#really I just talk about Bryce
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Legacies in Camp Jupiter/Just Pjo?
Wow I am on a roll! Anyway I’ve been wanting to do this and the power post just really dragged up this issue in my head back to the forefront, and it is someone that really continuously confuses me on a basic level of how Rick chose to let this category function.
Legacies are a type of Demigod introduced in HoO that are directly related to Gods but aren’t first generation. They are not children of gods but like grandkids, great-grandkids, so on and so on. This is not a new concept, it is as old as myths themselves, the first thing that pops up in my mind was Troy’s royal family was said in myths to be descended from Zeus. That makes someone like Hector (in Pjo-verse vocabulary) a legacy in the Pjo canon.
But.. Legacies aren’t really different to demigods? Like- not different enough that they would get classified as differently-? For several reasons I believe, but the main three points I want to make (because apparently all my thoughts come in packs of 3), is that 1) Legacies and Demigods are shown to have the same godly-ability level as one another/ it’s inconsistent, 2) somewhat through the books themselves they just sort of stop using the word Legacy/Legacies never have anything that set them apart from demigods, 3) this is a new concept to distinguish them (this is the weakest but it feels weird that Rick decided to differentiate Legacies and Demigods when myths never really did too much, but when did Rick care about the source material- okay, that was rude I’m just still annoyed over Ares-)
Anyway,
Legacies and Demigods powers. Legacies are shown to have similar power levels to Demigods, or those powers are inconsistent. I bring this up because it feels odd? That legacies would have a similar broad level of abilities while still being more mortal than god (this depends and I’ll talk about what I think for like hc on New Rome and their legacy population) but we have characters like Bryce Lawerence; who has powers like, shadow travel (the shadow travel is implied but I’ll get into why it’s likely he has some form of enhanced ability to travel), enhanced tracking (also implied but this will fit into the travel thing), summoning the damned souls of those who broke oaths, along with being implied to have visited the underworld at some point because he mentions hearing the screams of the fields of punishment. But let’s also remember that BoO takes place somewhere in 8-9 days (starts July 20, ends Aug 3) the Bryce attack scene is on chapter XXX while Bryce being brought back to the legion is in chapter VI. No less than if I remember correctly like 2-3 days could’ve past. There are a couple things, he’s stealthy enough that Nico doesn’t notice him. We don’t get any confirmation that he’d been following them for a while (from all I know of Bryce’s character I have to assume he wasn’t or he would’ve 100 percent taken the first chance to attack them) but he is able to get from Long Island to South Carolina on foot, and seemingly appear out of nowhere. There is probably a logical explanation but also considering the fact he knows what’s happening to Nico (that shadow traveling fading that doesn’t seem to matter?) makes me consider and lean more to the idea that he can shadow travel (honestly would love to make another post on Bryce Lawerence because no one cares about him but I really find him interesting). But if he can do the (implied shadow travel) and the very apparent necromancy he has the same skill set of Nico! Never mind the tiny little difference in the necromancy, they have the same power and the same level of that power. The difference is that one is a legacy, and one is a Demigod- but there doesn’t seem to be a power difference. Secondly Frank’s shapeshifting thing, I’ll be real and say I just think that’s a thing because like Poseidon gifted it? I think of it as the same way that like the Red panda gift from turning Red is going strong because it was a blessing or whatever. And Octavian, who is (said, for some reason Rick wanted to put in that maybe Octavian never had powers at all but that’s stupid and takes away what little things Octavian has) but he also, doesn’t seem to have a dip in powers? I don’t care much for seeing the Apollo kids but it seems that they all can have varied powers (fitting seeing as Apollo was a god of so many things) and Octavian’s skill doesn’t seem limited in any way (would’ve been great if we got more information on it because we have no idea how it works compared to say, the way we know how the Oracle stuff works) but all of this puts a clear image that from the legacies we know, there doesn’t seem to be a big difference in power. Which is odd, seeing as they don’t feel like they should.
Through HoO Rick really just like- stopped talking about legacies? I’m laughing as I’m writing this but know it’s a saddened laugh because like. Rachel refers to Octavian as Son of Apollo (Which could be argued she doesn’t know what a Legacy is but I feel like since her Oracle powers told her everything else it would’ve informed her of his proper title- or I guess not because the writing didn’t care at all about Octavian-) and I think Reyna mentions Bryce is a legacy though it’s not referenced any more. Bryce just brings up Orcus in some dialogue and that’s about it. If you’re going to bring up a new type of Demigod then why not explore them more? HoO doesn’t explore like anything but still, Frank never has thoughts about his Legacy stuff. We don’t even get any notes about Greek demigods not considering most of the Roman Legacies Demigods because they aren’t the direct Children of the Gods? It just like- Legacies kind of do nothing, there is nothing different about a legacy.
Mythology doesn’t even really distinguish the two? Like- again because I’ve read the Iliad and Odyssey it’s what I always think first. Hector mentions he is also related to Zeus- that there is a distinct thing about demigods like Sarpedon, Achilles, and Aeneas. But there never is something where it calls out, “Oh Hectors great-great-great grandpa is Zeus and that’s super different and crazy” but it’s just “Hectors related to Zeus y’know and he’s gonna kick your butt man >:[“ obviously this is a random point because those are ancient texts. But we have to remember that Pjo is founded off of these myths and the fact that Legacies are a part of these myths but distinctly different (literally everyone who is descended from Zeus which is literally everyone- not literally but like-) operate differently, they are essentially no different than their fully mortal companions other than they can sport a God ancestor and the most convoluted family tree.
Okay. Those are the points that I’ve made. All of those boil down into like “Rick did nothing to differentiate Legacies from Demigods other than slap a different name on them” and that’s a missed opportunity. It’d be like if something like Harry Potter went, “Here are wizards that are said to be different than other magic users but all that’s different are their titles!” That might be a thing I don’t know I don’t consume Harry Potter. But there was a ball and it was slammed into the ground (huh, almost like Rick did that with a lot of things related to Camp Jupiter and the Romans- also the Romans canonically have cars and I don’t like that). But I have some Head-canons about legacies for my re-imagining to hopefully make them, make more sense?
The longer a legacy line is, the more ‘diluted’ the power becomes. Like in the myths, after you hit a certain point most legacies will have incredibly weak powers. This adds to the powers post I made (shameless plug that you should read that one too because I’m proud of it.) and how the legacies affect the Romans view on powers. But this means that the farther you get down a family line the less and less powerful the power is. Say a child of Zeus has children and then like ten generations down the line the descendants could be more resistant to lightning, conduct it easier and attract it a little more, maybe jump a big higher but that’s about it. Example, Michael Kahale In my re-imagining comes from a super duper long line and his powers pretty much are, I look pretty, I’m a little more persuasive from remnants of charm-speak (and I want to buff up the Aphrodite cabin more because Rick really just didn’t care when it came to them)
This doesn’t include ‘gifts’ like Frank’s. I think by the will of the God that blessed the ancestor with it they keep the power strong. This goes the same way for curses, maybe. If the curse is not revered than it probably is passed onto your kid.
In common sense, the fresher the legacy the more potent the power. And sometimes there can be mutations that a child can end up with more potent powers, whether that be the wishes of the Godly ancestor or they just get miracle genes it could act as a soft re-boot to strengthen the powers. For examples; Bryce is a very new legacy, his dad is the direct child of Orcus and Bryce gets passed down all of the cool powers (also need a hc for his mother because she comes from a legacy line) or Octavian was just.. born with the more potent powers, I like to think Apollo noted him and took interest to strengthen his powers for some reason. (Note he also is a legacy of Venus but I haven’t worked out if that affects him and how, but the Venus part is much more downplayed)
Legacies who have mixed godly blood/ several different lines that have merged have a little from everything, their powers are weaker but if like for example a Child of Athena with a Hermes legacy might have a easier time stealing things, or be a little faster than their peers. But these end up very minimal because the direct child aspect overpowers it a lot (idk I don’t know hypothetical demigod genes and how they work so let’s just go with it) this is similar with legacies+legacies though the family will usually stick to one legacy title (sort of how last names are passed on, but a partner wouldn’t take up the legacy title of the family. But a child would) while the powers honestly could be all over the place
Okay that’s all I think right now, if I have anything else I’ll probably make a separate post but for me right now it is very nighttime and I need my sleep so I can crush my siblings in various unserious competition.
#idk how to tag this#pjo hoo toa#camp jupiter#hoo#hoo headcanon#really I just talk about Bryce#jk jk#legacies are so confusing#Nico is a legacy of Nike and maybe one day I’ll make a post about the one time I saw that hc and I adopted it#okay bye#hehe :3#goodnight
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still can’t believe nico having catholic guilt is canon. like. i mean yeah but did u really have to confirm it let the boy rest
#nico di angelo#pjo#hoo#toa#it was supposed to be like a hc yknow#even if it is historically accurate for an italian in the 1940s#honestly wish that was explored more in canon#i know ts*ts would have been miles better because of it#okay i promised myself i wouldn’t bitch about ts*ts in the tags i’ll stop now#but damn rick really can’t give this guy a break#i’m not necessarily a nico stan but i do find it fascinating how most people just absolutely wreck his character in fandom#he’s such an interesting and complex individual in the books (even if it is inconsistent which adds to it imo)#top 3 nico moments imo are the battle of manhattan how he acted in son of neptune and number one ofc vaporizing bryce lawrence#all of them are v interesting#why do i always end up talking like 4x more in the tags than i do in the actual post#🤷🏽♀️#🐋.txt
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you ever think about how, on top of the other assorted traumas the main cast had to endure, they now have to deal with the fact that they know what the afterlife is like, and it sucks?
i DO and i think about it a LOT!!!
as is. probably expected. i think abt it the MOST wrt liam. because the way i see it, he does NOT like dying at all and he also KNOWS what it Really looks like. he KNOWS that theres nothing actually there, and all he knows of the waiting room is 1. a radio that is basically a device that is most likely to just get you killed, and 2. if you dont use the radio, you are trapped Forever. thats. not a pleasant way to view what awaits you
i actually think that eventually the waiting room would come to look like Something for liam years later once he gets home, and that it just looking as it truly is to him largely has to do with the immediate traumatic experiences he was going through all the times he saw it (something something, the waiting room showing you what you want or something you miss etc, but him not having anything to go off of because hes not thinking of much and is a bit detached from the stuff he COULD be thinking about, blah blah blah. my ideas on what determines if you see smth ARE a bit rough bc its so vague tho i also tend to think it has smth to do with if you were 'supposed' to die at that moment, like how stones knowledge of stuff clearly favors certain events over others. its hard to explain and i dont wanna derail this post. its not completely relevant) and that, once he Dies dies itll be Okay! but i think the fact that he knows what the waiting room can be at its worst would probably assume that, when he dies, everythings gonna suck for ETERNITY and id. imagine that is a very haunting thought process to have. i think death scares him a LOT because of this (he SAW julien, and i think the idea of that happening to him and no one ever helping , since it was so unlikely for julien to be saved anyway) and its. probably one of many things hes gonna HAVE to work out in therapy or smth . the guy went through TWO situations where he was trapped somewhere for Possibly Forever, the idea of that being what hes doomed to experience For The Rest Of Time is probably Not Pleasant and Not Helped by his other trauma
the other characters i think have a very different view of it, but not necessarily in a 'better' or 'worse' way . but its because all of them DID see soemthing in the room (or in amelias case, likely wasnt there long enough to even know WHAT she was looking at, let alone assess it.). bryce eventually saw it for what it was yeah, but he def KNOWS what it Can be. for bryce, then, i think its also. complicated? because it seems to be a tipping point for him in the series. and i think its because, when things go wrong and theres no Direct Person To Blame, hes like. almost sluggish? idk how to describe it, its almost similaar to how liam responds to things being fucked up, but feels fundamentally different, and hes just kinda There. if i had to guess, that has to do with his preexisting trauma and how he responds to it, but he generally comes across as if hes in shock the Whole time. the fact that he Died, For Real is uncomfortable to him, but it doesnt seem to mean Much wrt what the room is Showing him. i think the fact that its 'not real' is irrelevant, and i think thats ALL him. because its the exact thing he would Want to be real. id imagine its very dreamlike. and most people jsut Go Along with things in their dreams
even when he comes to see the room as it is, it seems to have more with the fact that him and liam had to work together for a WHILE. we dont know how long they tried to get to stones world (other than that they were killed More than 20 times), but its safe to assume they Didnt realize theyd be able to get BACK home (given bryces surprise at teh san francisco note). so when they actually find stones world its like. bryce DOES care abt liam, and has the whole time (with him going up the smokestack being the biggest indicator. 'i want my car keys back,' as many have pointed out is. a reason, but an obvious excuse). the notes ARE saying something, texty JUST found something important. but liam is upset to not have gotten ANYTHING out of dying 20 times, and while bryce was mostly just Going Along before, now it seems like theres an Actual possibility they could stop airy because they just DID, and liam DOESNT notice it??? and i think, then, his primary goal becomes something the room cant replicate, not really (side note, that we dont see what bryce sees because its a Show. and i think many people assume Right when texty brought them back that he saw it was. but i think it Stopped showing the suburbs AS he was talking to liam, hence the surprise! i imagine it was visually similar to when a setting changes in a dream. but thats not important to this post). from here, he doesnt seem more OPTIMISTIC, but it seems like hes more. content? determined? which i imagine has to do with 'thought he was dead Forever, and was in shock' -> 'thought he was dead Forever, but might be able to help the other contestants! which is good!' -> 'hes NOT dead forever. but like. he STILL can help them!' which i think is a weird combo of Good News and a New Goal RIGHT after smth Super Fucked Up
anyway, the conclusion that tangent was supposed to visualize is that. i think the waiting room might be. mostly positive to bryce??? but in the same way someone might think positively of something saving them from smth fucked up. like that isnt to say the bryce likes it but i think its a complex appreciation?? im not sure. he talks a lot abt how he doesnt want to throw everything away Again, and i think the waiting room almost Contradicted everything about that? like. dying SHOULDVE been the end of everything. but it??? wasnt??? it ultimately didnt help anything substantially, but like. he went through All That and came out alive, somehow? endorphins were probably also at play
but then also it DID lead to him dying 20+ times. so its certainly not just positive for him. but i think overall this would make how he feels about the waiting room. pretty complex? and probably confusing for himself. given that he saw it as it was for a relatively short amount of time, and the two didnt take too much time trying to figure out WHAT the room even WAS, i dont think itd be easy to connect everything together. and it wouldnt be unreasonable for him to assume that itd be the suburbs if he ever went back, or that if it WAS that orange and pink place, maybe thats not fully bad? but eeither way, itd certainly be disorienting to think about. i think the idea of it not having been Real would be confusing and maybe a bit upsetting, but he doesnt strike me as caring TOO much if its 'real.' though i think the idea of spending the rest of existence in something Fake would also be. unnerving
charlotte also definitely saw Something. its never clarified WHAT, but the fact that she saw something is Clear. and i think shed probably be affected by it in a more subtle way, because she NEVER saw it as it was. as far as she knows, when she died, she was shown something (and likely someone) that she wanted to go to, so i think shed see it as mostly a positive place. a very desirable place to be!!! but that has little to do w how shed feel abt dying itself. because i think the idea of death not being smth Bad would be comforting, but also the act of dying itself would be the unsettling in itself. that, and the fact that she can be brought back Easily, potentially. which ALSO isnt necessarily negative but also i think would be Weird to think about. that you can be somewhere great forever, for the rest of existence, but at any moment that place could be taken away. Really, its not that much different from the trauma of the plane (though, given her life beforehand, the idea of being taken from someplace definitively Good might be more unique to her having died) but its likely smth that would Still impact her
amelia then is the most complicated to figure out out of the four? bc we dont even know how much she SAW. it likely wasnt MUCH but like. she seems to know she Died, at the very least, and knows how temporary it Can be (however unrealistic that may seem) . as such i think her feelings on the waiting room are probably hazy, and what ideas she DOES have are closer to charlottes. most of what she knows about it would likely be based around what the others tell her. really, for amelia, i think the more haunting aspect is the Dying part. i think it affects her sense of self, and that having been brought back partially Didnt happen. that amelia died, and scenty was respawned. as such, i think the waiting room COULD be a negative concept for her, but only on account of it having been the last thing that the idea of amelia probably ever saw. that, or the first thing the idea of where scenty begins starts. just a extremely brief glimpse into somewhere dreamlike, and then a huge shift in self. i think post canon this feeling of having Died lingers a LOT, and what would haunt her about the afterlife has more to do with the idea of ANOTHER loss of self. which would also have to be smth Worked out in therapy or smth of that nature
basically i think they all would have verrry different thoughts on the waiting room , but even those among them that dont have a completely negative view of it wouldnt necessarily see it positively. and i think itd suck for them . SO bad. but i think someday it would maybe suck a little less!
#ask#hfjone#just cus . i like to think about ideas :)#and i dont think the effect the waiting room would have on the characters is talked about enough!!!#like yeah. the trauma around the plane is prob where the bulk of all their trauma is#but also. i think other things would STILL effect them and ppl like. brush over it??#which is a shame!!!#note that this answer is LONG#which is bc i have soooo many thoughts#also if this is at all incoherent i am SO sorry . i have so many thoughts in my brain abt this stuff#but putting it into words is a diff thing entirely#also a side note that i think all of them get therapy Eventually#but that its difficult at first. bc its hard to work through that trauma without actual details#and what they all went through is. a bit hard to believe :(#(i think a lot abt how liam seems to dislike this. the whole 'neighbor hearing him' is literally what makes him Stop Yelling#but i dont think he was embarassed or anything. i think it just. set in? that bryce was all he had#and that all HE was anymore wouldnt even be listened to.#that he NEEDS to see this all through but no one but bryce would ever help him#and that if bryce didnt help him he really WOULD only have himself. which i imagine is very isolating)
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claire rollerskating claire playing tennis and claire playing volleyball. top 3 claire & sports moments
#sorry mj i saw your post about jensen and bryce and sports and it got me thinking….#i’ve talked about her rollerskating and playing tennis before#she’s been rollerskating since she were a teenager tbh. she did it a lot while she was in san franscico too. less often nowadays (2014)#was*#i should draw her in her skates… much to think about#tennis she started playing when she was 16/17 because her father told her so#he used to attend a fancy country club whatever those things are and she’d tag along sometime#sometimes*#that’s where she meets the politician guy she ends up dating some years later (like. when she’s 20)#she didn’t expect to like it but she ended up liking tennis a lot because she can hit things#also claire is sooo competitive. she’s playing it for real sorry DO NOT PLAY TENNIS AGAINST CLAIRE!#anyway her father notices she Really Likes tennis and he thinks well we should make this a chore. then she starts getting tennis lessons#and she eventually dates her tennis instructor. i think ‘date’ here is not the correct word to use here. but she would never say this.#but i’ve never talked about volleyball. she played it in high school! nothing serious she just played a few games with the team#like she wasn’t in any championship or anything like that but she enjoyed played it a lot#she was the libero. of course.#oc: claire swanson#wow there are so many. errors here. spelling gramatical etc. i do not care i am so tired.#<- man super embarrassing i’m SORRY i can’t read things right now
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Oh yeah, Tumblr, last night on the train home, I saw a man with "memento mori" tattooed on his arm... I couldn't work out the tattoo on his other arm, some kind of picture, it wasn't "through love, all is possible" or "light it up" or
#but just do people actually use memento Mori#no but they talk about it in crescent City#i really want to ask the dude if he has that tattoo because he reads the crescent City series by sjm#but it's probably just a Latin phrase#so disappointing#imagine dating him and then getting married and having kids and the entire relationship is based on a lie#I'm just dropping references to the sjm books in our conversation and he's like 'sure honey#having every sjm book on proud display in the living room#decorate our home like aelin or Bryce or#teaching our kids about the books#saying light it up to turn on the oven or the lights or#he's just like 'you can't just say it you've gotta say hey google and then'
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THANK YOU THIS IS THE BEST THING THATS EVER HAPPENED TO ME
@anna-scribbles this one's for you. happy late birthday
#IVE WATCHED IT LIKE SIX TIMES ALREADY THIS MORNING#HHGNFHAHEHFBBFBFB#ml perfection#perfection spoilers#ml perfection spoilers#ml spoilers#ml#‘the melody that no one hears but me’ was a DIRECT attack on luka#who’s the music boyfriend now????#is luka’s little guitar melody at the end of season 3 gonna hold up to THIS ?#the line about butterflies made me cackle. like. adrien babe. don’t butterflies have other connotations in your life already#the ‘DOLPHIN⁉️’ makes me laugh EVERY TIME#ALSO ADRIEN BEING THE MOST CRINGE BOYFRIEND IN THE WORLD. AND THEN IT PANS TO MARINETTE WHO IS THE MOST IN LOVE SHES EVER LOOKED. I HOWLED#‘adrien… sings?’ girl if you’d only heard his first banger cat in the night. he should put out an album#i love that adrien is the most cringe boyfriend in the world. everything is exactly as it should be#i love that the message of the song was ‘it’s okay that you can’t say any coherent words to me.#we don’t actually have to be able to have a verbal conversation to be in love.’#i desperately need to know if he still thinks marinette has like. a speech impediment or something#i can’t stop picturing adrien writing this in his room#he’s like i’m tired of this stuffy old music! (throws his stacks of beethoven and chopin to the ground) i#i want to write something from the heart 🥺 (writes the most cringe love song in the world that his girlfriend is gonna eat out of the#palm of his hand)#also i don’t want to forget the backup vocals. the backup vocals CARRY#thank you nino<333for everything<33333#i’m gonna memorize this song and sing it outloud every day#i need a version without marinette and alya talking over the first verse#let me hear the boy SING#thank you bryce for being just barely able to carry a tune. it really ties everything together for me#okay i’m gonna watch it again now
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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c
pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe
you needed to stop taking other people shift’s.
it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.
all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.
you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it.
fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa.
today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.
nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.
“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”
wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?
don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”
yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.
it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."
you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.
at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.
but these brats?
half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard.
painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.
“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.
he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.
“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.
but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”
jesus christ. here we go.
you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head.
“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.
they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.
“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.
who do you think you are, pitbull?
he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”
fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.
you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.
“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.
you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.
“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”
best thing?
the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.
you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.
“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”
that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.
his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.
“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”
ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.
you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.
you're not impressed.
you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”
they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.
finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way.
oh, wow, big spender.
you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”
you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.
you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.
something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.
one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.
for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.
a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:
“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”
oh, for fuck’s sake.
your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first.
one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.
“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”
legend? you almost laugh.
the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.
the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.
you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.
wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has.
yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.
“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.
you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.
the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.
“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”
yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.
rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.
you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.
“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?
“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”
you never cringed so hard in your life.
rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”
you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you.
everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.
“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”
here we go.
you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.
the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.
and then, like clockwork, it happens.
“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”
oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.
you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.
there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.
“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”
my girl? my fucking girl?
one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”
you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.
no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.
still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.
he's only saying it to mess with you.
one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.
rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”
you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.
rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.
“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.
you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.
“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”
you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.
the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.
“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”
one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”
you don't let him finish. “one. minute.”
they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.
like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.
the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.
“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”
“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.
they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.
finally, a moment of peace.
except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there.
as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.
"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”
he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”
“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”
his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"
“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"
he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”
“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”
rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”
you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.
“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”
he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.
everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.
finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”
you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”
he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”
"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.
“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”
rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration.
“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”
you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.
“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”
he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.
“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”
rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.
his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”
you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”
“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”
you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”
“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”
you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.
“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”
rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it.
“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "
“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”
his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.
“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.
“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”
you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.
“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.
“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”
just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.
the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.
that’s when he takes his chance.
with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.
it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.
he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.
his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.
logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.
his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.
and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.
rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.
“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.
but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.
you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.
his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.
especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.
and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.
“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.
“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”
god, maybe you did.
the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.
within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.
“we miss anything?”
“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.
you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.
one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”
no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed.
real, scary, big girl feelings.
no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.
“better than ever.”
eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.
“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”
his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.
he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to.
you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.
#rafe cameron x you#itneverendshere works✨#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x pogue!reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe x pogue!reader#rafe x y/n#rafe x you#rafe angst#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron obx#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe obx#rafe fic#outerbanks rafe#obx#request#my universe#rafe x bitchy!pogue!reader#pogue!reader#bitchy!pogue!reader
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nerd!rafe x popular!reader
mdni
warnings: smut-handjob, pathetic sub!rafe, this is not cannon Rafe AT ALL
Rafe Cameron is a quiet nerdy boy with about no friends. Where as you, you’re loud and popular, friends with everyone.
Ever since you had joined the school Rafe’s eyes have been on you. Watching you laugh and smile with the people that flocked to you like moths to a flame.
He couldn’t help admire you in a way. But mainly he was admiring your beauty.
He has never spoken to you of course. God no he wouldn’t dream of it. Well that’s not entirely true.
He’s dreamt of it, thought of it, imagined it while his hand was around his length. But not in a perv way of course. No no. Not in the way the other boys do it. In a sweet way. Right?
But no, he couldn’t talk to you. In the world of high school. Rafe isn’t allowed to talk to you. He’s too ‘low’ for you. Which he thinks is stupid but he can’t rewrite the social laws of the school.
So he’ll just sit in class staring at you instead of doing his work. Not like he needs to do more work in class. He’s smart enough to pass a test with just a glance. So here he’ll sit waiting for his chance to talk to you properly. Instead of that couple times you were sweet to him, sticking up for him and that one time he said thank you for you holding open the door. And god did that thought make his heart beat.
But soon enough, here’s his lucky day.
“Rafe, you’ll be working with y/n.” The teachers words ring in his head as his eyes are pulled up from the desk. He turns to face you and sees that you’re looking at him. And he c-wait-you’re looking at him.
He does a double take before seeing you wave at him. A small gesture that means so much to him you don’t even know. So he does a wave back. But he’s shy and awkward so now he’s stressing that he looked weird and seeing your friends giggling and whispering doesn’t help the feeling he’s embarrassed himself.
So quickly he turns away, back to the page on his desk. Drawing random lines on it to make it appear he’s doing something. Doing anything other than looking at you and gawking.
Why does he have to be so shy and embarrassing? Why can’t he be like the popular people like Bryce and Zach? They can just talk to everyone and just be confident all the time. He hates himself for his anxiety that is in the bottom of his stomach everytime anyone even breathes to close to him. He hates it so much th-
“Hey partner.” Rafe’s brought out of his spiral of thoughts when you speak to him. He’s frozen looking up at you, is this real? Or is he dreaming?
“H-hey.” He says, pushing up his glasses on his face as he adjust in his chair.
“So when we doing this project?”
“Anytime. Anytime that’s good for you, I’m free. Like all the time. I’m not doing…anything.” Rafe decides to stop himself from babbling and making himself look like a complete and utter loser.
But all you’re doing is smiling at him. Not pulling the disgusted face he’s use to.
“Tomorrow night? My place?”
“Yeah sure.”
“Cool, don’t have snap so I can send you the info?” You say as you pull out your phone. Waiting for him to respond to you.
Rafe rubs the back of his neck as he thinks how to reply to this. He couldn’t say that his mom doesn’t allow him to have social media and even if he was to have it he wouldn’t have enough friends anyway.
“No. I don’t use snap anymore.” He lies.
“Oh right okay. Insta? Tiktok?”
Rafe just shakes his head.
“I can give you my number?”
“Yeah sure okay.”
Rafe gets out his phone, a tiny phone that was probably made eight years ago that his mom told him was ‘cool and trendy’. She’s so wrong it almost hurts.
Rafe had been waiting and waiting for this day. Yes the plans were arranged yesterday but he’s just so excited it’s almost sad really.
But after making his way to your house and you giving him a tour of the mansion you live in. You’re now both sat on your bed.
He’s in your room.
On your bed.
“No you’ll have to tutor me.” You say as you smile before looking back at the work that’s in front of you. You’re laying on the bed as Rafe is sat stiff.
“Tutor you?” Rafe asks, adjusting his glasses again for the second time this minute.
“Well we��re doing this project and I don’t get what it’s about so you’ll have to help me.”
Earlier when Rafe started talking about the project he had presumed that he’d been doing it all himself like he’d usually do with other people. But you insisted you’d actually help. Even if you have been distracted a couple times.
“Yeah sure.” Rafe replies as he smiles, looking down at you. He’s rather close to you it’s making his heart beat so fast. If it beats any faster it’ll pop out his chest like in those cartoons. His eyes might also pop out his head too. We’re just waiting for that.
God he’s so close to you he can smell that perfume you wear every day to school. It hasn’t changed since the first time he met you.
He’s just watching you lay on your stomach on the bed, writing down some things. He just can’t seem to pull his eyes away from you. You just look so beautiful and calm. Of course he has to go and ruin it.
He’s just staring, and before he thinks he leans in and kisses you. His soft lips pressing against yours until he realises what’s happened and pulls back.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says as he starts panicking. Of course he’s ruining things like he always does. He may be smart when it comes to academics but he’s so stupid when it comes to social situations.
But all you do is smile. Just smile at him before pushing up and climbing onto his lap.
“Oh, oh. Okay…” He says as he holds his breath and looks anywhere but you. His hands don’t touch you. Just in the air, frozen in place by this very unexpected action from you.
So you place his hands on yours hips looking at him before your hands are placed on his cheeks. Gently rubbing them as you look down at him.
“You have a crush on me Rafe?”
Rafe nods as he stares into your eyes. He’s too shy to say anything, and also incredibly aroused by having you here. On his lap. His hand sneaks as he brings it close to his face to adjust his glasses. He look looks up at you like a puppy.
He’s so cute and shy it makes him all the more attractive to you. Some people think he’s all these things but unknown to him you’ve always had some feelings for him. Even if you did try and stop them.
Your hand travels downs Rafe’s body until it reaches his zipper. His dick twitching in his pants as he lets out a low whine. He’s so pathetic it’s so hot to you.
“You want me to touch you Rafe?”
This has escalated very quickly, and as scary it is to Rafe. It’s very exciting for Rafe too. He’s never even held hands with a girl. Or spoken to one for longer than thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes at best.
“Yes please.” He whines out as he wriggles lightly underneath you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has thought about thus situation before but this is not how he was expecting at all.
You smile as you start to kiss him, lips pressing softly against Rafe’s. His lips are soft, different to what you’ve kissed before. Your tongue slips into his mouth which is met by more whines from the boy underneath you.
Your hand slips into Rafe’s pants and before he can say a word you start to stroke him. His dick hard and leaking with precum. He feels slightly embarrassed but that’s quickly stopped as you begin to go faster. And all he can think about is how good it feels and how much better it is than his own hand.
The moans and whimper from this man is heavenly. Making those panties you chose to wear just for him wet.
“Please, please can I cum?” Rafe is begging for this. Begging for this release from you. His whole body is practically shaking. He knows he’s acting needy and pathetic. But he can’t help it. He’s practically brainwashed by you.
He’s a man who could genuinely have any job he’s ever wanted but here he is whining for you. Whinging and moaning and begging. A possible future president is begging to cum.
“Yeah baby. Cum for me.”
You will definitely be doing this again.
a/n: don’t know how to feel about this one and i am still upset over bae’s eyebrows.
#nerd rafe#sub rafe#obx#obx fanfiction#rafe#rafe cameron#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe fic#rafe imagine#rafe smut#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#rafe cameron thoughts#rafe cameron scenarios#rafe cameron story#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron imagine#outer banks au#outer banks fanfiction#outerbanks#rafe au#rafe cameron au
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#387
“Hey Michael, do we really need to go through all this? You know why you are here, right?… Yeah you are here to be an intern, but did your dad tell you what you would be doing?… Jesus! He didn’t! Well shit! I’m just going to be blunt; there’s no reason to be coy here….
“Do you recognize me?… We met a few years ago at the company Fourth of July picnic. Yeah, I’m the Chief Security Officer of the company your dad works for. When your dad was in my office, going over this very last-minute two-week business trip to Vegas, he was saying that he was worried about you being alone for all that time. I reminded him that you are of age and should be responsible to be alone. He started going on and on that he was worried about you getting in with the wrong crowd. I laughed and said you spend most of your afternoons in the back theater of Ruby’s bookstore taking dick after dick and that the wrong crowd would be all the tradies who work the docks.
“Ha ha. If your dad didn’t know you were a sperm burper, he does now. The panicked look on your face says that you didn’t tell him. Oh well not my problem. He didn’t seem too phased by it though.
“A bit later we were talking about the expansion of our sites in Amsterdam and Munich. He started dropping hints that he wanted a promotion. I started to laugh. I told him that the Executive team, especially the CEO, Bryce Mullins, doesn’t think he’s upper management material. Your dad asked what he could do to change Bryce’s mind. I told him point blank, ‘Offer Bryce your son to fuck.’
“Oh yeah, we were talking about you. I bet he didn’t tell you all that when he said you that you could get an internship with us, now did he?… I didn’t think so. Yeah, if your dad allowed the CEO of the company to breed your cute little ass, he might just get that promotion and raise.
“And it’s not just Bryce, but me too…. What? You think I would conduct an interview for a legitimate intern at my private residence wearing a pair of swimming trunks?… Seriously, you would think that? Bryce and I go back decades to when we were both in the Corps. We would pick up a faggot like you just off base and take him to our motel room and fuck that cunt good. After the Corps, we met Ben Tutwiler who shares our affinity of using and abusing boys like you. The three of us formed this company. He’s the Chief Operating Officer, and he’s going to fuck you this week as well. Although, it will probably just a few times. He’s grown closer to his own faggot.
“Yeah, our company is founded by three fag fuckers. About five or six years ago we brought on our fourth fag fucking executive, our Chief Financial Officer Gary Roberts. Now you probably don’t realize this, but he’s already fucked you a few times. He’s a frequent patron of the same Ruby’s bookstore as you. How do you think we first heard about you being a cum dump whore? In case you were wondering, he’s the one who holds you head firmly in place while he instructs the men to back their asses onto your tongue.
“…Oh that got a smile out of you. You know who he is, hunh? Good. The four of us have specific tastes in our faggots. And each one of us will… interview you.
“We start now. Get naked faggot.
“…You can instantly follow orders. That’s good. Should you get hired as our intern, you won’t be wearing much around here. Come to think about it, you won’t have many possessions.
“Hell, like any other intern you work for free. Don’t worry, we’ll pay off your debts, which isn’t much.
“Nice body. You shaved? That’s a bonus. You will be kept hairless; Bryce will insist on it. Nice ass. Bend over and show me your cunt. Goddamned! You’re wearing a plug? I love it. Shit it out….
“Oh wait a moment, you’re loaded up! When was the last time you got fucked?… Lunchtime? At Ruby’s? How many loads are in you now? You don’t know!
“HA! I fucking love it. You come to what you think is a legitimate job interview, with your cunt loaded and plugged up. That’s fucking great. Take it out but clamp down. I want those loads to ferment in you a little longer…. Good. Good. That’s an interesting plug. It’s very stumpy. Perfect size for it to go in your mouth. You do realize that anything that comes out of your cunt should be cleaned off in your mouth? No, don’t lick it, just hold it in place.
“Follow me. Here let me give you something to look at, my ass. I may be fifty-nine, but my ass is still beefy like a 30-year-old who works out three hours a day. I don’t see you, but I know you are thinking about eating it. Don’t worry, like Gary, I love getting tongue fucked. You will be licking my shithole several times a day along with every other sweaty part of my body.
“OK. This pool house will be where you are going to be for the next couple weeks. I purchased this estate because of it. I put a lot of money into this space so that the four of us have a place to go to use faggots however and whenever we want. Mostly it will be you. Sometimes on game day, Ben will bring his boy over and both of you will serve and service us. It usually ends with a fuck fest of four on two.
“The two bedrooms are converted into a play space and a gym. You’ll sleep in the walk-in closet on a cot. The closet also doubles as a sling room when needed.
“Don’t be intimidated by all the sex furniture we have in here. Most of the time it goes unused, except for parties. The fuck bench is probably what you will spend most of your time on. Gary will definitely have you under the rimseat here or there’s another one in the bathroom. Ben will have you on the St. Andrew’s cross. That cupboard over there is nothing but various ropes, chains, leather restraints, plastic ties, rubber, and so on. If there’s a way to tie you up, Ben has it here.
“Speaking of which, here help me put these wrist and ankle cuffs on. You’ll have these on the entire time. It’ll make securing you into different positions easier. Ben likes to see them on the faggots we have here. He has had them on his boy for as long as they have been together. Here, let me put the padlocks on; we will be the ones to control when they come off…. Good. You’ll get to try them out on the St. Andrew’s cross over there.
“On your knees and lean forward. While Ben will like tie you down, Bryce likes to control you. This collar symbolizes that. When a faggot cunt is collared, it knows that it is not in charge, that it is owned, and that it is merely an object for real men to use. And that click of the lock now cements everything.
“I can see you are excited about this. Your pecker is leaking. You know what? So is mine. Look at it. I want you to beat off. This will be the first and last time you are cumming while here. So make it good. A pecker cage will be going on after you shoot.
“Then I’m gonna use your cum as my lube. Get your knees spread wide. Fuck this is beautiful. I have a faggot to play with for the next few weeks, maybe longer. Three of my best buds will share in your holes. You really have me leaking back here. I’m enjoying the view of your ass and back, thinking how good my arm would look going up your cunt.
“But I need to do this first. Hold your head still. This is a strap that will hold that plug in your mouth.
“Damn! That arm is going a mile a minute. Somehow let me know when you are close to cumming. I want to know the exact moment.
“Just think about your time here. You will be serving four men pretty much non-stop. Other men will be brought by. We may work you at the same time, but more often than not it’s done one-on-one.
“I want to fuck that cunt of yours, but I want your load first. So hurry the fuck up. My cock is ready to explode.
“From you grunts, you about to cum?… Good. Remember to collect it in your hand. I want you to cum on the count of five. One… Two… Three… Get ready. Four… And FIVE! Shoot!
“…Ha Ha Ha! You weren’t expecting that ball kick from behind, were ya? You faggots never do. Did you get any cum in your hand?… No? That sucks for you.
“What’s wrong? Your neck? Ohhhh. I forgot to mention. That collar is wired up. We can deliver painful shocks to you at any time. In case you were wondering, the shock was probably delivered by Bryce who is also in Vegas. This place is wired up with over one hundred cameras with microphones. Like any one of us, he has the ability of watching and probably was. I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything; the speaker system can broadcast orders to you, from anywhere in the world, and from any one of us.
“Roll over on your stomach and get your ass up in the air. I don’t give a shit that you are in pain from my ball kick and a shock from your collar. I want your cunt. You know what? I need a spreader bar first…. This one will do.
“I have nearly forty years in security and surveillance. There are sensors all over my property. You are to stay here or the pool area unless I give you permission. The collar will not allow you to go any further than this building, the pool, and the sauna hut. Oh, and that collar is waterproof. When I need you up in the main building, I’ll have the sensors turned off for that area.
“Monitoring faggots is so easy these days. I have been surveilling you for the past couple of months. Oh yeah, I know everywhere you went since Gary first connected with a bookstore cum dump whore, one that just happened to be the son of one of our employees. I ran a full background on you. I was able to hack into your phone, and I observed. I know the older men you try to connect with on Grindr and Scruff. I see the porn you watch. And you watch a lot of daddy porn, cruising porn, gang bang porn, ass eating porn, and so on.
“I know where you go. You hit the bookstore at lunchtime on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. On Fridays you stay back there to hit the after-work crowd. On Mondays and Wednesdays, on your way back from your community college, you hit the rest area.
“During this time, I did an extensive background check on your dad just as I did on you. Your dad has some issues with workplace security that are being addressed today by Bryce in Vegas. Trust me, your dad will not interfere in your internship. This was all planned, faggot. Every moment you thought you had a choice, we chose it for you.
“Now the spreader bar is in place set to painfully wide. Since you didn’t catch your load, I’m going in dry.
“With your wrists clipped behind your back, you aren’t going anywhere.
“Are you crying? You are. And you look panicked! Feel like you have no control over anything? Good!
“Fuck it’s not going to take me long to cum. I’m ready to burst.
“Jesus! You are loose! And sloppy! The cum stew feels good. Oh man.
“Not going to take long at all…. Oh faggot, you are made to be a cum dump faggot whore. This cunt belongs to me.
“Get ready. Get ready. Here I cum. Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuccccckkkkk!
“Shit! That was good. You got my load added to the cum stew you’re brewing.
“Your gaping hole could be tightened up. Clamp down on me…. That’s it? We’ll need to start cunt training on you. Get those pussy muscles back to providing pleasure.
“Hold still. I got to piss…. Oh man. Does this feel good. It feels right. You are a natural toilet. Gary said he pissed down your throat a few times. Toilet service will be expected of you. Mostly Gary and I are into it, but Bryce and Ben will use your mouth on game day.
“I’m gonna pull out. You need to keep this slop in you. Clamp down. It’s going to be tough, but do not spill one single drop. You do, you will regret disobeying me.
“You are a sight. I’m gonna lift up the spreader bar to the motorized pulley. Suspended upside down should keep that sludge in. The butt plug gag needs to come out. My cock needs to be cleaned off, and your mouth is at the right height.
“That’s it. Swirl your tongue around. Just like that. Faggot, you’re going to do fine here.
“Ok. I got to do some paperwork in the main house. I’ll be back in a while. If you need to be let down, respectfully call out. If one of us is watching you, we can let you down remotely.”
This story continues in Story #389, Story #394, and Story #400
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Euphoria (Memory Reboot x2)
PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader
SUMMARY: After wrestling with the lingering thoughts of Bateman, you finally found yourself open to Paul Allen's offer — a life-changing opportunity. But despite your resolve, you couldn't shake the need for closure. Determined, you sought one last encounter with Patrick, intent on resolving the unsaid and the undone before the cityscape of New York faded into your past.
CONTAINS: Smut, angst, mutual pining, obsessive behavior, desperate & sensual foreplay, anal fingering, pegging, sex toys, face riding, penetrative sex, rimming (Patrick receiving), oral sex (69, blowjobs), edging, biting, spanking, cum shot, masturbating, praise kink, body worship, drug usage, pet names, dirty talk, needy Patrick, misogyny, swearing, gaslighting, manhandling, mind manipulation.
WORDS: 8.7k
SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent — Euphoria
A/N: Hello everyone, I'm sorry it took me quite long to write this, I hope you like it! If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!
LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST].
The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the opulent meeting room of Pierce & Pierce office. Your heart seemed to beat to the rhyme of ticking, while you were nervously spinning the thin cigarette in your hands but never really trying to actually smoke; the glass ashtray in front of you would probably be left empty till the end of the day. It was even funny how drastically things changed after that…moment of privacy you shared with Bateman. Starting from that, you couldn’t really get him out of your head, even though it has already been several weeks of your pretending game of “nothing had happened” between you and Patrick. It was a matter of time, when your colleagues would start to notice your strange behavior whenever you and Bateman were in one room.
Squeezing the cigarette between your shaky fingers, you turned around in the leather chair to look at the New York skyline through the wide window. ‘That it is not an exit,’ echoed in your ears and you tried to shake the nervousness off from your tense shoulders, but the more you were being alone, the more surrounding space was weighing on you as if you were on the very bottom of the Pacific ocean.
The moment the door swung open and Timothy Bryce entered the meeting room, you were more in control of yourself. “Hey, Tim. Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Sorry, (y/n). Had a business call with some delusional prick.” Bryce snarled and took a seat across from you.
“Delusional prick?”
"Yeah, you know...delusional," he chuckled and glanced at the cigarette in your hand, which was still more like an accessory. "The guy thought I gave a fuck about his life and his wife, who used to be a whore, by the way."
With a soft snicker, you made yourself more comfortable in your chair, throwing one leg over another. “Wanna smoke?”
“Yep,” he leaned over the table to take the cigarette, your fingers touched for a moment but none of you paid attention. “So, what happened? Why did you want to see me?”
Confused, you took a moment to think about your answer. You worried a lot about picking the right words, but now you were even more anxious. ‘I just need to tell him the truth and that’s all,’ you reassured yourself before turning to face Tim. “Well, the thing is - I’m quitting P & P.”
Tim’s face remained unchanged for a second, but then the man furrowed his brows, tilting his head and rubbing his ear as if he didn’t hear. “You're what? Quitting?”
"Right," you gave him a half-smile and continued. "Recently, I received a very... very good offer from one company in Chicago."
“Jesus Christ. Chicago? Really?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Bryce lit the cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Who the fuck even gave you this idea? And why so sudden? You have such a good job here, with a good salary and…” He paused and blew a few rings of smoke. “Do those bastards pay well?”
Laughing heartily, you crossed your arms over your chest and watched the smoke dividing the room in two with a white veil. “So many questions. Are you interested in leaving Pierce & Pierce too?” That was not a serious question, since you knew that Bryce was more than satisfied with his job. “If I say who recommended that place to me, will you keep it a secret?” Tim nodded even before you could say something else. “I was at one P&P party, that one you decided to skip a week ago. So, there I met Paul Allen and we talked a bit and he mentioned that he just came back from his business trip from Chicago…we had a long conversation, but as a result he proposed to me to think about the option to change my current job.”
All the time while you were speaking, Tim was glancing at you with wide open eyes, his prominent brows curling up and down whenever you mentioned Paul Allen’s name. It was always funny for you to watch Bateman & Co getting so frustrated and annoyed whenever Allen was around or whenever someone discussed his success with having the Fisher account. To say the least, his ability to get a reservation at Dorsia. ‘I’m not gonna tell any of them that Allen offered me dinner in Dorsia after that party.’
“So you were unsatisfied with your job all this time and didn’t say anything? That sucks, (y/n). Didn’t expect that to come, not gonna lie,” Bryce made a low sound which was very similar to growling, but at the same time it also sounded like a scoff. “But, if that really is what you want, then who am I to judge you? We have only one life to fulfill all our needs, right?”
Timothy’s statement was like a balm to your soul, that was exactly what you hoped he would tell you and when he did, you felt some kind of relief washing over you like a breeze of fresh air.
“Thank you, Tim,” you finally grinned and put your elbows on the table. “Glad you didn’t start to read me notations.”
“Are you gonna tell him?”
“Him?” You squinted and tilted your head; your intuition was screaming that something was so damn wrong.
“Bateman,” with a sly smile, Bryce put the cigarette out in a glass ashtray; his glance was eloquent but you never really managed to read it. “I bet he will be upset. Very upset.”
“Bryce ” you rolled your eyes. ‘Is he lying or…?’ That question remained unspoken. “Leave these cheesy jabs to yourself, okay?”
Tim only laughed at your weak attempt to threaten him and stood up from the table. “You know, I saw him with Jean in Arcadia last night…�� Now this information could come in handy… “I think they had some kind of date or something, huh,” he chuckled again and fixed his tie, giving the picture on the opposite wall a scrutinizing glance. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but something is definitely happening. In my opinion, you should tell him about your…unexpecting leaving, you know.”
Before you could respond, Timothy Bryce looked at you one last time and left the meeting room. Now, you were left alone but not really alone as the weight of the newfound information lay on your shoulders like two massive dumbbells. ‘If everything is too obvious for Bryce, what other things might the others think about me and Bateman?’ That was a rhetorical question mostly, but still you couldn’t even get up from the chair, sensing the strange, chilling fear inside your chest—what if you were mistaken with accepting the offer of a new job?
Gritting your teeth, you snarled and almost kicked the table from beneath, your palms were clenching and unclenching, thankfully no one could see you like this. Swiftly but nervously, you finally stood up and headed out from the meeting room, striving to avoid any of your soon-to-be-ex colleagues on your way to Bateman’s office.
How many times have you rehearsed the words you were going to say while you were walking up there? Countless. But still, when you entered Patrick's office and saw his lovely secretary, everything inside you froze - words, emotions, even your breath.
“Hi, Jean,” you mumbled, with a half-smile on your slightly tensed face. “Looking good.”
“Uh, thank you,” the blonde woman replied and fixed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
As soon as you heard the echo of Patrick's voice through the office door, a lump formed in your throat and you had to cough several times because of the unpleasant dryness.
“Well,” you paused and glanced at the closed door with a nameplate ‘Patrick Bateman’ on it. “You would help me a lot if you let me have a private conversation with your boss.”
“Patrick is,” her voice suddenly wavered, implying that something was wrong. “He’s busy right now.”
“Oh,” you stepped back involuntarily. “Okay, I can come later.”
“No,” Jean replied curtly. “I’m sorry, but today is not an option at all.”
‘Is that some kind of joke?’ You hummed to yourself, already regretting coming here in the first place. “All right then. Have a nice day, Jean.” Turning around you already stepped out from the office when you head her voice:
“(Y/n), wait. Oh, I hope I pronounced your name correctly.” She blushed once you came back inside. “I think I can tell him about your visit, when he will be less busy.”
That offer was not something you would expect. “Actually, that would be nice,” you clicked on your tongue, considering your next steps. “Tell him that I have a reservation at Dorsia at eight o’clock–”
“Today?” Her question cut off your bluffing. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
You just grinned politely in return. “Yep, today. Tell him…that I need to talk with him about business and stuff. And, that it would be probably the last chance for him to catch up with me.” Jean’s eyes widened for a moment, but you reassured her instantly. “No drama, just changing my job.”
“Uh, that was probably a tough decision?”
“Not really,” you winked at her and crossed your arms over the chest. “But don’t tell him about that, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” She tried to hide her confusion behind a warm smile but failed. “I’ll tell him that you will be waiting for him at Dorsia tonight and that this conversation is very important.”
“Uh-huh,” you hummed and for a moment just stood there, looking at the closed office door. “Thank you, darling. For everything.”
You made a special accent on the word ‘darling’, purposely embarrassing her and leaving no room for any questions and other stuff that would make a current situation even more fucked up.
After you left Bateman’s office you had to find Allen as only half of what you told Jean was actually bluffing—you knew that Paul had a reservation at Dorsia tonight, considering he was inviting you for dinner. Allen’s strange interest in you wasn’t your top priority at that moment but using it for your sake was something you couldn’t deny at such a situation. So when you finally found Paul in one of the meeting rooms, you persuaded him to give you that reservation, explaining that you wanted to show one of your colleagues Dorsia before you would leave New York and move to Chicago. And even though everyone would find out that that colleague was Patrick Bateman, you wouldn't’ care since you would be far away from here.
A few hours later, the melodious voice of Whitney Houston reverberated off the walls of the opulent living room in Bateman's apartment, the lyrics of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," which Patrick knew perfectly, striking a chord in his chest every time the song came on.
But today everything was different.
Everything, except some random blonde bimbo who was on her knees between Bateman’s spread legs, sucking his thick cock but not actually giving him any pleasure. Frustrated, the man tugged on her hair without any compassion, bringing her closer, so her nose was almost brushing against his hairy pubis. But almost immediately, the woman began to whimper and claw at the perfect skin of his hips, and he didn't like it.
“What? Already tired?” Bateman sneered and fixated the blonde’s head in one place for a moment by her neck. “Or is that your first time? Then, I’m so fucking honored!"
As soon as the man let the blonde go, she pushed him away and sat back on her ass, breathing heavily. “Are you crazy?” the bimbo inquired and pressed a hand to her half-exposed breasts, her whole appearance looked messy. “I was about…t-to choke on your fucking dick!”
Sighing, Bateman rolled his eyes and just stretched out on the couch, lazily stroking his half-hard shaft. "So, this is your first time?" The woman hesitated to answer, which only made Patrick mock her even more. "Did you tell me that you have a boyfriend? And he works at P&P, right?"
Wiping her mouth with undisguised contempt, the blonde started to get up, but Patrick stepped on the hem of her dress and she almost fell. "Marcus! Stop it!"
"Uh, look at you," the man chuckled, watching her feeble attempts to get up. "Such a pathetic little bitch, pathetic and greedy," the man added, giggling. "Ready to give head to every vice president at Pierce & Pierce! Your boyfriend should be so proud of you."
The woman was on the verge of tears when Bateman finally allowed her to get up and collect her things. She had been in such a hurry that she had left her panties on the glass coffee table. All this gave Patrick much more pleasure than the blonde's inexperienced blowjob.
"Ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck dicks," he blurted out as the woman rushed into the hallway, rifling through her purse looking for something. "Since he's probably a pro at that sort of thing."
But the girl was already gone. So the man could only laugh to himself, so proud of his cheeky jabs, if only he didn't feel like a schoolboy dreading his upcoming meeting with his teacher. With a heavy sigh, Bateman closed his eyes for a second, his cock was already soft, but his sac were still tense and full of his cum; he felt too unsatisfied with himself, which only made things worse.
What was it even for?
The man could just take some coke, lie down on his bed, close his eyes and think of you—that was enough for him to cum so hard that he had to go to the laundry almost every day because he ran out of sheets. But today was different, considering that Patrick was going to meet you, and not just anywhere, but in fucking Dorsia. It seemed that everyone in this town could get a res there, but not him.
Biting his lower lip, the man looked down at the throbbing cock in his hand - the mere thought of you was making him horny as hell. "Shit…" If only he could reboot his memory and get rid of that scene in the Tunnel. If only. Meanwhile, the Whitney Houston tape continued to play the song "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". Bateman doubted he would be able to masturbate, he was too nervous and stressed out, even imagining you while that bitch was giving him head didn't work. Although it usually did. "Dorsia, huh," the man giggled nervously and checked his Rolex - he still had plenty of time. As if spellbound, Patrick slid to the floor and kicked off his leather shoes, his red tie already loosened and his pants hiked down. Leaning against the couch, Bateman threw his head back and began to jack off, recalling the forbidden, sinful sensations of your hand sliding along his hot flesh. "Mmm-fuck," he moaned and shivered, his free hand already gripping the edge of the white couch, several beads of sweat running down his tense temples. What if today he finally found the courage to confess? Confess that all these days had been a fucking torture for him, that he was ready to crawl on the walls from how much he longed for you, not even physically, but mentally. Maybe, just maybe, your reassurance that everything was not over for him, that maybe he still had a chance to have some normalcy in this cruel world—could change everything?
"Fuck, f-fuck!" Patrick cursed, sensing that his impending orgasm was slipping away from him just by reflecting on the things that were happening between the two of you. Jerking off and thinking about your sexy voice, your hot body and your cheeky smile was one thing, it always turned him on better than anything else, but thinking about the complexity of your relationship… that was not a turn-on for him. Not at all. Cursing to himself, Patrick slicked back his auburn hair and quickly got up to stagger to the bathroom, where he nervously opened the cabinet behind the mirror and found a small white jar of pills. Xanax was his only stress reliever so far. Taking a deep, almost desperate breath, Bateman looked at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes full of tears that threatened to cascade down like a waterfall. "This is not an exit." Patrick told his reflection, but opened the jar anyway and took a handful of pills. Frustrated, unsatisfied, he didn't know how he was going to survive dinner with you, and Dorsia was the last thing on his mind. "Because I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared."
Luckily, the marble walls of his bathroom were the only witnesses to his downfall.
Dawn came to New York faster than you could imagine. All the way to Dorsia you were nervous, but still confident in the plan you had made earlier that day. Even though you had failed in your previous attempt to dot the T's at the Tunnel, today would be different, you were sure of it. ‘I don't even know why, though,’ you chuckled to yourself, and the taxi driver gave you a concerned glance, but you just shrugged it off, signaling him to concentrate on the road.
In the restaurant everything looked the same as when you were here with Paul Allen, but this time you were not the one who was invited, but the one who invited another person—named Patrick Bateman—and speaking of whom, was late and that made you quite anxious. ‘What if he just doesn’t come?’ This thought made you fidget in the chair, your hands fumbling with the napkin on your knees and after telling the waiter for the second time that you were expecting someone else to come, your fingers became cold as if they were frozen.
“Maybe I can bring you some drinks?” The waiter didn’t give up, spurring you to order at least something to drink.
Quickly running a hand across your strained face, you exhaled loudly and nodded. “Yeah, drinks,” you stummered when you looked past the waiter, noticing the familiar elegant silhouette coming close to your table. “Can you…bring…some water?”
Confused, the waiter glanced down at the full glass of water next to you. “Uh, more water?”
“(Y/n),” Bateman’s voice echoed across the space. “I hope I didn't make you wait for so long,” he chuckled and took a seat at the table. “Had some important business affairs.” The moment he noticed the confused waiter, Patrick gave him his most sassy smile and checked his Rolex for no reason, probably just to show them out. “Can you please bring me a glass of J&B and some fresh salad to your taste.”
‘A salad, really?’ You almost snickered, but instead your face turned into a neutral expression. "Business, huh?"
Bateman rested more comfortably in his chair after the waiter finally left. "You know, some affairs with blonde hair and long legs, big tits and an amazing ass."
That came out of nowhere.
Still calm, you watched the man across from you smile, surely proud of himself and so damn bossy it was almost absurd. "You mean someone in particular, don't you?"
“Oh, yeah,” Patrick put his both elbows on the table, clasping his hands, revealing his gold Rolex once again. “Her name is Stephany, if I’m not mistaken, she’s a girlfriend of one of our accountants,” the man paused before snickering. “That one who makes monthly reports, you know him. So, I’m a bit late because I couldn't leave such a lovely girl without a treat she deserved.”
Right now, you didn't care if it was true or not—his well-framed—confidence was something you found very interesting and even amusing, as it was proof that he was preparing for this dinner just like you were.
"And that's when I thought vice presidents actually worked at Pierce & Pierce." With a slight grin, you joked and finally took a sip of water, feeling your throat suddenly go dry, just like when you were talking to Jean earlier.
Bateman's sudden laugh rang out like shattered glass. "'C'mon, (y/n), don't pretend you don't know that-"
"I know that your father owns almost half of the company," you interrupted him abruptly, and he wasn't happy about it. "And that gives you certain privileges."
"Don't be envious. It doesn't suit you."
"Envious?" You set the glass of water aside. "I think it was me who invited you here so that you could finally visit Dorsia… at least once."
The air between the two of you was thick with venom and something even more poisonous. Nevertheless, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't think Bateman was acting like the jerk he undoubtedly was. But, to be honest, you expected him to act a little less smug.
"I still think this place is overrated," Patrick hissed through clenched teeth right as the waiter brought him his whiskey and salad with sliced vegetables and some cheese, which he didn't even touch, taking a big gulp of his drink. "So, uh, Jean told me you wanted to talk to me about something important. What is it?"
The waiter didn't even try to offer to check the menu again and retreated, but he would definitely come back later with the same request, since you hadn't ordered anything yet.
"Well, it doesn't seem to matter anymore," you suddenly declared, crumpling the paper napkin before dropping it on the finest tablecloth. "The thing is—I'm quitting P&P and moving to Chicago. That's it. Nothing special, really."
The moment of silence washed over them both like a tidal wave. Visibly shocked, Bateman just sat there, then nervously straightened his tie and looked around as if to call for help. 'Not so ballsy anymore, Patty?' There was something about the way he was humiliated, something that stirred a burning flame in your gut that came dangerously close to burning you alive from the inside. And again, you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you could control it.
"Chicago?" Patrick repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"Why do both you and Bryce react as if Chicago were a desert island?"
"Heh," Bateman rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. "So Bryce knows everything. Why am I not surprised?"
"I'd tell you more," that was the moment you'd been waiting for so long—the moment of his vulnerability, and you couldn't stop yourself like a shark who sensed blood in the water. "Paul Allen was the one who actually recommended this job to me."
Patrick's jaw clenched at the mention of Paul Allen. "Really?"
"Yes," you continued to corner him. "One day we were having dinner, here, in Dorsia," you grinned, catching every little change in Bateman's no longer confident face. "He said one of his buddies was starting a new company, and they were looking for specialists… like me."
"Well," he began, sliding his hand across the table's surface as if to calm down. "Good for you, (y/n). Congratulations!" That was the most fake 'congratulations' you ever heard, even though you were expecting a slightly different reaction. "But I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to me before? Before you made your decision."
This question almost made you choke. 'Did he really say that?' And just as you were about to answer, the waiter came across the table again, choosing the perfect moment. Before he could offer to check the menu, you raised your hand in an irritating gesture. "Bring me a vodka and orange juice," Patrick's eyebrows arched almost immediately. "Double vodka, please."
"Yes, s-sure." The waiter stuttered before taking the crumpled napkin and walking away, very stressed.
Without giving yourself time to think, you leaned against the table and muttered. "Why should I? We are not friends."
"Of course not," Bateman scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the black pinstriped suit outlining his physique perfectly. "Not after you gave me a decent handjob in the Tunnel bathrooms."
Patrick caught you off guard by injecting this argument so blatantly into the conversation. "Decent? It was fucking amazing." You growled and quickly turned around to see if anyone was paying attention to your table, and when you were sure there was nothing to worry about, you faced Patrick again. "Too amazing, considering you seem to be thinking about it all the time."
"W-what? I… I didn't…"
Sneering, you tapped your fingers on the table in nervous anticipation of your drinks, even though you hadn't planned on drinking any alcohol, wanting to keep yourself as sober as possible for the dinner and everything that might or might not happen afterwards.
"Relax, Bateman," you rested your chin on your clasped hands, finally allowing yourself to examine his handsome appearance, including the way his cheeks were tinged with a red hue. "You've said too much already."
And from that moment on, you began to feel relaxed, even pleased with all the things Patrick revealed to you, accidentally or not, you would use every little detail to your own advantage when the time came.
A little later, when the waiter finally brought your cocktail, you finished it too quickly, so you asked for it to be repeated under the attentive hazel eyes of the man sitting on the other side of the table. The more drunk you got, the more topics you discussed, but when you mentioned Paul Allen again, you noticed that Patrick's good mood was fading.
"Wait a minute!" You held out a hand to stop him from jumping from one topic to another. "Can you tell me why the mere mention of Paul Allen triggers you so much? Is there something between you two?"
Bateman couldn't hold back a loud, hearty laugh. "That joke's too tasteless even for Bryce," he finished his whiskey, the salad still untouched on the table in front of him. "Allen…he's…not the person he tries to pretend to be."
"Oh?"
"I think he's part of that Yale thing."
You narrowed your eyes and leaned in closer. "Yale thing? What do you mean?"
Patrick quickly licked his lips, not expecting you to delve further into the subject. "Well, I think he's probably a closeted homosexual who likes to do a lot of coke and have orgies with male hookers."
At first you just giggled out loud, not caring that some people were looking at you, but then your face suddenly became serious. "How do you know about that? Did he tell you or…" you smiled playfully. "Did he do something… that made you think so," you bit your lower lip and drank the last drop of your cocktail with unabashed thirst. "That sounds strange…very strange."
"You're drunk, (y/n)," Bateman murmured, tilting his hand as if thinking about something. "Too drunk, which gives me the impression that you're as much of an amateur at drinking as you are at doing coke."
"Uh, s-shut up."
"See? Can't even speak words."
"Maybe...maybe I am drunk, now what? Are you gonna be a fucking gentleman like you always try to be and offer me a ride? Or maybe," you fixed your hair nonchalantly, your vision slightly blurred. "Would you be brave enough to show me your apartment?"
As soon as those words came out of your mouth, you knew there was no turning back, and your inner voice, which usually kept you from doing shit you would regret, seemed to fall asleep from the high level of alcohol in your system.
The man across from you straightened up at your bold suggestion, reading the subtext with ease. "Is that what you want? For me to take you to my place?"
His question hung in the air for a moment before you managed to come up with an answer, but you didn't know how to get out of this situation and turn it into a joke, as you usually did. Maybe you just didn't want to get out of it? Just like you didn't want to let him go when he helped you get up from the table after he'd paid for dinner and the two of you were in a cab. Not to mention when you almost fell down and the man caught you in his arms, but there was still a barrier between the two of you—an invisible wall—the only line that kept you apart. The line that was too dangerous to cross, but too tempting not to think about what lay behind it.
By the time the cab pulled up at the American Gardens Building, you were half asleep on Bateman's shoulder, his Lancome cologne not helping at all, making your mind even more cloudy. But you did your best to get out of the car without his help, letting the cool fresh air bring you some relief and clarity.
In the elevator, Patrick began to mumble about his musical preferences, but you didn't really pay attention because your brain was overworked trying to come up with a plan B in case things went too far. 'As if they hadn't gone too far already,' your inner voice suddenly tried to break through the thick layers of alcohol, affection and uncontrollable desire.
Bateman's apartment looked exactly as you had imagined—opulent, stylish, and very minimalist. Everything seemed to be in its place, including you, standing next to the tall window in his living room.
"Not a bad view," you admitted, taking off the jacket of your suit. "Not Central Park, but not bad at all."
"Central Park?" Patrick asked, hiding in the kitchen, which was perfectly connected to the living room, but you couldn't see him behind the wall as he examined the large number of different kitchen knives.
"Yeah, you know, Paul Allen's apartment faces Central Park, looks really fancy," you didn't mean to hurt Bateman's feelings, but the moment you turned around and saw him, it was obvious that your words had reached him. "But, I really prefer your place...it's more modern for my taste."
Puzzled, Patrick didn't hurry to join you in the living room, his thin fingers never ceasing to slide up and down the sharp blade in his hand, but at the very last moment, the man put the knife back in its place. With deliberate steps, he walked out of the kitchen and approached his stereo system.
"Really?" He asked in disbelief, as if his life depended on your answer.
Such a reaction from him was oddly appealing, the vulnerability, the desperation in his brown eyes. This was a level of satisfaction that no drug could ever match. Meanwhile, Bateman turned on the music, the charming voice of Phil Collins filling the room as "Invisible Touch" began to play.
The man was examining the tape in his hands when you slowly approached and gently cupped his face, inducing him to look at you. "Yes, I do," you confirmed your previous words, and when Patrick didn't flinch from your touch, you decided to go on, tracing your finger along his sensual lips, fighting the urge to kiss them here and now. "Speaking of preferences," you removed your hand only to place it on the lapel of his suit. "Would you be a good boy and give me a full tour of your apartment, including the bedroom?"
In any other situation, you would probably die from shame at saying something like that, but not now. Not with him, because no sooner had your question escaped your lips than you noticed that his hands were shaking, and the CD was about to fall out of them, so you had to gently grab it and pull it out of his hands. Bateman reminded you of a man struggling with addiction, every twitch of his plump lips, every furrow of his perfect eyebrows spoke volumes about the undeniable affection between the two of you, an affection you were both too exhausted to fight and hide.
Without further ado, you placed the CD on top of the stereo and pressed Patrick against the nearest wall, holding the lapels of his Valentino suit and sealing his hot mouth with yours, opening it wider with your tongue, so eager to taste him again after such a long wait.
"Mmhm," he purred into the kiss, his hands desperately wrapped around your waist, then going lower to cradle your hips, groping and squeezing a little too hard so that you had to bite his lip to make him stop, but the man just growled and pushed you closer, your groins rubbing against each other in the most lewd way possible. "Bedroom...go to the bedroom...and wait for me there."
Bateman's words right after the kiss sounded like nonsense, which you found oddly arousing. With a foxy smile, you licked his cheek, then his neck, almost biting the artery and sucking on the reading mark. "No, no, no, Bateman," you shook your head, grabbing his neck slightly to kiss him again, but he did it first. Even now Patrick was trying to take the lead, your tongues fighting for control like two snakes entwining around each other. "I'm in no mood for games or waiting."
The moment you said it, Bateman lifted you with practiced ease as if you weighed nothing, and you didn't even have a chance to protest as he began to move toward the closed room behind his white couch. In his arms, you finally felt complete, even if you let him take the lead for a while. Noticing the pair of panties on the glass coffee table, you wrapped your legs around him and buried your fingers in his silky hair, ruffling them and letting them fall on his forehead, making him look even hotter.
Jesus, you were on the verge of an explosion just from the foreplay alone.
Bateman's bedroom greeted you with stark white walls, the brightness of which was almost painful to look at as he turned on the light holding you with one arm, and the king-size bed on which he carefully placed you, but you didn't let him pull away, tugging at his tie and forcing him to lay on top of you.
"Fuck, look at you," Patrick grazed your earlobe before massaging your chest through your shirt and hovering over you. "So insatiable, aren't you? Running in circles like a trapped kitten."
Growling, you pulled him closer again to suck on his lower lip, letting your body rub against his so you could feel how hard he was, so painfully hard, considering the sound he made when you snaked your hand between his legs to cradle his bulge. "Are you gonna cum in your pants if I don't stop?"
With a determined persistence, you continued to massage his hard cock through the layers of his expensive clothes as you removed his jacket and then his suspenders, one by one. Bateman didn't interfere as he was also busy getting rid of your clothes without actually tearing them apart.
"Let me," you insisted as soon as you noticed him struggling to unbutton your shirt. "This is my favorite shirt, you know," you gasped, your own fingers trembling, making it difficult even for you to finally remove your shirt. "I don't want it to get torn."
When you finally got rid of the top part of your clothes, the sight of your exposed skin made Patrick grunt in hunger, and the next second the man was already sucking on your nipple, his muscular frame shaking on top of you from your teasing ministrations on his twitching dick and hard balls. Damn, you wanted to suck him dry as much as you wanted to ruin him until he forgot his own name.
"Don't like it anyway," Bateman muttered suddenly, holding your hands above your head. "You need to go to some... fashion shows... maybe you will have more free time in Chicago, considering Paul Allen offered you this job. I'm sure it would be some boring shit."
‘Good Lord, he mentioned him again…’ You rolled your eyes and turned away from his face, eliciting a low rumble from Patrick's massive chest. "What the fuck is wrong with Paul... are you... jealous of him or something?"
"Me?" he asked, confused and you took the opportunity to release your hands and roll over so that you were now on top of him. "I'm not the one bragging about having dinner with him in fucking Dorsia!"
Bateman sounded like a little boy who was upset that no one wanted to play with him, which made you giggle, but then you straddled him and opened his white shirt and removed his tie.
"The more you talk," you murmured as you ran your hands along the smooth skin of his torso, paying special attention to his toned pecs and abs. "The more you make me think you two had a history," you leaned down to teasingly lick his lips, your sneaky hands already working on the zipper of his pants. "But still, I don't care." In one swift motion, you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, watching his thick cock pop out, yearning for your attention. "Mhmm, the last time we were alone you worked me up really good, I wanna return the favor," your hands wrapped around the base of his beefy shaft, the small droplets of his pre-cum already covering its tip, forcing you to lick your lips in hunger. "If you have nothing else on your mind?"
Did you really care about his feelings since you asked him that question?
The man beneath you was definitely growing impatient, his hands gripping your hips as if he was about to imprint his fingerprints on your skin if you were not wearing your pants.
"Lie on your side," Bateman suggested suddenly. "Take off all your clothes and lie down here," he tapped the spot next to him and you stood up quickly, as if he had cast a spell on you. Never in your life did you get rid of your clothes faster than now. "Uh, what a cute ass you have, (y/n)."
You frowned at his words, giving him your dead stare as you slipped out of your underwear, giving him the full view—the glint in his hazel eyes was too much to ignore—so you turned around and presented yourself to him; Bateman couldn't help but lazily stroked himself, putting a hand under his head.
"Tell me, Bateman," you began, your hands slowly sliding down your bare skin. "Have you been thinking about me all this time?" You cupped your ass, bending over a little so he could see the spot right between your legs. "Or have you found a way to forget things you don't want to remember?"
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second. "I wish there was a way to forget." Patrick murmured and watched as you lay on your side in the 69 position, then he did the same, his hot breath scorching the soft flesh between your thighs.
You wrapped your hands around his hips and eagerly took his drooling dick in your mouth, while he was lapping at your crotch. "Mm-fuck," you jerked against his face, your fingers digging deeper into his skin as Bateman feasted on you like the most delicious meal. "Me too, Bateman, m-me too."
Having said that, you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip of his veiny cock, causing a muffled moan to erupt from his mouth, its vibration sending shivers down the base of your spine, only spurring you on to go further, pushing his dick deeper into your mouth. Soon the room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your shared oral pleasure, punctuated by soft but powerful moans and groans as you both teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Gripping your ass, Bateman responded to your actions with the same passion, devouring every drop of your flavor and giving you no chance to escape, his strong arms like ropes around your body. After giving his cock the attention it deserved, you decided to tease his heavy balls with light lapping on them, before slipping a finger inside his tight ass, you expected him to protest but instead you heard him moan and the next moment his hips began to move towards your penetrating movements.
"Good boy," you praised him, rolling your eyes at the way the man was sucking on your most sensitive spot. "Taking my finger so well..."
The coil in your lower abdomen was about to snap at any moment, but you still wanted more, you wanted to feel that cock inside you, even if it was going to rip you a apart. Breathlessly, you didn't even remember asking him about condoms, and how you managed to get out of bed and go to the closet, where you found a little box Bateman was talking about—its contents almost made you gasp in awe, so you decided to take it with you.
"Well, well," you crooned as you stepped back into the bedroom. "Should I ask you what this is or are you going to tell me?"
With a wide grin, you held out a large purple dildo, Patrick's eyes twitched and he gulped, leaning on his elbows. "I... I use it with hookers," the man confessed, licking his glistening lips covered with your juices. "Why?"
"Hmmm, you like watching women play with it?" You asked as you reached the bed. "How about actually using it and not just watching?"
Damn, you could swear you saw his breath catch in his throat, his muscles tense and his dick throbbing just at the mention of using that sex toy on him. 'So he likes that idea, what a naughty boy,' you chuckled to yourself and took your place on the bed next to him. "This is going to feel so good, baby," you brought the dildo to his lips, suggesting that he lick it for lubrication, and when he did, you could barely keep yourself from cumming, just from the sight of his tongue flicking around the tip of the silicone sex toy. "Get on your knees and let me take care of you."
"Fuck," Bateman cursed, but it was too late to turn back. Embarrassed but extremely aroused, the man got down on all fours and gave you full access to his firm ass, which you immediately fondled, spreading his buttocks and biting them one by one. "Mmh-hmm, (y/n)."
"Relax," you stroked his hips, kissing the lower part of his back just above the dimples that were too sexy to ignore. "God, you have such a beautiful body," you decided to praise him, knowing the effect it would have on him. "I would worship it forever if I could," which was only half true, or maybe...it was not. Leisurely, you showered his soft skin with little peaks here and there, dotting it with your marks of love, not even realizing that you were giving all of yourself to the process.
As you pressed the tip of the dildo against his puckered muscle ring, Patrick tensed at your touch, gripping the sheets and closing his eyes, so overwhelmed and confused at the same time, but your reassuring hand on his trembling one encouraged him to look back at you as you hovered over him to kiss his lips, his neck, his shoulder.
"(Y/n)," Bateman suddenly huffed through his clenched teeth. "I want you to..." he gasped as you flickered your wet finger around his tight asshole. "...fuck."
"You want me to feast on that delicious ass of yours?" You finished the sentence for him, grinning in pure gratification at his complete submission. "Is that what you want?"
"Yeah, y-yes," he grasped the sheets and positioned himself more comfortably on all fours— a clear sign that he was not used to this position and you couldn't miss it. "I want to feel your tongue... all over me."
"Shit, Bateman, you're a real sweet talker." With that you put the dildo on the bed next to you and before you knew it you were spreading his ass cheeks wide open to make a flat lick along his tight hole. "I wanna hear you," you gently but insistently probed his ass with your warm tongue, giving him several slaps on the buttocks that drove the man wild as you felt his velvet walls tighten around your tongue. "Good boy, c'mon, spread it out for me."
Blushing, Patrick used both hands to spread himself for your eager ministrations as you fucked him with your tongue while your hands traveled all around his hips before you wrapped one of them around his pulsating cock, fuck, he was so close, you could tell by the way his balls tensed when you gave them a slight squeeze.
"Don't cum until I let you," you commented and the next moment you were already pushing the sleek sex toy into his ass and this time he accepted it gradually, taking it in with ease—the sight made you gasp but you focused on giving him pleasure. "Tell me, Bateman, how does it feel?"
The question remained unanswered for a brief moment as you began to slid the dildo in and out, stimulating his prostate and causing him to shake and whimper in pure bliss, but when you decided to add fuel to the fire by jerking him off and sucking on his strained sac, Patrick could barely contain himself, his legs about to give way at any moment.
"F-fuck, a-aahhh, mmhhmm," he murmured into the pillow, his hands finding their way to your messy hair, gripping them almost to the point of pain. "I...c-can't...hold...it any longer," Bateman's wailing bounced off the walls of his luxurious bedroom, which had never seen anything like it before. "I..."
Though you wanted him to last longer, you were too overwhelmed yourself, feeling the string in your belly ready to burst. "Let it go," your words were like a balm to his ears as, just a moment later, his cock pulsed in your grasp, spraying loads of his thick cum across the Chinese sheets that Patrick had always been so fond of. "That's it…" You didn't stop fucking him with a dildo, nor did you stop pumping his throbbing dick, milking it until the last drop of his seed. "Good boy, you're such a good boy."
Panting, you pulled out the sex toy, covered in his slick, and brought it to his trembling lips, inducing him to suck it before taking it into your mouth, feeling the mixture of tastes on the tip of your tongue. Then, Bateman rolled onto his back, desperately gasping for air, his cock still hard. That was fucking phenomenal, but you didn't comment, thinking about your own orgasm at last. Locking your eyes with Patrick's hazel ones, you touched yourself the moment he beckoned you over, and without words, you mounted his flushed, sweaty face, riding it as desperately as you could, using his tongue and lips without shame. Tilting your head back, you grabbed his head and almost clawed at his scalp, feeling your insides about to fucking explode from the tension. So when you peaked, your scream could be heard all over Bateman's apartment. The orgasms you had before were nothing compared to this. It took everything from you, it made you die and rise again.
The final chord of the parade of shameless lust was when you let him fuck you in a way you didn't even expect. Spooning you from behind after he put the condom on, the man lifted your leg and sheathed himself inside of you till the hilt, making you feel so full you had to wrinkle the fabric underneath, but that was just the beginning as Bateman pulled you closer, trapping you in his arms like a cocoon, his tongue sliding around your ear shell with undisguised affection,
"Mmhmm, fuck, you're...so perfect," the man whispered into your ear, setting up the pace and resting his hand between your legs for extra stimulation. "Holy fuck! I'm cumming again, omh-shit..."
"Fuck m-me, yeah, just...l-like that...a-ahhh," you coaxed him to fuck you harder as you suddenly found yourself on the verge of climaxing again. "Gimme everything, baby, a-awww...goshhhhhhhh," you were the first to fall over the principle of pleasure, twitching along his body as if you were hit by the electric shock, all your nerves were on fire. "Bateman, mmhm-fuck-fuck! Your dick feels s-so good.."
Your vivid orgasm became the last straw for his second release as you felt him bite at your neck, his buffed frame shaking in spasms of pure rapture, you even had to hold back a scream from how painfully Patrick's hands squeezed your hips, but it was pleasurable pain of being ruined, of being fucked into a wet mess. Barely breathing, you didn't even remember how you passed out from exhaustion and for the first time in the last few days you fell asleep completely satisfied and happy.
When the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds into Bateman's bedroom, you were already awake, as was he, but since you were lying with your back to his face, you didn't notice until the man kissed your shoulder, snuggled up against your neck, and made you roll over to face him.
As you did so, you dared to look directly into the brown eyes still clouded by the aftermath of your shared pleasure. "Hey." He muttered in a husky voice.
"Hey," you murmured back, hugging the pillow. "Did you sleep well?"
“Surprisingly—yes," the man stretched his arms, flexing his muscles and checking himself in the mirror on the other side of the room, which you hadn't even noticed. "(Y/n), I want you to go to the office and tell everyone that you're not going anywhere."
Shocked, you blinked several times, not knowing what to say as you hadn't expected anything like this.
With a nervous chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh, you rolled onto your back before sitting up on the bed. "Oh God, you're such a little Delulu, it's even funny," you looked at him—his face was nothing but a blank space without any visible emotions. "Did you really think that random sex would change my mind about changing jobs?" You chuckled again, louder this time. "I mean, the sex was really good, but... it's not like I'm going to give everything for this, you know?" With that, you got up from the bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself. "Can I take a shower?”
Trapped in the thought that only he could know, Patrick rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling above him. "Yes," he murmured, barely audible. "Do whatever you want."
Walking towards the bathroom, you suddenly stopped and turned half around. "You better forget it," you said, savoring every word and finally returning the favor. "Maybe ask Paul Allen for advice," you grinned as you watched Bateman close his eyes in a feeble attempt to distance himself from everything that had happened. "Maybe he knows something about memory reboot machines that can help."
Without waiting for his answer, you continued on your way to the bathroom. Even though you were pleased with yourself, your revenge didn't taste sweet, but bitter, and its bitterness would remain on the tip of your tongue even after you washed yourself clean under the hot streams of water.
But the game was worth the candle, as they said.
Was it?
P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!
#american psycho#patrick bateman x reader#patrick bateman imagine#patrick bateman#patrick bateman x female reader#patrick bateman x you#slasher x reader#slashers x reader#slasher x you#slasher smut#patrick bateman smut#patrick bateman headcanon#christian bale smut#christian bale x reader#patrick bateman reader#christian bale#patrick bateman imagines#patrick bateman x male reader#gn reader
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Guess who might have walking pneumonia hahaha. Idk gang something something.. there’ll be a Bryce Lawerence post or maybe a ‘Kleos finally lost it- redesigning class 1-A’ post let’s see I’m just feeling really bad and fatigued but to the point that the fatigue is overwhelming me if that makes sense (like I almost broke down into tears because my body feels a certain way and everything feels so slow and I feel so tired and my mind just feels tired and I just want to do my school work and I barely held it together).
Either way peace and love gang, I got to the point in season 7 where the dub episodes haven’t been released yet and even though I’m capable of watching the og voice acting with subtitles and usually prefer that I just can’t switch voice actors right now. Either way my favorite characters are like.. Present Mic, Seji Shishikura(?), inasa, Shoji, Tokoyami, Aoyama, and STAIN. STAIN IS MY FAVORITE I LOVE HIM, something something stain and his hypocrisy something something Stain overlap with punk subgenres and like anti capitalism and whatever
All that to say uhm. Kleos kinda going through the wringer, but I’ll have some art to provide everyone soon :3 I started messing around with a new brush on Ibis paint I really like right now and it’s making me make art in a particular way that I’m liking right now.
#hehe :3#idk how to tag this#pjo hoo toa#mha#bnha#stain is still my pookie fuck I wanna talk about him a lot#that list I had listed I could talk a lot about Stain and Shishikura#obviously one of them is not a prominent character and the other is Stain but just hnnnnngh#chewing at my bars#Bryce Lawerence post finally will probably mention my off handed Bryce stuff for like HoO imagined that doesn’t really matter much#I just haven’t had the energy to make it#and the art#I got hit by some colors#okay bye#AND 8:11#that’s not super relevant#but I got really into it#and I like Vittorino#and Dante Basilio#and I haven’t sat through watching a full playthrough because I’ve been brain ew#but I know about them and I know about Vittorino and that’s enough for me to maybe make art of him.#and uh maybe mouthwashing#not promising anything#but Curly might get thrown in#okay#actually for real bye
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separated and reunited
(keep reading is just me yapping so i dont put everything in tags)
i did a little change for my Liam design cause idk what was wrong with me and giving him STRAIGHT HAIR, GIVE THAT MAN DREADS YOU FOOL. thats what the people want (the people are me) i really love how bitter sweet the ending for one is, very open ended for people to think how Liam gets out himself.
I and i assume many others think Liam learns how to use the computer and get everyone out safely. but i also love thinking about how long that would take, how much pressure Liam has on himself to figure it out as fast as possible. i want to think it takes him a week or more, since he wants to be extra careful and not do what airy did with his first batch. lots of breakdowns and sorry's to the people trapped. there would prob be nights Liam talking to them and recollects his thoughts. explaining to Amelia what happened and how they got back, telling little stories about their lives. actually kinda having some sense of relief since airy is gone. And they do finally get back to earth and Bryce keeps with his promise to Liam and meet each other again. I want to think Amelia would also be there ,:) even though she would be struggling just as much as Liam when he first came back, she's been there longer. I want to think with her boss being so understanding she would get a job back, but she would not have her house.
#soda bottle hfjone#hfjone liam#hfjone#hfj bryce#osc community#object shows#sodapack#hfj backpack#osc#liam plecak#bryce hansen#onehfj#hoodedjelly art
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reading your and jaspers posts about bryce with silent admiration because im too scared to contribute but i really love bryce so much hes my girlfriend and my husband and i like hearing u guys talk about him because youre Right. especially as someone who struggled from grief and trauma and being abused i think bryce's case interests me more than any of the other characters (even though liam is my favorite, and it says a lot because i find all of them interesting) because there is so much to him. i doubt he has processed a single thing about what happened. i think stellas death was recent too honestly, within the last few years at least, and he copes by... not coping. burying himself in work and drinking in the hopes to forget about it. not even to mention the fact that in episode 7 it showed him driving home drunk personally i feel he was past the point of caring to the point of engaging in risky/dangerous behaviors (this speaks for itself, i dont think i need to say why). i think that the plane impacted him so much that within those 7 months after leaving he got his shit together. i cant speak for if hes totally sober or not but at the very least he doesn't drink as much as he used to and i doubt he's putting himself in danger anymore. to be honest i think bryce is one of the characters who has changed the most because of the plane, which makes him being rejoined all the more interesting to me. im probably just making shit up but i like to read into it a little more than "bryce and liam were getting along but now theyre separated and liam has to fix it oh no". sorry this ask is kind of word vomit im not in the headspace to tidy it up but i hope you get what i mean
i think if one had continued for longer than it did it would have been interesting to explore bryce finally accepting and coming to terms with his past (him not seeing his childhood home in the wr anymore kind of representing this). i love bryce and he deserves to heal
TY!!!!!!! im glad my thoughts warrant admiration to you :D!!!!!!!!!!! (i will say tho that every time uve ever posted YOURE thoughts i am like ohhhhh.... ur SO RIGHT. i think u have some of the BEST interpretations of the one characters ive seen!!!!!)
(talked SOOO so much .so there is a readmore :) )
brcye really IS such an interesting character???? ik ive said it before but i AM biased towards protagonists so i usually focus on liam but like ...... bryce really IS probably one of the more. indepth ? characters in one in terms of like. background and how he Acts. i think ALL of teh characters are written really incredibly but i think, given how much of his bg is clarified (esp in contrast with how little is shown of the other characters lives pre-one) his motives, personality, emotions all end up being SUPER super elaborate and i REALLY love how he was written ??
(that said i think the reason he IS elaborated on sm is bc like. one doesnt elaborate on character backgrounds like MOST of the time. even charlotte is mostly left up to interpretation, bc one is more about the HOW people respond rather than WHAT made them respond that way. but charlotte and bryce are both outliers, and bryce ESPECIALLY so. because both obviously have Things they havent worked through properly, but bryce is directly just. Living in it. its the fact that he WONT acknowledge the actual Things that hapepned enough to heal that warrants the elaboration. while the other characters stop acknowledging ANYTHING about their lives , save for charlotte, who gradually works out her issues themselves, because THATS whats effecting her, bryce is CONSTANTLY just. he Needs to go back, but his problems ARE about what happened, and the fact that his life outside of the plane was what MATTERED to him, but that even then, he just Wouldnt acknowledge that life when he Needed to. idk if that makes sense but ohhh i think about the decision to elaborate on some characters and to not on others bc it feels Important)
hes so. he mirrors all of the contestants in some ways, but he mirrors amelia a LOT in that both of them respond to trauma by Setting It Aside. like That Trauma Cant Affect Me If I Dont Look At It. like. ur right bryce has NOT processed ANY of his trauma. which like it makes SENSE bc. it prob feels so much easier to him to not think about it by drinking instead, because its a Lot to think about. its a Lot to come to terms with. but bc he WONT acknowledge it but its still AFFECTING him he just gets More and More miserable (the detail about him driving home drunk and not even caring is so. :( )
what IS one of the most. compelling? aspects of his character to me is the way he responded to Everything after getting eliminated. bc it just feels So Real. because he IS healing, not completely, and not in the best way, but he clearly like. started putting SO much work into improving his life??? (the detail of him finally getting an end table for his bed instead of just... using a cardboard box ALWAYS gets to me. and that + the fact that the photo of stella is put up makes it seem like. THATS what was in that box. he LITERALLY started Unpacking thigns. its like poetry to me.) because it IS hard, and i think hes still putting things to the side, shoving the trauma from the plane to the side now instead of all his other grief and trauma. and the removal of the cans from his room yknow?? that hes getting up for work on time now?? its like. yeah i agree idk if hes necessarily SOBER yet but he really does seem like hes working really hard
its not perfect, but its BETTER and it feels. correct?? (and tbh? trying to brush off the plane as a dream isnt even teh worst thing he couldve done with that, i think, bc reasonably what WAS he supposed to do w that experience?? i dont think there WAS a good answer) bc the plane was a whole new kind of trauma. and i think surface level, one would THINK hed get WORSE after further trauma but like. i think he DID in some ways but in the ways that actually affected how he acknowledged and responded to his pre-existing trauma DID get better bc, as he puts it, hed Thrown his life away before, and didnt want to do it again. bc this time, he very well couldve died. and while he was on the plane, being home, on earth was SO much better than the plane, and it recontextualized Everything. hell, maybe after that, the earth finally felt Less daunting, like somewhere he Wanted to be, because for once, he WANTED to be back, and rationalizing That and the fact that he got Lucky, that something Worse couldve just full on Killed Him Forever really DID mean he didnt WANT the worse to come, at least not as much as before. but that meant he HAD to start actually Working on improving things, and i think he may not have Intended to acknowledge Worse things, but simply because the things he had to do to improve his life, like drinking less, making his house more Livable, they all Forced him to think about things More. hes still certainly not thinking about them as much as he Should, hes still not Processing things, but hes Heading in the right direction . he really was SO changed by ONE
and then liam showing up forces him, once again, to think about something he tried to push to the side. aaaaaaaandd then he rejoins and its so. it feels thematically fitting and IS so so SO interessting. because for once in his life hes REALLY facing his trauma head on. but then is brought straight back into it. and i need to think about that aspect more bc those thoughts are a bit less Focused than my other thoughts but given how complex his writing is after he gets OUT, its. SO interesting to think about how being BACK affects him
esp bc like. him starting ep 18 Pissed Off- which historically his responses to trauma are to either just Be Shocked, as depicted a LOT in ep 14, or to get Very Vocally pissed, as shown through the first half of s1, esp ep 6, and ep 11, and ep 13, and ep 18. ive seen it written as 'he doesnt have anywhere to direct the sheer amnt of STRESS and fear so he just. ends up yelling at people bc what else CAN he do' and i think thats?? probably fairly accurate. i dont think hes as Constantly Irritable and Irrationally Angry as fanon presents him , bc it tends to be. excessive. but he DOES get reasonably angry in response to stress !!! i always think abt how his body language in the 'credits' scene of ep 6 look like hes yelling at airy. and im. lays on the ground. i dont even know if thats ever as much 'just anger' as it is Fear and it FUCKS ME UP
but the way i see it, that ties to ep 18 a LOT. because he was really Getting better. hell, what he thought was the WORST that could happen HAPPENED (dying) but he. came out OKAY? its like he was being forced to think about and work through his trauma and he survived and was ok. but being sent back is like. 'oh god i did that all for nothing.' but i think it also sort of?? serves as the Last Push for him to really, REALLY acknowledge the plane (which is why it makes sense so thematically for him to be the rejoiner. he WAS the only contestant whod Chosen to ignore it all. but that has nothing to do with the plane, he cant choose if the plane ignores Him.) past talking about its affects, how its affected people. because after everything hed worked toward, hes Back. hes back, and everyone else is STILL HERE. liam had said they were all still There but seeing them there is a whole other thing. hed SEEN the effects of making it out after 7 months. but he never saw what it was like to still BE there after all that time. and bryce CARES about them (fanon sometimes treats him as if he is a bit. coldhearted? but i think people misattribute him being unhappy with liam as him not caring. i think the problem is that he maybe cares too much, and was affected a LOT, but didnt and doesnt know how to handle that. so he WANTS to ignore it, because it was all he could do, and haaving to backtrack on his haphazard healing from the plane is. highly daunting and uncommfortable and terrifying. thats not being cold though, thats VERY different) and now he HAS to acknowledge Everything, has to be a part of it Again. and i think its a combination of 'liam was here for 7 months after we all thought itd only be a few weeks. Anything could happen. who knows how long ill be here for?' and 'liam didnt have anything when he came back. will I have anything when i come back?? will i have worked so, so hard to heal and fix my life for Nothing?' and 'i dont WANT to be here again.' and 'oh my god all of them Really Really Are Here. Theyve been here the whole time.' and i think all that culminates in an appropriate amount of horror, and that prompts him to do what hes STARTED doing, which was All He Can. and hes pissed off cus hes terrified, so he spurs everyone into pulling out the plug. and then. it doesnt work. it doesnt work and thats the LAST of what he had, and i think iirc hes the LAST one to close his eyes afterwards. because hed BEEN off the plane, hes the one of them who had any hope to give them anymore. and it didnt work
(i also think a lot about how it mustve felt seeing the contestants all so. resigned. because bryce was like that before all this, but ever since one began he was stubborn, and didnt WANT to give up. and i think finding out that these people youd seen try so, so hard just to Handle Any Of This be SO resigned would be. so fucked up. he knew amelia when she was so determined to leave, and while charlotte seems a bit saddened by her resignation, bryce was there BEFORE that happened. he wasnt there like liam or charlotte was to see it gradually develop, and to develop that despair alongside them. all hes seen is that amelia was so determined. and that he may not have known her THAT well before, he knows shes different. he knows she Gave Up and like. GOD. and also i think abt how he mustve Felt seeing the plug for the first time because ehs the only one of them who hadnt seen it before (given its likely all the other characters had, since they casually refer to it). and given the short time frame between him getting there, and the contestants trying to pull the plug? it almost seems that that was like. the last straw. and ive never posted it but i once drew stuff abt it bc. the damage to it is noticable. and i think hes already aware liam was fucked up, but this is like. a tangible, permanent record of that on the plane. and he cares about liam, and has been grappling with all the things liams told him, but thats. thats something he can See. And i think it all of it culminates in him deciding that what hes been avoiding is doing Soemthing about all this, because before he couldnt, and then it was. an awful idea to, and then he didnt have many choices BUT to help. but now theres hardly anything to do, but he has to try. he doesnt want to give up. and it makes me soooooooooooooooooo. head in hands.)
anyway that was a LONG tangent the point is. YEAH. i think rejoining would be. very very significant for his character i dont think youre making shit up its DEFINENTLY a topic w a lot of things to discuss about it
but god. yeah it wouldve been SO nice to see him come to terms with everything hed been through before one. i think the show purposefully included what it did and ended when it did because it makes more sense thematically for it to go unresolved, because the point was that NOTHING was able to be resolved nicely because unfortunately, many things are Out Of Their Control. things COULDVE resolved almost perfect but enough things went wrong at just the right (or more fitting, wrong) time for all of that to not work. i think him no longer seeing the suburbs may have signalled more that maybe, just maybe, he could Do something to help the other contestants even if HE was Dead, that now he finally HAS a goal, if that makes sense (though i think even in the timeline of the series it still wouldve taken way longer for him to process everything Fully, they WERE only in the waiting room for probably about a day) but the idea of finally seeing the waiting room as it is bc hed finally worked through everything .... man.............. man
ik ive already said it though but i DO think it is sooooo so possible for him to heal post canon. im a firm believer that no matter what, at LEAST bryce and ameliaa get home (liam and charlotte have more room for error but i DO generally interpret the ending as them both getting home too, theres just less room for things to go wrong w amelia and bryce). and i think after everything? hed be able to heal. it would SUCK but i think hes, shockingly, in a better place Logistically for things to improve, because he has a support system, he has what hed already worked on in those 7 months, he has so much to aim for. it would be rough and take long but i think ultimately? hed be able to heal :) and its what he deserves
#ask#got SO rambly in this answer . this ask made me think SO MUCH#man tho. the theme of people responding to Trauma in one is legitimately so.#it feels so significant and i think it was done SO well#like. fun fact but ep 6 was what REALLY sold me on the show when i first watched it#which SOUNDS morbid but it was the post credits scene that Got me#because it jsut. sounded so much like how trauma is discussed irl. when liam like#says 'i was riding home on my bike when it happened' i remember i was so. Ohhh My God#bc i was. oh this show is just. having characters naturally respond to and discuss trauma#like it wasnt just an element of the series anymore it clicked that the show was developing a literary THEME and it made me sooooo emotiona#like it esp hit hard bc . discussing trauma is a LOT and seeing them Talk Abt It like that hit me so hard.#and to this day that scene is just so. emotionally impactful#AND sidenote its so. at that pt in the series nothing has been Revealed abt bryces life before one#but the fact that hed Been Through Shit Before makes the scene feel so important.#because bryce has been through a LOT of trauma already. and bc of that? of course hes the one talking to liam. because he *gets it.*#of course he talks about it so naturally. he may not have really worked through anything but he KNOWS this#and whether or not liams been through stuff before doesnt matter here. because this isnt something he knows how to live through#but bryce has experience with living through things. hes the only one able and willing to talk eith liam through it because he Gets it#and it makes me so. AUUUGHGG#alcohol#ask to tag#(also as silly as it is liam abruptly cutting the convo off to talk abt the grass is like. yeah. yeah#emotional convos with friends abt trauma can very often end abruptly for completely unrelated reasons#at least in my exp#which is prob bc eventually theres nothing TO say bc the topic sorta. speaks for itself?? and that feels like what happened in their convo#though i think liam prob ALSO mentions it bc. id imagine its unnerving to notice . like this place would just FEEL so abnormal#and it was prob on his mind bc the two of them were already talking abt fucked up things about the plane#and its a small detail but. a detail about the plane nonetheless)
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episode 19
as you can probably tell, i've thought a lot about what post-canon one would look like in my vision... i've said before that i have issues with straightforward fix-its, and i do genuinely love the tragic open-ended conclusion that the series has, but i... am not immune to playing with characters like dolls LOL
here's some writeups about where everyone is at mentally in these pictures. please please please PLEEEASE feel free to ask me more about this cuz i love talking about my beautiful mind palace
charlotte: somehow the most optimistic person in here, mostly out of necessity. when she died, she saw parker leading her out of a cave as her waiting room and was about to take his hand when airy respawned her, so she has a brief moment of bonding with bryce when he talks about the waiting room and seeing stella. with the knowledge that there is potentially a way to get out (bryce and liam being the proof) and the fear of rotting away again she is by far the most actively motivated to help liam figure out the computer. a lot of her days are spent talking to liam over the mic and writing out the code in the dirt so she can try to understand it. she still has to push against her natural misanthropy (and often shouts at liam or bryce for being fucking stupid and useless) but both working on the code and helping amelia give her something concrete to focus on outside herself. she wants to get home so she can make amends with her friends. charlotte is scared of dying! she's really genuinely horribly scared of dying and has awful vivid nightmares about rotting away. she often pushes amelia into talking about her life which causes some tension, but it's because she really hates seeing amelia lose herself like that - a metaphorical rotting away of the self.
subway seat & atom: not on the same level of pure existential depression as the batch 1 contestants, but they both feel the hopeless mood pretty harshly regardless. subway feels very lonely as the only hidden object still 'awake', and likes to carry whippy creamy around rather than just leave him sitting on the ground constantly. tray is too big and unwieldy for him to do that with, but he 'hangs out' with her anyway, talking to her and whippy creamy in the hopes that it'll get them to want to wake up again. atom doesn't talk much, but he still carries his piece of grass. he's definitely the person who's the least affected by the prospect of being stuck on the plane forever, since he… doesn't really perceive existence in the same way as everyone else? he's an atom. but his time in the competition definitely made him view everyone else as friends, and he feels even more powerless than usual in the face of this incomprehensibly difficult problem.
amelia: falls into total hopelessness when bryce rejoins, basically seeing it as the final sign that they're never going home. still calls everyone their competition names (she actually gets into a big fight with bryce about it lol). she gets really clingy and dependent on bryce when he first comes back but it crashes and burns pretty quickly when, during an argument, bryce tells her how much he wishes he could just go back and never have let liam in and forgot about everything… which really sucks for amelia to hear, given that she's part of that everything. after that, with bryce isolating himself, she's kind of reliant on charlotte to keep her going. she blames liam for airy dying and secretly kind of thinks he killed him but just isn't telling them… she also doesn't really believe there's any way of getting out and is just kind of waiting around to die of, like, old age i guess. after how long she's been here, amelia is convinced that she has nothing to even go back to and frequently forgets details about her life. regularly cries and hates being alone. the shift markings on the side of the water tub have changed from being a way to keep track of time and stay sane to a horrible reminder of how long they've been here and how much longer of an eternity they have before them.
bryce: hates himself and liam and airy and the plane and his entire stupid fucking life. bryce is really, really fucking pissed off at liam for losing the notes and letting texty die and every other mistake he's made, and isn't shy about telling him that. as well as being angry, he's also incredibly miserable, because he was finally starting to turn his life around (he quit drinking after the plane) and now it's all for nothing - and even worse, those 7 months he spent getting better were 7 months he did nothing to help the rest of them, especially amelia. he's horribly guilty about that, and that he didn't tell amelia about the fake votes before he was eliminated… but finds it easier to just let liam take the heat for that one at first. after he fights with amelia about it he becomes a bit of a hermit, hanging out by himself next to the plug, and never responds when liam tries to talk. contemplates suicide regularly but pretty much the only option is drowning himself, and the idea of that still scares him more than staying like this forever. would kill for a beer.
liam: tortured by horrible guilt every day over a million different things. these include getting bryce pulled back into this (plus delayed guilt over getting him for real killed), letting texty die and not saying anything about the charger, not telling amelia that everything was fake, knowing that charlotte is going to die if he doesn't get really smart really fast… he's frequently gripped by fits of rage where he almost smashes the computer and has to hobble around outside with the axe for a while to blow off steam. he has really bad nightmares and dissociative episodes, made worse by the isolation and spending hours in a dark cave. liam really wants to fix things with everyone but genuinely has no idea how to start that conversation. he assumes airy killed himself (and views it as an unforgiveably cowardly move) and directs a lot of resentment towards him. he has a lot of things he wants to say, especially to bryce, but the fact that he cant talk to anybody one on one makes things difficult. spends a lot of time just reading through the code, too afraid to actually make any changes in case everyone explodes, but talking it through with charlotte at least makes him feel like he's doing something. more than he would like to admit, liam catches himself staring at the plane as if it's a simulation or a livestream.
#hfjone#charlotte stern#amelia euler#bryce hansen#liam plecak#hfjone subway seat#hfjone atom#feels wrong to tag whippy creamy and tray but theyre there too.. sort of#my art#kind of proud of these i dunnooooooo i had fun playing with a new brush and light and whatnot. Whatever. Go my scarab
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Home Away From Home -- Luke Hughes
Summary: Annika isn't gonna fall for the stupid hockey guy her parents are housing... right?
content: angst, implied smut but no explicit smut, some makeout scenes, fluff!!
wc: 8.9k
notes: i love this trope so here we are!! enjoy!!
Annika hadn't signed up for this.
She sat at the kitchen island, her arms crossed, watching her mom fuss over a plate of freshly baked cookies. George Thompson, her dad, was setting up the dining table with an enthusiasm that made her roll her eyes. The boys--twelve-year-old Alex and nine-year-old Flynn--were practically shaking with excitement.
"Do we really need cookies?" Annika asked, a touch of exasperation in her tone. "We're not adopting a puppy. He's just a guy. A hockey player, at that."
Andrea turned, a stern look on her face. "Annika, be polite. Luke is our guest. He's going to be a part of this family while he's here."
"Right," Annika muttered, "because this house isn't already crowded enough."
"Hey!" Alex piped up, shooting her a look of betrayal. "Luke Hughes is not just a guy. He's going to play for the Devils! He's super awesome!"
"Yeah!" Flynn added. "And he's way cooler than your boring boyfriend."
Annika groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "For the last time, Bryce and I broke up like three months ago."
"Probably cause he wasn't cool like a real NHL player!" Alex nodded.
Andrea shot the boys a warning glance but said nothing as she placed the plate of cookies at the centre of the table. "All I'm saying, Nick, is that this is a big adjustment for him too. He's young, he's new to Jersey, and he needs a supportive home environment. So please, try to make him feel welcome."
Nick refrained from commenting, though her skepticism must have been obvious, because her dad chuckled. "Come on, Nick. You might like the kid. Who knows?"
She doubted it. Sure, Luke Hughes was talented--she'd heard her brothers talk about him nonstop since her parents agreed to host him--but "some guy who skates for a living" didn't exactly sound like the type of perso she wanted to hang out with.
Still, when the doorbell rang, she couldn't help but feel a little curious.
~~
Luke hadn't expected to feel nervous.
But as he stood on the porch of the Thompsons' suburban house, duffle bag swung over one shoulder, his nerves hit him like a train. He rang the doorbell twice, the chime ringing out into the evening air.
The door swung open, and two kids stared up at him like he was a rockstar.
"Whoa," the older one--Alec or Alex, Luke couldn't remember--breathed. "You're really Luke Hughes."
Flynn just blinked, his jaw practically on the floor. "You're so tall," he finally said, wide-eyed.
Luke laughed awkwardly, glancing past the kids as an older man appeared in the doorway.
"You must be Luke," George said warmly, extending a hand. "Come on in, son. Welcome to our home."
"Thanks for having me," Luke said, stepping inside. The house smelled like cookies and furniture polish--cozy and warm, a sharp contrast to the hockey house he'd lived in the last two years.
The rest of the family came into view, and Luke felt the weight of their attention. A kind-looking woman who must've been Mrs. Thompson smiled warmly, and then his gaze landed on the girl standing behind her.
She was... unexpected.
Annika's arms were crossed, her expression unreadable. She didn't seem particularly thrilled to see him, though Luke couldn't tell if that was because of him or if she was just naturally unimpressed by life.
"This is Annika, our oldest," Andrea said, gesturing to her daughter.
Luke offered a hand. "Hi."
"Hey," Annika replied shortly, barely glancing at him before turning to her mom. "Can we eat now, or...?"
Luke's hand fell awkwardly to his side. Okay, then.
~~
Luke followed the Thompsons into the dining room, where the table was already set with a plate of cookies and some milk. He wasn't sure if it was meant to be welcoming or if they thought he was still ten years old, but the gesture was nice.
"Sit, sit!" Andrea said, waving him toward the table like he was royalty.
He slid into a chair, his bag at his feet. Across the table, the two boys continued to gape at him like he had two heads.
"Can I touch it?" Flynn blurted out, and Luke's eyebrows shot up.
"Your hockey stick," Alex clarified, giving his brother an exasperated shove.
"Uh, yeah, sure," Luke said, chuckling nervously. "I left it by the door. I can show you later."
"Awesome!" Flynn squealed.
Nick, leaning against the doorway with her arms still crossed, looked like she might die of secondhand embarrassment. Her blue eyes were narrowed in thinly veiled irritation.
"Boys, give him a minute to settle in," Andrea scolded softly. "Luke, you can call me Andrea, and that's my husband George." She gestured at her husband, who was helping himself to a cookie. "You've met the boys, Alex and Flynn."
"Yep," Luke said with a smile. "They're... enthusiastic."
"And Nick already introduced herself."
"Nick?" Luke tilted his head, confused.
Annika sighed as though she'd had to explain this a million times. "It's short for Annika. You know, like a nickname?"
"Oh. Got it."
Luke was quickly starting to realize that Annika wasn't the "warm and fuzzy" type.
"Nick's a student at Rutgers," George chimed in, as though sensing he needed to fill the silence. "She's studying communications. Smart kid, but she's a bit of a grump."
"Dad," Nick said sharply, though her cheeks flushed slightly pink.
"Don't mind her," George added with a conspiratorial grin. "She's just mad she doesn't have her bathroom all to herself anymore."
Nick shot Luke a look, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sharing a bathroom? Great. This was going to be... interesting.
~~
By the time Luke hauled his duffle bag up the stairs, he was ready to crash. The Thompsons were nice--mostly--but the whirlwind of introductions had left him drained.
"This is you," George opened a door at the end of the hall. The room was small but tidy, with a twin bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the backyard.
"Thanks," Luke said, dropping his bag onto the bed.
"Bathroom's just down there to the left," George added. "Sorry in advance if Nick complains about you using it. She's not used to sharing."
Luke nodded, unsure how to respond. George clapped him on the back and left, leaving him alone to unpack.
"Just so we're clear," Nick showed up in the doorway. "I don't care if you're some big hotshot hockey player. It's still my house, and if you leave your gross hockey gear lying around, I will throw it out."
Luke blinked, caught off guard. "Uh... noted?"
"Good," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut steel. She started to leave, then paused, glancing over her shoulder. "And don't take forever in the bathroom. Some of us actually have places to be besides the hockey rink."
Before he could respond, she was gone, leaving Luke standing there with a pair of socks in his hands and the faintest trace of a smirk on his face.
She was definitely going to be a challenge.
~~
Nick woke up the next morning to the sound of running water and muffled thud from next door. Groaning, she rolled over and squinted at the clock on her nightstand. It was barely 6:30 a.m.
"Seriously?" she muttered, pushing the covers off.
Her first day sharing a bathroom with Luke was off to a fantastic start. Wrapping herself in her fluffy robe, she shuffled out of her room, only to nearly collide with Flynn, who was standing in the hallway, clutching his toothbrush.
"Is he still in there?" Nick asked, jerking her thumb toward the bathroom door.
"Yeah," Flynn said, his voice tinged with awe. "I think he's doing hockey stuff. Like stretches or whatever."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "In the bathroom?"
Flynn shrugged, and Nick let out an exasperated sigh. She banged on the door. "Hey, Hughes! Some of us need to use the bathroom too, you know!"
There was a brief pause before the door cracked open, revealing a very shirtless Luke. His hair was wet, beads of water clinging to his skin, and he held a towel loosely around his waist.
Nick froze.
"Uh... sorry?" Luke said, looking sheepish. "I didn't think anyone else would be up yet."
"Yeah, well," Nick snapped, forcing herself to look anywhere but at his chest, "you're not living in a bachelor pad, so maybe keep it moving."
"Right. Got it." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the sink to let her pass.
Nick brushed past him, her cheeks burning, and shut the door firmly behind her.
~~
When Nick made it to the kitchen, she was still fuming. Flynn and Alex were already seated at the table, shoveling cereal into their mouths like Luke sat across from them, wearing a hoodie and looking way too innocent.
"Morning," Andrea chirped, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Nick. "Sleep okay?"
"Would've been better if someone didn't turn the bathroom into his personal sauna," Nick muttered, shooting a pointed look at Luke.
To her annoyance, he just smirked. "I'll set an alarm for 6:29 next time. How's that?"
Alex snorted milk out of his nose, and Flynn started laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Luke's funny," Flynn declared, as though it was groundbreaking news.
"Luke's annoying," Nick corrected, stabbing her eggs with a little more force than necessary.
Andrea sighed. "Annika, be nice. Luke, honey, make sure Annika has time in the bathroom too."
"Yes ma'am," Luke grinned.
Nick glared at him, but his smile only grew.
~~
Nick had classes at Rutgers until late afternoon, which was usually her excuse to escape the chaos of her house. Today, though, chaos seemed determined to follow her.
She was sitting at her favourite coffee shop near campus, trying to focus on a group project, when her phone buzzed with a text from Alex.
Alex (12:34 PM): Guess what??? Luke said he'd come to my game on Saturday!!!
Nick rolled her eyes but responded anyway.
Nick (12:35 PM): wow! cool, bud. tell him to pack an extra helmet in case you miss a slapshot
Her phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Alex (12:36PM): u r not funny
Nick smirked, but her amusement was short-lived. A voice behind her said, "You look like you're plotting someone's downfall."
She turned to see Luke standing there, hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, looking slightly out of place in the sea of students.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning.
"Your mom said you had the extra car... and I need a lift to the rink."
Nick blinked. "So you walked here? Just Google how to walk to the rink."
Luke shrugged. "Figured you'd just let me borrow the car."
She sighed, grabbing her laptop and shoving it into her bag. "Fine. Come on."
~~
That evening, after dinner, the boys dragged Luke into the living room for a mini hockey practice. Flynn wore a devishly determined look as he tried (and failed) to get the puck past Luke, while Alex gave commentary.
Nick watched from the sofa, trying not to smile. It was hard to keep her guard up when Luke was crouched on the floor, pretending to dramatically miss a save just to make Flynn cheer.
"He's good to them," Andrea whispered, sitting down beside her.
Nick blinked, startled. "Huh?"
"Luke," Andrea said, nodding towards the game of floor-hockey. Luke had ruffled Flynn's hair, earning a high-pitched giggle, and Alex was laughing so hard he had to clutch his side.
"Yeah, I guess," Nick admitted reluctantly. She wasn't ready to admit that Luke might've been slightly, a tiny bit okay-ish.
~~
She wasn't sure when she started noticing the little things about Luke.
Maybe it was the way he always made time to answer Alex and Flynn's endless questions about hockey. Or how he seemed genuinely interested in her every meal her mom made.
Or maybe it was that he wasn't as cocky and annoying as she'd originally thought.
Not that she'd admit it.
Saturday morning found Nick sitting in the bleachers at Alex's hockey game, sipping a lukewarm coffee and trying to focus on anything other than Luke, who was perched on the edge of the bench next to Flynn.
"Think he'll embarass himself?" Luke asked, lowly enough that only Annika could hear.
"Alex?" Nick smirked. "Absolutely. He lives for the drama."
Luke laughed, and Nick hated how much the sound didn't make her cringe. He was wearing a Devils cap pulled backwards over his messy curls, a plain hoodie, and an easy smile. It was almost... attractive.
The game started, and Alex threw himself into it with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. He wasn't the most skilled player on the ice, but his enthusiasm was unmatched.
"Go, Alex!" Flynn shouted, nearly toppling over the edge of the bench.
Nick found herself glancing at Luke occasionally, surprised by how invested he looked. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, watching Alex like it was Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals.
When Alex scored--a chaotic, scrappy goal that Nick was pretty sure only counted because the ref was feeling generous--Luke jumped up to his feet, clapping and cheering louder than anyone else.
"You act like it's the Olympics," Nick teased as he sat back down.
"What? That was awesome!" he said, still smiling like an idiot. "Kid's got guts."
Nick shook her head, but a smile tugged at her lips. She hadn't seen Alex light up like that in a long time.
The parking lot was full of parents chatting as they loaded their kids and gear into cars. Alex was still on cloud nine, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead as he recounted his goal for the tenth time.
"And then I deked left, and the goalie totally fell for it!" Alex said, demonstrating with exaggerated movements.
"More like you tripped into the puck," Nick teased, ruffling his hair.
Alex scowled. "You weren't even paying attention!"
"I was," Luke cut in, slinging an arm around Alex's shoulders. "And I think it was a sick goal."
Alex beamed up at him, and Nick had to admit--grudgingly--that Luke's support was doing wonders for her brothers' confidence.
"Thanks, Luke," Alex said. "Maybe you could help me practice my shot sometime?"
"Yeah, anytime, dude," Luke said without hesitation.
Nick's mom appeared then, holding Alex's bag. "Luke, seems like you're fitting in just fine around here."
Nick rolled her eyes but didn't comment.
~~
Back at the house, Alex and Flynn insisted on replaying the game on the living room floor, complete with mini-sticks, a foam ball, and way too much shouting.
Nick sat, pretending to read while Luke crouched on the floor, acting as a goalie.
"Careful," Luke warned, blocking one of Flynn's shots. "I don't want to break another lamp."
"That was Alex's fault!" Flynn protested.
"Was not!" Alex shouted, aiming another shot.
Nick couldn't help but laugh as the foam ball ricocheted off the wall and into Luke's chest.
"Game over," Luke declard, collapsing dramatically onto the floor.
The boys groaned, but Nick was grateful for the silence as they finally trudged upstairs, still arguing about whose shot was better.
Luke sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Your brothers are intense."
"They're obsessed with you," Nick said, closing her book. "It's kind of nauseating."
"Jealous?"
"Of what? The chaos? No, thanks."
He stood, stretching, and Nick's eye flicked to the hem of his shirt, which rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abs. She quickly looked away, hoping her cheeks weren't as red as they felt.
"Good game today," she said, standing and heading toward the stairs before he could say anything else.
"Thanks," he called after her, and there was something in his voice that made her stomach flip.
~~
Nick paced back and forth in her room, her phone pressed to her ear as she tried to keep her voice down.
"I'm telling you, Mia," she whispered, "he's insufferable. Like, he doesn't do anything that bad, but the fact that he exists in my house is enough to drive me fucking insane."
On the other end of the line, Mia snorted. "Translation: You're fucking obsessed with him."
"What! No?" Nick flopped onto her bed, glaring at the ceiling. "I'm just... he's in my way. All the time. The bathroom thing? Unforgivable. And he's always around, charming my brothers and being all polite to my mom, and--it's annoying!"
"You're mad because he's polite?" Mia teased. "Wow, Nick, you're really reaching."
Nick groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "You don't get it. He's--ugh. He's just one of those guys, you know? All... awkwardly cute and unexpectedly funny and stupidly attractive--"
"Uh-huh," Mia interrupted, her voice laced with amusement. "Say that last part again?"
Nick sat up, her face heating. "I didn't mean it like that!"
"Sure you didn't."
"Mia," Nick hissed, her eyes darting toward the door. "I'm serious. He's just--fine, okay? I'll admit it. He's hot. Like ridiculously, stupidly hot. But that doesn't mean I don't hate his guts."
"Hate his guts? You sure you don't just want him to rearrange yours?"
Nick groaned. "I can't stand you?"
"And yet here you are, calling me for emotional support about your hot hockey housemate," Mia said smugly. "What a tragedy."
"He's just... objectively attractive. I can hate someone and still recognize that they're good-looking. Those two things can coexist."
"Sure, Nick," Mia giggled. "Whatever you say."
Nick groaned, burying her face in her pillows.
Flynn crouched in the hallway, his ear pressed to the crack under Nick's door. Beside him, Alex knelt, covering his mouth so he didn't giggle too loudly.
"Did she just say Luke is hot?" Flynn whispered, eyes wide.
"She totally did," Alex grinned.
Flynn giggled. "We have to tell him!"
"Duh," Alex said, scrambling to his feet.
The boys darted down the stairs, giggling like they'd just discovered the best secret in the world.
Luke was sitting in the living room, flipping through channels on the TV, when they skidded to a stop in front of him.
"Luke!"
"You're not gonna believe this!"
Luke quirked an eyebrow, setting the remote down. "What's up, guys?"
"Nick thinks you're hot!" Flynn blurted out, unable to contain himself.
Luke blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"
"She said it on the phone," Alex explained. "She was talking to her friend, and she said you're 'ridiculously, stupidly hot.'"
Flynn nodded eagerly. "She also said you're annoying, but mostly that you're hot."
Luke huffed out a laugh, leaning back against the couch. "She actually said that?"
"Yup!" Flynn said proudly.
Luke shook his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Alright. Thanks for the intel."
The boys high-fived and ran off, leaving Luke alone with his thoughts.
Ridiculously, stupidly hot, huh?
He filed that tidbit away, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He didn't plan on using it right away--but when the right moment came, he'd be ready.
A few hours later, Nick came downstairs to grab a glass of water, grateful that the house was finally quiet. She froze when she saw Luke in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass in hand.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked casually.
"Nope," she said shortly, pouring herself some water.
As she turned to leave, she felt his eyes on her, and her steps faltered.
"What?" she snapped, glancing over her shoulder.
Luke shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Nothing. Just... interesting."
"What's interesting?"
"Nothing you'd want to admit," he said with a slight smirk, turning back to his drink.
Nick scowled, marching back upstairs, vowing to ignore whatever cryptic nonsense he was playing at. Behind her, Luke chuckled softly to himself, his smirk only growing.
~~
Annika was still determined to go about her life as if nothing had happened. Luke was still the irritating, too-hot-for-his-own-good hockey player who'd invaded her space. Nothing more.
But he wasn't making it easy.
It started small. Like how he suddenly seemed to be everywhere she was.
Case in point: the kitchen.
Nick had just finished a workout and was rummaging through the fridge for a bottle of water when Luke appeared, freshly showered and leaning against the kitchen island.
"Morning," he said, annoyingly chipper.
"Morning," she replied shortly, avoiding eye contact.
"Work out hard?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over her.
Nick's head snapped up. "What?"
"You're all flushed," he said innocently, taking a slow sip of his protein shake. "Maybe you overdid it."
Her cheeks heated further, and she hated that he'd noticed. "I'm fine," she said, grabbing her water and slamming the fridge shut.
Luke smirked, watching her retreat.
~
That weekend, Andrea sent Nick and Luke to pick up groceries. It was supposed to be a simple errand, but the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Nick fiddled with the AUX, flipping through songs until Luke reached over and stilled her hand.
"Pick something already," he said, his fingers brushing hers.
The touch was brief but electric, and Nick pulled her hand back like she'd been burned.
"What's your problem?" she snapped.
Luke shrugged, trying to conceal his amusement. "No problem. You just seem... jumpy."
"I'm not jumpy," she said through gritted teeth.
"Okay?"
Nick gripped the phone a little tighter, silently cursing him and the stupid butterflies in her stomach.
~~
That evening, the family decided to have a movie night. Nick reluctantly joined, sinking into the sofa and snatching the bowl of popcorn.
Luke sat beside her, closer than necessary, his knee brushing against hers as he man-spread.
She stiffened, but he didn't move.
"Comfortable?" she asked, shooting him a pointed look.
"Very," he said innocently.
Andrea shushed them, and Nick tried to focus on the film. But every time Luke shifted, she was hyper-aware of the warmth of his thigh against hers.
Halfway through, he reached for the popcorn, knocking her arm with his.
"Do you mind?" she hissed under her breath.
"Not at all."
Nick gritted her teeth, determined to ignore him. But when the movie ended and she stood to leave, he softly caught her wrist.
"Hey," he said, locking eyes with her. "Relax. I'm just messing with you."
Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, she couldn't look away.
"Whatever," she muttered, yanking her hand free and hurrying upstairs.
~~
Alex and Flynn barreled into the kitchen, sweaty and red-faced from playing street hockey.
"We crushed the neighbours!" Alex announced, dropping his stick and gloves on the floor.
Flynn followed suit, throwing himself onto one the barstools at the island. "Yeah, but Alex missed like ten open shots."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Guys," Nick interrupted. "Gear in the laundry room. Now."
The boys groaned but trudged off, muttering under their breath. A minute later, Luke strolled in, hair damp from a shower. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and hopped to sit on the counter, watching Nick with his lopsided grin.
"You run a tight ship," he teased.
"Someone has to when my parents aren't home."
Before Luke could respond, the boys returned, still arguing.
"Whatever," Alex said, rolling his eyes. "At least I'm not as bad as Bryce."
Nick scowled, her stomach sinking. "What does Bryce have to do with anything?"
"Nothing," Flynn said, grabbing a cookie off the counter. "Just saying Alex is better than him at hockey."
Luke's brow furrowed, gaze flickering between Annika and the boys. "Who's Bryce?"
"No one," Nick glared at Alex.
"Her boyfriend," he said, completely ignoring her. "Well, ex-boyfriend. He was like super into hockey but I think he sucked. Nick used to help him with his stats for school."
Nick shot him another warning look. "Shut up, Alex."
Flynn, too young to realize the tension in the room, chimed in, "He coached Alex's team last year, but he's not as cool as you, Luke."
Annika could feel Luke's eyes on her and turned away, busying herself with wiping an already-clean counter. "Bryce is like... history. Can we drop it now?"
The boys shrugged, losing interest as they rushed off to play Xbox.
Luke lingered, arms crossed, watching her closely. "So... Bryce?"
Nick sighed, turning to face him. "It's not a big deal. We dated for a while. It didn't work out. End of story."
Luke nodded slowly, though his expression shifted slightly. "Sounds like a real winner."
Nick narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing... nothing. Just that he doesn't sound like much competition."
"Competition for what?"
He shrugged. "Relax, Annika."
"You're fucking insufferable," she mumbled, pushing past him and heading for the stairs.
~~
Luke was still thinking about Bryce.
He told himself it didn't matter, that it was none of his business, but the image of some guy hanging around Nick, talking hockey and being such an important part of her brothers' games, made his chest feel tight.
Jealousy wasn't a good look on him, but there it was, simmering just under the surface.
He was sprawled on the couch when Nick came downstairs again, her arms full of laundry. She stopped when she saw him, a guarded look on her face.
"Still brooding about Bryce?"
Luke smirked, trying to mask his annoyance. "Why would I brood about some guy I've never met?"
"Good question."
Her tone was casual, but the way she avoided his gaze told him she was more affected by their earlier conversation than she cared to admit.
She shook her head, going to walk past him. But just like the other night, he grabbed her wrist. "For the record, I don't think he deserved you."
Nick just stared at him, blinking slowly.
"Goodnight, Nick."
And with that, he got up and walked away, leaving a very confused Annika in his wake.
~~
The rain started in the late afternoon, a light drizzle that quickly turned into a full-on downpour.
By the time Nick got home from class, her sneakers were soaked, and her hair was plastered to her face. She shoved the door open with a grunt, muttering curses under her breath.
"Rough day?"
She startled, looking up to see Luke in the living room, also soaking wet, with his bag slung over his shoulder. He must've just gotten back from practice.
"Rain fucking sucks," she said shortly, kicking off her shoes and peeling off her wet socks and jacket.
"Not a fan of Jersey weather?"
"Not when I have to walk through it because someone took the car," she snarled, brushing past him on her way to the kitchen.
He followed, watching as she rummaged through a cabinet for a snack. "Where's the rest of your family?"
"Out," she said, grabbing a box of crackers. "My mom took the boys to the movies, and my dad's working late. Why?"
"Just curious."
Nick turned to look at him, but before she could reply, a sudden crack of thunder made the house shake. The lights flickered once, twice, and then everything went dark.
"You've got to be kidding me," she groaned, fumbling for her phone.
"Relax," Luke said, his voice steady. "It's just a power outage."
"No big deal for you, maybe," she muttered. "I've got work to do."
"Yeah? What kind of work?"
"The kind that requires electricity."
"Well, unless you can magically fix the power grid, I'd say you're stuck."
Nick rolled her eyes, but she couldn't ignore the flutter in her chest at the way his voice sounded in the dark--low and teasing, but with an edge she couldn't quite place.
"Great. Guess I'll just sit here and wait for the apocalypse."
"Or," Luke said, his voice closer now, "you could stop being so dramatic and light some candles."
Nick scowled, but another loud crack of thunder made her jump.
Luke laughed. "Scared of storms?"
"Of course not," she snapped, though her hands were trembling slightly.
"Right."
Nick shook her head, retreating to her bedroom, hoping to escape the weird tension that always settled between them. She lit a few candles, their warm glow casting flickering shadows on the walls, and tried to focus on her textbook.
But her thoughts kept drifting--to the storm, to the empty house, and to Luke.
She didn't even hear him knock.
"Hey," he said. "Mind if I hang out in here? It's kind of creepy downstairs."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "You're a professional hockey player, and you're scared of the dark?"
"Not scared. Just bored."
She sighed, gesturing for him to come in. He shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space.
For a while, they sat in silence, the sound of rain pounding against the windows filling the room.
"You're quiet," Luke said eventually.
"So are you."
He glanced at her, his eyes catching the candlelight in a way that made her stomach flip. "You've been weird around me lately."
"I'm always weird around you."
"Not like this," he whispered.
Her heart started thudding against her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Nick."
She froze at the way he said her name--soft, almost pleading. When she finally looked at him, the intensity his gaze made her breath catch.
"Are we just gonna keep pretending this thing between us doesn't exist?"
"What thing?"
Luke huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "You're really gonna make me say it?"
She didn't answer, and in the silence that followed, he got closer.
The air between them crackled, the storm outside quiet in comparison to the sound of her heart.
"I think about you... way more than I should."
Her breath hitched at his words, and he leaned in, his hand brushing hers.
"Nick," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Tell me to stop."
But she didn't.
Instead, she closed the distance, her mouth crashing against his in a messy kiss of spit and teeth.
His hands quickly found her waist, pulling her until they tumbled onto the bed. Hers found the curls at the nape of his neck. And outside, the storm faded into nothing.
~~
The storm had become nothing but a soft patter of rain against the windows. Nick lay across her bed, Luke's arm draped lazily across her waist as they caught their breath.
The room was warm and still dark, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over their bodies. Nick could feel the steady rise and fall of Luke's chest against her back, his skin sticky but still comforting against hers.
"You're sweaty," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillows.
Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "So are you."
She wrinkled her nose but didn't move, too content--and too tired--to care.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of what had just happened settling over them. It wasn't awkward, though. If anything, it felt... right.
Luke broke the silence. "You know, the candles really set the mood."
Nick snorted, turning her head to look at him. "Oh, totally. Very romantic."
"You don't think so?"
She rolled her eyes, biting her bottom lip. "Honestly? It might've been the most romantic sex I've ever had."
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head."
They fell quiet again, Nick tracing lazy circles on Luke's arm as his fingers skimmed along her hip.
"Can I tell you something?" Luke said suddenly.
"Sure."
"Your brothers... they told me."
"Told you what?"
"That you think I'm hot."
"They what?!"
"Yeah," Luke smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Apparently, you were on the phone with your friend, and they overheard you saying I'm 'ridiculously, stupidly hot.'"
Nick stuffed her face in the pillows, groaning. "Oh my God. I'm gonna fucking kill them!"
"I mean," Luke continued, "I wasn't going to say anything, but now that we're here."
"Shut up."
He laughed, gently tugging her out of the pillows. "Hey, I'm flattered. Really."
"Don't be," she said, though the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.
Luke leaned in, his lips brushing against her temple. "For the record, I think you're ridiculously, stupidly hot too. Still wanna kill your brothers?"
"Absolutely," she said, but her voice was lighter now, her cheeks still pink.
Although killing her brothers didn't really matter when she was laying in bed with Luke.
~~
Nick had no idea the thrill that sneaking around would give her.
There was something almost intoxicating about the stolen moments--the way Luke's touch would linger as he walked past her, the charged glances across the room, the whispered goodnights as they traded the bathroom.
It was dangerous and utterly addictive.
She hated how much she liked it.
Family dinners at the Thompsons were always chaotic (as were most things in their house). Andrea was bustling between the kitchen and the dining room, carrying plates of steaming food, while George tried to wrangle Alex and Flynn into their seats.
Luke sat across from Nick, his expression perfectly innocent as he buttered a piece of bread.
Nick didn't trust him for a second.
The meal started without incident--Andrea asking Luke about practice and an upcoming roadie, Flynn babbling about a school project, Alex loudly debating which NHL team had the best defence. Nick tried to focus on her food, keeping her gaze firmly away from the boy across the table.
Until she felt it.
A soft nudge against her ankle.
She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, and glanced up. Luke's eyes were on his plate, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
Nick shifted her leg, but the nudge came again--this time more deliberate, slowly moving up her calf.
Her eyes narrowed.
Subtly, she kicked back.
Luke's smirk widened, but he didn't react otherwise, his foot pressing against hers in a way that made her stomach flip.
"Nick," Andrea said, snapping her out of the moment. "Pass the salad, please."
Annika blinked, her face burning as she shoved the salad bowl across the table.
"You okay?" her mom raised an eyebrow.
"Fine," Nick said quickly, glaring at Luke.
He looked up then, his smirk replaced with an innocent smile. "Everything alright, Nick?"
She wanted to throttle him.
Instead, she dropped her napkin on the floor, ducking under the table.
"What're you doing?" Alex asked as she crouched, fumbling for the napkin.
"Nothing," she muttered.
She grabbed the napkin--and Luke's ankle.
He jerked slightly, his leg pulling away, but she squeezed just hard enough to make her point before sitting back up.
"You sure everything's okay?" Andrea asked, her tone tinged with suspicion.
Nick forced a smile, her heart pounding. "Just peachy."
Across the table, Luke's smirk was back, but this time it was tinged with something darker--something that made Nick's breath catch in her throat.
~~
Later that evening, they weren't so lucky.
Andrea had sent the boys upstairs to clean their shared room while she and George tidied up the kitchen. Nick, seizing the opportunity, had slipped into Luke's room under the pretense of "helping him settle." As if he hadn't lived there for weeks.
Luke was waiting for her, his grin smug as he pulled her inside and shut the door.
"You're getting reckless," he teased, his hands sliding around her waist.
"You're the one who started it... and keeps tempting me," she shot back, her voice breathless as he backed her against the closet door.
"Is that so?"
Her lips found hers, and for a moment, she forgot all her worries--her parents, the risk, the fact that her brothers were just down the hall.
Until the footsteps started.
"Luke!"
Nick froze as Flynn's voice rang out.
"Shit," she whispered, shoving Luke back.
He stumbled slightly, but didn't stop smiling. "Relax."
The door burst open a second later, Flynn standing there with hockey stick in hand.
"There you are!" he exclaimed. "Alex and I want you too referee!"
Luke cleared his throat, stepping back even further from Nick. "Uh, yeah, for sure. Be right there."
Flynn squinted at his big sister. "What are you doing in here?"
"Helping him find something," she lied, her face burning.
Flynn shrugged. "Okay, whatever." He turned and darted back down the hall, yelling for Alex."
Nick let out a shaky breath, her head dropping back against the closet.
"That was close."
Luke chuckled, stepping closer again. "Too close?"
"Yes," she hissed, swatting his arm as he leaned in.
"You love it," he teased, his lips brushing her ear before pulling back. "I'll see you later."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Nick to realize that she did, in fact, love it.
~~
The bathroom was filled with steam, despite the fan being on. The warm spray of the shower drowned out the storm that had started outside.
Nick leaned back against the cool tiled wall, her skin slick with water, as Luke pressed a line of soft kisses along her collarbone.
"This is so stupid," she mumbled, her hands sliding over his shoulders.
"Probably," he agreed, smirking as he pulled back to look at her. "But when have we ever done anything smart?"
"If we get caught--"
"We won't," he promised, pushing his lips against hers.
The sound of a knock at the bathroom door had them both pulling away.
"Luke?" Andrea's voice called from the other side of the door.
"Oh my God," Nick mouthed, her heart hammering inside her chest.
Luke held a hand up, silently telling her to stay silent, before clearing his throat. "Uh--yeah?"
"Have you seen Annika?" Andrea asked. "I thought she might be in her room, but she's not."
Luke shot Nick a panicked look, and she mimed strangling him, her lips forming "fix this."
"Uh, no," Luke said, scrambling for an excuse. "I think she said something about--uh--going for a walk?"
"A walk? In this weather?"
Luke winced, cursing himself for the lame excuse. "Yeah, she, uh...said she likes the rain. Said it's like refreshing or something?"
Nick buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
There was a long pause on the other side of the door, and Luke could practically feel Andrea's doubt seeping through the wood.
"Well, alright," she said finally, though her tone was still dubious. "Let me know if you see her, okay?"
"Will do," he said, waiting until he heard her footsteps retreating before turning to Nick.
She was doubled over with laughter now, her hands braced against the wall. "Refreshing?" she wheezed, still whispering. "That's the best you could come up with?"
Luke scowled. "You're welcome."
Nick pressed her chest against his, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Guess I should be grateful," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "You're quick on your feet when panicking."
"Yeah, well," his hands settled on her waist, "let's just hope your mom doesn't start asking more questions."
Nick smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Guess we'll have to be more careful, huh?"
"Guess so."
~~
They'd barely recovered from their bathroom incident, but Luke seemed determined to push their luck even further.
They were standing in the kitchen, the rest of the family scattered--Andrea folding laundry upstairs, George in his office, and the boys glued to a hockey game on the TV.
Nick was just trying to make herself some tea, trying to ignore Luke's presence at the counter, when she felt him move closer.
"Relax," he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning in his chin on her shoulder. "Nobody's around."
"Ugh, you're insane."
"Probably," he said.
"Luke, not here," she tried to escape his grasp, but his hockey training must've been paying off because he wouldn't budge.
"Why not?"
"Because we almost got caught earlier. You're pushing our luck. If someone walked i--"
Her words her cut off as he spun her around, her lips ghosting his. She crumbled instantly, her fingers gripping the counter as she kissed him back.
"Annika!"
"Fuck me," she groaned, jerking back so quickly she almost knocked the kettle over.
"Later," Luke retorted, earning a glare.
"What?" she called back.
"I need some help up here! Can you make your brothers' beds?"
"Uh--yeah! I'll be right there, Mom!" She pressed her palms against Luke's chest. "You're a bad influence."
He shrugged, moving to let her escape upstairs with her tea in hand, but not without giving her ass one last squeeze.
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
~~
Luke seemed determined to finish what they started in the shower, because he'd managed to be in the laundry room just as she was heading there to grab her mom a blanket.
"Are you fucking tracking me?"
"Just lucky timing."
"You're going to be the reason we get caught."
"Only if you scream," he teased, boosting her on top of the washing machine.
"Luke..."
"Relax," he pressed a kiss to her neck.
She really wanted to believe that they'd be in the clear down in the basement, but apparently her parents really wanted that spare blanket.
"Let's go, Nick! Chop, chop!" George shouted from the top of the stairs.
"Coming! Coming!"
"God, why is it so hard to get you alone?" Luke groaned.
"Welcome to my life."
~~
It was bound to happen sooner or later.
Nick knew their little game of sneaking around was risky, but she hadn't pushed it to stop. She blamed Luke entirely--his stupid smirk, his stupid face, the way he couldn't seem to ever keep his hands to himself.
But when the door to her bedroom flew open late one afternoon, she swore she had a heart attack.
"Annika!"
Her mom's voice was sharp, the shock in her tone unmistakable as she stood frozen in the doorway.
Nick and Luke jerked apart like they'd been electrocuted, the tangled sheets doing little to hide the situation.
"Mom!" Nick shrieked, her face going bright red as she scrambled to grab the blanket.
Andrea's eyes darted between them, her face covered in disbelief and mortification. "Luke?"
Luke, to his credit, managed a sheepish smile he sat up, adjusting his shirt and ruffling a hand through his hair. "Uh...hi, Andrea."
She blinked, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to form words but she couldn't process what she was seeing.
"I--I'm gonna go see your father," she shook her head, backing out of the room and slamming the door shut behind her.
Nick groaned, burying her face in her hands. "We're so fucking dead."
Luke flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I told you to lock the door."
"Luke!"
"Yeah, this is... not ideal."
~~
The tension in the living room was palpable as Nick and Luke sat on the sofa, side by side, waiting for her parents to join them. The rest of the house was quiet for once--Alex and Flynn had been banished upstairs with strict instructions not to come down.
Andrea and George finally appeared, their expressions grim as they sat down across from the couple.
"Well," George began, clearing his throat. "This is, uh... unexpected."
Nick wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
Andrea crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as it landed on Luke. "I think we need to have a very serious conversation about boundaries."
Luke nodded quickly, the confidence he'd felt the last few days nowhere to be found. "Of course. Absolutely."
She turned to Nick, her tone just as firm. "Annika, you're an adult, and I understand that you're going to make your own decisions, but this is our home. And there are certain... expectations."
Nick groaned, slouching further into the couch. "Mom--"
"No," Andrea interrupted. "This is important. You're under our roof, and we expect you to be respectful of that."
George cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. "What your mother is trying to say is, uh, we don't want anything... inappropriate happening here."
Nick buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. "Can we not do this right now?"
"We absolutely need to do this right now," Andrea said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
She turned back to Luke. "We welcomed you into our home, Luke, and we expect you to behave like a gentleman. This... this cannot happen again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," Luke said quickly, nodding so fervently it was a wonder his head didn't fall off.
"And that goes for you too, Annika," Andrea added, fixing her with a pointed look.
"I get it," she muttered, her face still hidden.
"Good," Andrea said, standing. "Because if I find you two in a... situation again, you're both going to regret it."
George stood as well, patting Luke awkwardly on the shoulder. "Just, uh, keep things... above board, okay?"
"Got it."
The parents left, leaving Nick and Luke in stunned silence.
After a long pause, Nick finally spoke, her voice still muffled by her hands. "I'm never leaving his house again."
"I don't know. I think that went pretty well," Luke let out a breathless laugh.
Nick finally dropped her hands to glare at him. "Pretty well? Are you kidding me?"
"Hey, at least your dad didn't kill me... or cut off my balls."
"You-- UGH!"
"If you say so."
~~
The shift in the house was obvious.
Andrea seemed to materialize whenever Luke and Annika were in the same room, her watchful gaze making Nick's skin crawl. George was less obvious but still lingered nearby, pretending to fiddle with the thermostat or check a sports score while clearly keeping tabs on them.
Even Alex and Flynn had picked up that something was wrong, their usual teasing replaced with curious glances and hushed whispering.
"Your mom's fucking scary," Luke said one evening, his voice low as he passed Nick in the hallway.
"You're telling me," she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody was around.
Luke smirked, leaning closer. "So... does this mean we're done?"
Nick frowned. "Done with what?"
"This," he gestured between them.
She hesitated, gnawing at her bottom lip. "I don't know. Do you really think it's worth getting caught again?"
Luke leaned against the wall, his grin softening into something more sincere. "Yeah. I do."
"You--"
"I'm insane, I know But I'm not ready to let this go. Are you?"
Her walls crumbled as he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers.
"Fine," she whispered. "But you have to keep it under wraps. I'm not dealing with my mom's wrath again."
"Deal."
~~
Keeping things under wraps was easier said than done.
Every interaction felt like a minefield, with Andrea constantly dissecting their every move.
Luke made it harder by being... well, Luke.
He would brush against her as he passed by. He'd lean in close to whisper something that wasn't remotely necessary.
It was maddening.
One night after dinner, they were in the kitchen, Nick washing dishes while Luke dried. Andrea was sitting at the table, her back to them, flipping through a magazine.
Luke bumped her hip with his, his voice low. "You're tense."
"Gee, I wonder why."
"She's not even looking," he grinned, reaching for a plate.
"She doesn't have to look. She knows everything."
"You're paranoid."
~~
Sitting in the backyard under the stars, finally having time together. Their hands were intertwined as they stared up at the sky.
"Is it really worth all the trouble?" Nick whispered.
"Of course it is," he replied, swinging their hands.
"Why?"
"Because I like you."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
Nick didn't respond, but the smile on her face told him all he needed to know.
~~
A quiet afternoon in the Thompson house was hard to come by. The boys were upstairs playing video games, Andrea and George watching a show in their room.
Nick and Luke were taking advantage, lounging on the sofa and watching a movie.
Well, trying to watch a movie.
Luke kept nudging her with his knee, a silent plea for attention that she ignored for as long as she could.
"What?" she paused the movie, turning to look at him.
"Nothing. Just... thinking."
"Dangerous," she teased, though her stomach fluttered at the way he was looking at her--soft yet serious.
"Nick," he said, his voice lower. "I've been thinking about this for a while now."
"Okay..."
"I want to make this official," he said, his hand finding hers. "I know we've been sneaking around and keeping things quiet, but I... really, really like you. And I want to do this for real."
"You're asking me to be your girlfriend?"
"Yeah... I guess I am."
Nick hesitated. She knew this was risky, that saying yes meant inviting even more complications into their already chaotic situation.
But as she looked at him--his goofy grin, the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles--she knew she couldn't say no.
"Okay. Let's do it."
Luke's grin grew, and before she could second-guess herself, he leaned in and kissed her.
"Ew!"
They sprang apart, Flynn stood in the doorway, his face scrunched in disgust.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at them.
Nick scrambled to her feet. "Flynn! Don't you knock?"
"This is the living room!" he retorted. "You can't kiss here!"
Luke cleared his throat, standing up and running a hand through his hair. "Uh, maybe we keep this between us, bud?"
"Why?"
Nick groaned. "Flynn--"
But he was already running toward the kitchen, yelling at the top of his lungs.
It didn't take long for Alex to join the chaos, and before Nick and Luke could figure out what to do, both boys were standing in front of their parents, firing off questions.
"If Luke and Annika get married, does that mean he gets to live here forever?" Flynn asked, his face alight with excitement.
"Wait, does this mean Luke is our brother now?" Alex added, his brow furrowed.
"Do you think Luke will take us to games since he's Annika's boyfriend?"
Andrea's eye widened, snapping to Nick and Luke, who were standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Annika," she said slowly, her tone suspiciously calm, "is there something you'd like to tell us?"
Nick opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She glanced at Luke, silently begging him to say anything, but he looked just as panicked.
"Well?"
Nick swallowed harshly. "It's not what it looks like--"
"It's exactly what it looks like," Flynn interrupted. "They were kissing on the couch!"
"Flynn!" Nick hissed.
Andrea sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as George rubbed the back of his neck.
"Annika," Andrea said firmly, "we talked about boundaries."
"I know! And we only kissed! We've been careful!"
"Careful? You were kissing in the living room!"
Flynn leaned over to Alex, whispering loudly. "Do you think they kiss a lot?"
Luke coughed, trying to stifle a laugh, but one sharp look from Andrea wiped the grin from his face.
"This isn't funny. We'll be having a conversation about this later."
"Great!" Nick threw her hands up.
~~
There they were, sat on the couch... again. Two angry parents in front of them like they'd just gotten in trouble for something stupid.
"Alright," Andrea said. "Start talking."
Nick glanced at Luke, who gave her a small, reassuring squeeze of the hand before she cleared her throat. "Look, I know this isn't ideal, but... Luke and I really like each other."
"Really like each other?"
Nick nodded, her voice steadier now. "Yes, and we've been trying to keep it low-key because we didn't want to make things weird for everyone else."
Andrea snorted. "Well, that worked out great."
"I know it's a lot to ask," Luke said, leaning forward. "But I care about Nick. A lot. And I don't want to mess up the trust you've shown me by letting me stay here, and I don't want to make things uncomfortable for your family. But I also don't want to pretend I don't... like Nick."
Her gaze softened slightly, though her expression remained guarded. She looked at George, who shrugged.
"They're adults," he said simply. "I'm not thrilled about it, but it's not like we can tell Nick who she can and can't date."
Andrea sighed, hands on her hips. "I guess that's true. But if this is going to continue, there are going to be rules."
Nick and Luke exchanged a quick glance, relief washing over them.
"Rules?" Nick asked cautiously.
"Yes, rules. First, no sleeping in each other's rooms. Doesn't matter if you're both adults, it's my house, that's my rule."
"Understood," Luke nodded.
"Second," she continued, "keep the PDA to a minimum. Especially in front of the boys. I don't need Alex and Flynn asking any more awkward questions."
"Agreed."
"Third...if I catch you breaking these rules, this arrangement is over. Got it?"
"Got it," they said in unison.
"Alright. As long as you respect the rules, I won't stand in your way."
"Thank you," Luke said sincerely.
"Don't screw this up, kid," George whispered to him as he left.
"I won't."
~~
A few months later, the whole Thompson family was packed into The Rock, cheering as the Devils faced off against the Pens.
Alex and Flynn were decked out in jerseys, cheering as loud as they could, while Andrea and George clapped politely whenever Luke's name was mentioned.
Nick sat by her brothers, trying (and failing) to hide her smile every time Luke skated by.
When he scored late in the first period, Flynn jumped out of his seat, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"THAT'S MY SISTER'S BOYFRIEND!"
Nick groaned, pulling her Hughes jersey over her red face as the people around them laughed.
But when Luke glanced at their section, his grin wide as he pointed toward her, she couldn't help but cheer just as loudly.
Because, for better or for worse, Luke was a large part of her life now. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
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Dr. Studmuffin
A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.
Prompt: new years kiss with a stranger
Warnings: Drugs used in a medical setting, Emergency room setting, Ex-boyfriend angst, Physical injuries. Please let me know if I missed any.
You're in tears, and not just from the pain. This was supposed to be your comeback. Your personal revolution. New Year's was a time for renewal and remaking yourself. You were going to prove to everyone, especially Bryce, that you didn't need him. That you could stand proud on your own two feet.
You'd splurged on the clothes, finding ones that not only fit you like a second skin, but that made all your best features pop. You got your hair done by a professional, even adding some highlights that would match the dress and your makeup choices. Every time you looked in the mirror you knew you were killing it! This was going to be your night. Your year!
And then you tripped on your too-high heels and likely broke your ankle.
It took everyone at the party several minutes to stop laughing. You're certain Bryce is still laughing about it. No one wanted to give you a lift to the emergency room so you had to call yourself an ambulance. Thankfully the paramedics were nice enough. Especially after the pain meds kicked in and you went from uncontrollably sad to uncontrollably sad and loopy.
You hated being loopy. You just couldn't stop talking and you inevitably said too much. Doesn't matter you primarily apologized for things that weren't your fault and made it rain compliments, you still talked nonstop and would eventually be called annoying. Thankfully the redheaded nurse taking care of you didn't seem to mind every time you repeated how pretty you thought she was. She actually was pretty good at assuaging the worst of your fears.
And then he showed up.
The first time you laid eyes on the ER doctor you blurted out, "well hello, Dr. Studmuffin!" You slapped your hands over your mouth, face burning with embarrassment. Apparently he felt it too with how pink his cheeks got.
"I see Natasha wasn't exaggerating," he chuckles as he rubs on some hand sanitizer.
"I am so sorry, doctor! I know that was very disrespectful. I mean, it's not disrespectful to call you handsome, because you really are. But it's wrong time, wrong place, right? Plus, you're a doctor! You've gotta be super smart for that! So reducing you to Dr. Studmuffin just feels so inadequate. I'm---"
He raises a hand to stop you from talking. His cheeks are still blushing but his smile is, thankfully, gentle instead of condescending or egotistical. He puts on some gloves and walks to your heavily bruised ankle. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"I tripped on my shoes," you explain. Tears start to form as the embarrassing memory comes back. "I tripped in front of everyone and they just laughed and didn't try to help me and I was just trying to be better! Trying to improve myself and stand on my own without my ex and then I tripped and fell, right in front of him!"
The doctor grabs some of the tissues from the table nearby and gently wipes the tears from your face.
"The notes from the paramedics say that you had to call them yourself? No one tried to help?"
You nod, a fresh flow of tears starting. "It was supposed to be my night to remake myself. My night to be...to be not me. To be bold, daring, and kiss a stranger at midnight. But instead, here I am with...Can you please tell me your name so I might stop calling you Dr. Studmuffin?"
"I'm Dr. Rogers, but you can call me Steve."
"Thank you, Steve."
"I'm gonna examine your ankle now. I need you to tell me if, when something hurts, okay?" You nod your understanding.
After several squeaks and hisses in pain with explanations as to the type of pain he tells you it's likely a minor fracture but he's going to have to get some x-rays to confirm that.
You sigh, "I was supposed to be drinking champagne and, instead, I'll greet the new year with a dose of radiation." The tears start forming again. "Maybe they were right about how much of a loser I am."
Steve's jaw clenches and he gently lifts your chin, wiping away the tears with another tissue. "Don't do that. Don't let the bullies win. If you do that, they just get worse." He sees the confusion on your face and continues, "I don't like bullies. I got bullied pretty much my whole life."
"Who'd bully a Studmuffin like you?" you blurt.
He chuckles. "I wasn't always built like this. Used to be super scrawny."
"Aww! I bet you were so cute!"
That alone would make his cheeks burn but then Natasha walks in, "Dr. Studmuffin, you're needed in room 32." He gives her a glare but she just smiles back. He sighs, knowing he's never going to hear the end of it.
"Okay, she needs some x-rays and can you make sure Mace is her Radiologist? He'll probably have the most patience for her loopy state."
"Oh, yes, please let me have someone patient!" you exclaim. "I cannot be trusted not to annoy someone right now!"
Natasha smiles at you, "don't worry. I'll make sure you're in good hands."
After Steve catches a few moments to breathe, he looks around to see if you're back from getting your ankle x-ray. He's disappointed to see you're not back yet.
"Don't worry, Dr. Studmuffin," Nat teases. "She'll be back soon enough."
Steve's face goes pink. "I just wanted to do a follow up is all."
"You know you can't lie to me," she smiles. "She's someone who was trying to pull herself together, indicating personal strength. She cooed when you told her you were a scrawny kid, indicating a lack of shallowness on her part. And, I know you saw her chart. She's a chemist, so she's likely highly intelligent. She's exactly your kind of girl."
"She doesn't actually find me attractive," Steve counters. "It's just a bit of Nightingale Syndrome."
Nat laughs uncontrollably for a minute. "Steve, that's when the medical caretaker has a thing for the patient. Not the other way around."
Steve's face goes completely red as he realizes his slip up.
"I'll make sure you're on break around midnight so you can give the lovely lady that kiss with a stranger she was looking for," Nat winks before heading off to another patient.
Your back in your room, wallowing in misery as you look at the time. So close to midnight. You know your "friends" are having a blast. Likely still laughing about you. And here you are, alone and miserable.
Dr. Studmuffin, Steve, you internally correct yourself, comes in.
As he rubs his hands with sanitizer he says, "good news. While it is a partial fracture in the bone, your tendons and ligaments are unharmed. That'll make the healing process a lot easier on you." You nod glumly and he checks his watch. "I'm actually going on break here in a little bit, just in time for midnight. I...I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to greet the New Year with me?"
Your eyes widen in shock. "You...you want me...you want to kiss me for New Year's?"
"Only if you'd like that," he's quick to assure. "Stick it to those bullies, get a kiss with a stranger, and all that?"
"Yes, please!"
He checks his watch again, "and with that, I'm on my break." He turns on the TV. It's muted but you can still see the countdown.
When the clock hits zero, he leans in for a kiss. Still loopy from the pain meds you wrap your arms around his head and pull him in for a deep kiss, catching him off guard, but making him smile.
Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad year for either of you.
Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63
#navy and roo's sleepover#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female!reader#doctor!steve rogers x female!reader#steve rogers x you#doctor!steve rogers x you
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