up working late. It seems like it’s the only thing I can do to keep my mind off her. The later it got the more I got in my head. So I decided to have a drink, but I couldn’t drink alone. So I called my assistant in. I know it’s not a good idea but…

Nick: Hey Sarai can you come in my office for a moment?

Sarai: Yes, sir.

Nick: Hey I know it’s getting late. I want to thank you for staying. I really appreciate it.

Sarai: No Problem sir

The way she keeps addressing me as sir is doing something to me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a bit inebriated or if I just miss Elle. But damn she looks good.

Nick: Hey why so formal? Rai it’s just us left in the office. Would you like a drink?

Sarai: Well I don’t want to cross anymore lines. We’ve been off for a while now after what happened last time.

Nick: We’re adults here. We don’t have to do anything at all. I just wanted some company while I finish up some work.

Nick: I’ll ask again. Would you like a drink?

Sarai: No I’m okay, we can just talk.

Fast forward a couple of hours and a few more drinks. We needed up at her apartment. I had just wanted to make sure she got home. But then she invited me in and I’m not in the right mind. We leaned in for a kiss we knew would just be a kiss. We’ve been here before. More than just kissing. For some reason Sarai knows how to get me out of my head. No one else has ever done that but my Elle. I guess she resembles her a bit and kind of has her beautiful laugh. God I miss her.

We stumble into her bedroom where she starts to get all shy. Like we’ve never done this before. She was the only casual ongoing relationship I’ve had since Noelle and Penny.

Nick: Rai why so shy all of a sudden? (teasing)

Sarai: We ended this because of her. I don’t want this to be like last time. It’s more than just sex for me.

Nick: Babe, we’re not talking about her right now. It’s just you and me.

Sarai: That’s not really reassuring (sighs)

Nick: Look at me. It’s you and me tonight. No one else. Okay.

Sarai: Okay

What am I talking about??? Why did I just say that? Everything is about her. It’s always about her. Am I drunk? Have a reached my limit? I just miss her so much but I also want this right now just for a moment to feel something. Anything. And she’s here. Sarai is always here.

Her body on mine feels so right yet so wrong. She’s perfect in every way, beautiful, intelligent, talented. She speaks her mind, knows what she wants and gets it. That’s why I hired her. She’s always on top of things but something is off. Maybe in another life I could love Sarai like I love my Elle. It would be so much easier.

Nick: Fuck Rai!! I can never get enough of you.

Sarai: Nick… Don’t stop!!

Nick: God I wish you were here!! (Growls)

Sarai: I am here. Right here with you. (Tears roll down her cheeks)

Knowing he means her. Noelle. His one and only. Why can’t I be enough for him? Why must I live a man that will never love me back

The next morning I had a pounding headache. How did I get home? Thats the only thing I couldn’t remember. Everything else I wish I could forget. How could I do that to Noelle? Shit how could I do that to Sarai, knowing her feelings for me haven’t changed. God!!! I’m such a fucking dick. I need to talk to Rai. Apologize to her. She doesn’t deserve this. I crossed a line once again and can’t go back. I really fucked up this time. Elle and I aren’t technically together but she won’t see it that way.

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