#these first chapters are super short

[feuillmort]

(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains."

“No mortal is exempt from fate.”

“No god either, it seems.”

Shamura almost laughed. Such zeal. This mortal wielded blasphemy with suicidal ease, even as their heart screamed fear. They obviously did not care that Shamura could strike them down in a second. Shamura wouldn’t either, had they been hunted to the farthest corners of the world. But they were right. What could a weakened god do when their last followers lost faith?

Die. They could only die.

Shamura does not strike them down. “Might I ask the name of the great one who felled a Great One?”

“Narinder.”

[reading-writing-dying]

Writing... hard......

[ghost-proofbaby]

would posting several bouts of writing in one day be too much? asking for a friend.

[vorakh]

🌫️ SCARED AND TERRIBLE AIR SATURDAY 🌫️

“Commissar, no commissar.„

Group reading for the second chapter of Sacred and Terrible Air! Join the meeting on next Saturday March the 30th all day on the Pale Acceleration for Dummies server!

[imwritesometimes]

operation 'write until the battery notification pops up on my laptop' was a success

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Greta & Valdin

contemporary fiction following two gay siblings who live together in central auckland

Greta, in her 20s, getting her masters and living on a shitty academic salary, getting over an unrequited crush, and exploring a new relationship

Valdin, in his 30s, who quit science for a tourism show, whose ex (he still isn’t over) is in his orbit again when work sends him to Argentina, and has to confront what he wants for his future

navigating adulthood, OCD, a messy eccentric Māori/Russian family

[autismcodedz]

a precarious balance prologue 1.2k

Nestled in the heart of a cult, Lando and Oscar are becoming sick of belief, and as the date they have been building up to their entire lives draws closer, they need to make a decision.

[kybee1497]

Trepidation by kybee1497

Sometimes Enid wonders if her mother might hope that if Nature won’t claim her as a true “Daughter of the Moon”, maybe it will simply take her instead.

Enid’s never sure if the flash of disappointment across her mother’s face when Enid shrieks and sputters but claws her way free of the lake bottom after yet another dunking from her brothers, is truly there, or merely a figment of her overactive imagination.

OR

Enid and her ever evolving relationship with fear

[its-wabby-stuff]

So I posted a thing

I’m very excited to just get something out there. This is def a prologue, but I already have the next chapter written out, and am working on the one after that.

It’s meant to explore the start of the apocalypse, specifically the first 10 years. How the Krang built their forces and conquered the world. How the boys became the heroes Casey Jr knows them to be. Some Apocalypse things I don’t think get mentioned enough in end of the world scenarios.

I started this before Cass Apocalyptic Series, but that doesn’t mean reading it hasn’t inspired the process more- I’m just always slow to start. Please be patient with me.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

rain, blood, rivulets, runner, daughter, home, you

Regardless, Wilbur likes to come here a lot. It’s a pretty place, a few minutes walk from Pogtopia; it’s right in the wilderness, no buildings or houses or people around. Just grass, and dirt, and a few tiny flowers, and a lot of trees, and a big blue sky. Well, sometimes blue. Sometimes it’s kinda grey, and cloudy, and other times it cries small cold raindrops that splat into your eyes and make your clothes all damp and uncomfortable.

Wilbur doesn’t care if he gets wet, though. He’ll just come here anyway.

~~~

After several seconds of trying, Wilbur gives up, relaxing once more into this odd state of being. He realizes that his cheek hurts along with his neck, because his face is pressed firmly against this thing. It's probably stopping the blood flow right there.

AND!!!

For a moment, Wilbur's vision goes dark, and it takes several rasping breaths and hard blinks to rid it of black spots. Tommy is bleeding. There's blood on him. His eyes are closed. He's bleeding. He's completely still. He's bleeding. His eyes are closed. He's not moving. There's blood on him. There's blood on Tommy.

~~~

Nothing for rivulets!

~~~

Nothing for runner, either!

~~~

Dang. Nothing for daughter :0

~~~

After a few hours, Niki had stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and looked around. She quite liked the place, if she was being perfectly honest. It felt cozy, similar to a home. It didn't feel like a company or an enterprise, devoid of emotion. No, it felt real. It felt personal. It felt like hers.

~~~

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

AND!!!

"I'm fine," Wilbur assures, brushing off the hand that Phil didn't even realize had moved towards his son's chest. "I can stand on my own, Phil. You don't have to hold my hand."

~~~

Actually I’m gonna share a whole snippet from a story I genuinely forgot I’d started working on so aksvajdgsksgsh here ya go ⬇️

~~~

"Oh, mate... do you need water?" Phil glances at the table, finding a half-full glass of water just as Wilbur answers, "No."

"Are you hungry?"

Wilbur sighs again. "No. I just- Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil finds himself holding his breath.

Wilbur gazes at him for several seconds, and Phil notes with satisfaction that his eyes are no longer pink. His pupils are the usual rich-brown color that they aught to be.

Wilbur gives a slight shake of his head. "I want to go."

Phil stares. "You- go?"

"I want to get off of this couch. I want to get out of this cabin. I want to go, Phil. I want to-" Wilbur thrusts a hand forward, face twisting. "I want to go far away from this cursed land of snow, and never come back. I want to go outside."

Wilbur ends his rage-filled monologue, staring at his hands laid across his chest. His nostrils flare.

Phil watches him for a moment before dipping his head, beginning to shake with laughter.

Wilbur whips his head around to glare at him. "What?"

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

"Wha- I've been confined in this place for weeks!"

"It's been four days, Wil."

Wilbur's eyes widen. Phil laughs harder.

"Only... only four days?" Wilbur questions, and Phil's laughter starts to subside when he hears how uncertain Wilbur sounds. "It hasn't even been a week? Only four days?"

"Yep." Phil nods. "A fever can really mess with your perception of time, can't it?"

Wilbur nods, at a loss for words. He stares back at his hands.

Phil chews on his lip. "You're feeling better, though. Right?"

"I guess."

Phil reaches forward, resting his palm on Wilbur's head. His son goes very still.

"You don't have a fever anymore. Still a little warm, but you're definitely getting better," Phil says, pulling his hand away. Wilbur relaxes instantly.

Phil feels a stab in his heart.

"Feeling- you said I'm better, right? So I can leave?"

"No."

Wilbur lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine. "But I'm better! You said so yourself, Phil! I'm doing better, see? Look, I can... I can stay at Tommy's, and he can keep on eye on me! Right?"

"No," Phil repeats, a small smile appearing on his face. "I'm not letting you leave until you've made a full recovery, Wilbur."

"But you said-"

"I said you're getting better. I never said that you were better. You still have a ways to go, mate."

Wilbur groans, letting his head fall onto his pillow in dramatic fashion. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't think I can survive like this much longer."

Phil chuckles, but his brow furrows with concern. "You're not going to be like this much longer. A week, at most."

"A week?" Wilbur's eyes snap open, and he cranes his head around to stare at Phil. "No. You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

Phil opens and closes his mouth. "I mean... I'm not. You had a really bad infection, mate. You can't just heal from that overnight."

Wilbur stares for a couple seconds longer before laying his head back on his pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. He looks haunted—no. He looks scared.

Phil sighs. "It'll be okay, Wil. You'll get through this. Alright? Just trust me on that. You'll be fine."

Wilbur tries to hide it, but Phil can see how his breathing picks up; how his chest rises and falls with increasing speed; how his nostrils flare; how his eyebrows knit together in quick, barely perceptible movements.

Wilbur's starting to panic. And Phil doesn't know why. It's not like he's being held hostage or anything; he's just on bedrest. Nothing more. He's not trapped. He's not stuck. He's not-

Oh.

[miodiodavinci]

seeing everyone's responses to that "describe your ocs in the worst way possible" post has led me to conclude you are all rad as hell and have only the finest of tastes

[caubool]

Woe, chapter after a whole month

[pixpirs]

im saving my thoughts for this csm chapter in my drafts in a week or so after people have calmed down

[ambrosiagourmet]

I want to talk about why I think this is the one of the most important Falin panels:

So, Falin is really nice, right? It's one of the first things we really learn about her. She's kind even to the monsters of the dungeon - choosing to ward the party rather than fight spirits and cause them needless harm.

In the above early flashback in chapter 11, we see Marcille fawning over Falin's kindness, calling her an angel. Namari calls her soft-hearted. We see Falin choose not to fight even when a zombie attacks - instead she resolves the confrontation with a hug. After the flashback, the first thing Senshi says is that Falin "sounds like quite the person," which Marcille strongly affirms.

At this point in the story, all we have seen of Falin are these impressions; she is a healer, an angel, a caretaker with an infinite well of kindness towards everyone she meets - both friend and foe.

And honestly, that remains most of what we have to go by to understand her. The only times we get to see Falin on the page, alive and just herself, are in the opening and closing pages of the story and in the brief period of time after she is resurrected.

Nonetheless, we do have some more details to work with. For one, there is the scene that The Panel is from - a short memory in chapter 75, when Marcille flashes back to while she's dying. In that scene, Falin prepares to teleport them all out, and says that she's sorry "if there is a person at [their] destination." And that's when we get The Panel.

If you teleport someone or something into another person, the person teleported into is likely to be, at minimum, severely injured. They could die.

We can see a lovely little horrifying example of exactly why in one of the Daydream Hour doodles:

So, hmm. That's not... that's not SUPER nice. Certainly not displaying the same "kindness to all, friend and foe included" we saw represented earlier. On a basic level, this adds some nuance to Falin's kindness. We see it break a little, when pushed to the limit. We see her chose to protect the people she loves above all else.

Which makes sense! As Laios says when the Winged Lion accuses him of similarly being motivated more by his friends' safety than everyone else in the dungeon, "...most people, aside from virtuous do-gooders, would feel the same way."

So, we can take The Panel as simply showing a moment of weakness for Falin. A time when she was pushed to her limits, and that "most people" selfish side of her shone through.

However... I think there's a little more going on with Falin than just her being an angel 99% of the time, except just that once. I love The Panel because I think it helps us understand that Falin isn't just motivated by kindness - she also has a desire to avoid seeing people in pain.

Isn't that the same thing?

No, no it very much is not.

Let's look at a short comic from the Falin section of the Adventurer's Bible, because I think it illustrates this point perfectly. The group is complaining about how much Marcille's healing hurts, and comparing it to Falin's, which "doesn't hurt a bit." Marcille retorts with the following:

Now, the punchline of this comic is that, despite Marcille's sentimental assertion that she's "thinking of [them]" by letting her healing magic hurt, they all still prefer to be healed by Falin.

But hey, this wouldn't be the first time that Dungeon Meshi hides a very real character beat or insight in a gag, so let's think about this somewhat seriously.

If Marcille is right (and she knows a fair bit about magic, so we can assume that she has at least somewhat of a point), then what Falin is doing isn't kind. I suppose if someone specifically requested to not feel the pain, it could be kind, but that's not really what happened here. She is the one who felt badly about the others being in pain, and she is the one who decided, without telling them or giving them a choice in the matter, to take away that pain.

Both Marcille and Falin are healing the party, but Marcille is doing it in a way that accomplishes the task in the most straight forward way, without any additional interference. Falin is going out of her way to perform the healing in a way she is more comfortable with. A way that avoids pain.

Going back the The Panel, I don't think its a coincidence that the only time we see Falin (well, non-chimera Falin) willing to do something that could hurt someone is when any potential pain will be far away from her. If she got someone hurt or killed by teleporting the party to the surface? Not only would it be far out of her sight, but she'd be dead before she had to deal with any consequences of that action.

Falin is not a confrontational person. She doesn't push when Marcille won't tell her the truth about the resurrection, and she comforts Laios about her own death - both of those things happening in the only full chapter she is alive and conscious in the whole story.

We also know that she considered accepting Shuro's proposal, despite not having any special feelings towards him, and that Falin never explained to Marcille that she wanted them to share a meal together. When she brought Marcille various foods at the academy, she just accepted Marcille's confused rejection and gave up.

And lastly, we know that she is still in contact with her parents, despite the neglect and abuse she suffered at their hands. Although the way someone chooses to handle contact with abusive or bad family is a complicated topic, which I don't want to overly simplify, I do I think this fact gets at the heart of how she handles conflict.

So many people that Falin loves have hurt her. There are understandable hurts, like Laios leaving the village, or Marcille not understanding the food. And there are bigger, far less justifiable hurts - like her parents neglecting her throughout her childhood, and sending her away to be alone at the magic academy.

It doesn't seem like Falin has ever confronted any of it directly.

And the unhealthy aspects of this kind of avoidance of pain and confrontation is one of the things that the story of Dungeon Meshi is all about. We see Laios grapple with it before he goes to kill Falin, and we see Marcille acknowledge it at the end of the story, when she tells Laios that she has come to terms with Falin's death:

Eating is a part of life. Consuming other living things is a part of life. It isn't really possible to avoid that pain - you can only hide from the truth of it. You have to be selfish everyday. You have to eat - to choose to live. To choose to take up space.

And this is something Falin embraces, too. She comes back to life, after all.

We see her choose to come back to life.

And how does she make that choice? She eats. She consumes, and then she is asked a question by the manifestation of hunger itself:

Do you want to eat more?

There is a double meaning in the Winged Lion's final words on the next page.

When I first read this, I took it as him saying: life is cruel. You will suffer. You will feel more pain.

But perhaps, especially for Falin, this also means: you are choosing a path where you must cause pain. Where you must consume. Where you must take, and must be selfish. Because eating is the special privilege of the living, and it is their burden, too. In order to stay alive, she will need to keep eating.

And she chooses that. Chooses to be selfish. It's why her resurrection scene is so important, and it's why The Panel is so important. Because Falin coming back isn't the ultimate reward for all of the party's hard work.

It's her choice. Just like it was her choice that started everything in the first place. But this time, she doesn't choose to accept causing pain for the sake of Marcille and Laios. She does it for her own sake.

[penascigarette]

Smooth Operator Ch 1. A New Client

Joel Miller x f!phone sex operator

➴wc: 6.7k | summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.

➴warnings: mdni, phone sex, mxm phone sex, fxm phone sex, m&f masterbation lots of dirty talking, use of princess, shitty moodboard

➴an: hi! i hope you enjoy the first chapter of the first fic I have ever posted. if I have missed any warnings please let me know. feedback is super appreciated! now I will go run and hide lol. and a big tysm to @saradika-graphics for making such lovely dividers!

masterlist | series masterlist | pt. 2

You love sleeping, and just as passionately, you love your bed. Whenever you wake up in the morning, you spend at least ten minutes wrapped up in your duvet, savoring the warmth and comfort as you tease yourself with the idea of a nap.

This morning is no different. The sun shines outside, making your dark purple curtains look lighter than they actually are. If you open your eyes, you know you'll see dust particles floating through the air.

You take a deep breath through your nose and immediately wish you'd opened your windows to let in some fresh air. But you never do, even though you think about it every morning. It's too risky. Open windows are an open invitation to your worst fear—spiders.

Just the thought of their tiny, hairy bodies and long, wiggly legs sends a shiver down your spine. You pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders, practically imagining the creepy crawlies on your skin.

And of course, that's when your roommate, Elliot, decides it’s the perfect time to tickle your ear with one of his long, pink, kinky feathers—used for who-knows-what.

You scream, jump, and scramble off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. Your eyes—probably bloodshot with dark bags underneath—narrow at the grinning culprit, who is currently doubled over in a fit of laughter on the right side of your king-sized bed.

“What the fuck,” you huff, too tired to find any humor in this. You were so warm and cozy, and now that feeling is ruined for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

 “Y-your face!” he chokes out between giggles. He looks far too fresh-faced for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. Still in his pajamas, his messy hair—short on the sides with a wave on top—looks like it hasn’t seen a brush this morning.

“It's not funny!” you argue, your voice rising over the sound of his laughter. You’re this close to stomping your foot at him. “I thought you were a spider!” Standing there in nothing but pink pajama bottoms and a black strap top, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Yet again, you curse him for ruining your warm, safe burrito.

That only makes him laugh harder. It’s hard to believe this man-child is twenty-eight years old when he acts less than half his age most of the time.

At the sound of his snort, you feel your lips twitch against your will. No, you’re pissed at him—there’s no way he’s going to make you laugh. But very quickly, you’re losing the battle. Have you ever tried not laughing with someone who has an impossibly contagious laugh? It’s damn near impossible.

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes as a reluctant smile finally breaks across your face. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, but Elliot knows he’s won this round

“It’s getting late,” he says, still chuckling. His green eyes are watery from laughing, making them sparkle as he grins at you. Rolling onto his left side, he props his head up with one hand—the one holding the feather—while his other hand runs through his sandy-brown hair, slicking it back. “And you slept through your alarms again, so I thought I’d help you out.”

Damn, have you really? It wouldn’t be the first time. Waking you is like trying to wake the dead.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Fair enough, he had to wake you, but—“Did you have to use your kinky, sex feather...thing?” You shiver in disgust. “Who knows where that’s been.”

He shrugs innocently, twirling the offending object between his fingers. “Nowhere gross...” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles once more. “Only up Danny’s ass.”

Your eyes widen, and you splutter. “What? Oh, my god—Jesus, that’s just—” You gag in the back of your throat. “You said it hadn’t been anywhere gross!”

He laughs again, sitting up. “I was telling the truth. Danny’s ass was far from gross.” A faraway look crosses his face. “It was heaven,” he muses wistfully before frowning. “God, I miss him.”

“Oh, honey,” you soften immediately, making your way to the bed and crawling toward Elliot to offer some comfort.

You know Danny and Elliot’s breakup was hard on him. He’d been completely in love with that man and was about to ask him to move in—with you both—when Danny decided to end the year-and-a-half relationship. It just wasn’t working was his excuse, but Elliot later found out the truth when Danny updated his Facebook page: he’d left Elliot for someone else.

“He didn’t deserve you,” you say, trying to make him feel better as you drape an arm around his shoulders. Sitting back on your heels, you add, “He was a dick for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—”

“A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me, I know,” he cuts you off, reciting your usual line before you can finish. You’ve said it enough times in the past three months since the breakup that he knows it by heart. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know,” you respond quietly, your thoughts drifting to your own breakup. It’s been over a year now, but the pain still lingers. Your ex had been your first boyfriend—hell, your first everything. You’d met when you were seventeen, and you moved in with him before your next birthday. Everything happened so fast, and you didn’t see the cracks until it was too late. “But we have each other, right?” you say, giving Elliot a little shake.

He glances at you, his expression vulnerable. Big eyes, plucked thin eyebrows, a slight bump on his nose from when a bully broke it in his teens, full lips, high cheekbones, and when he smiles, dimples form on his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he replies, hopeful. “Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s ass?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away to thump him on the arm. “Fucker,” you mutter as he starts giggling all over again. “Remind me why I love you?”

Grinning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajama shorts and pulls out his phone. "Because I'm adorable," he answers distractedly as he stares at the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it's Simon," he whispers the last part to you as if Simon could hear. "He sounds like a whale when he comes, but boy, does he have a gorgeous sex voice," he informs you. You snort as he accepts the call. "Why hello there, lover."

While Elliot makes himself comfortable against your pillows, you climb off the bed and head toward your wardrobe. You already have your outfit in mind—a pair of leggings and a plain white shirt.

"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," you hear Elliot purr in the background, and you smile, shaking your head. You can’t imagine what people would think about you being in the same room as your guy roommate while he talks dirty to one of your clients, meanwhile, you're getting changed in the corner.

It’s a strange situation, to say the least.

As you remove your shirt with your back turned to Elliot, you can’t help but listen in to the conversation.

"I'd love to touch your nipples," Elliot hums behind you, getting into character. You know how much he loves talking dirty to guys. It’s a turn-on for him. Unlike you, who only really enjoys sex if it’s with someone you love. Elliot is way more adventurous and has had more one-night stands than you can count. "I'd love to stroke them, caress them, lick them. . .”

"Suck them," you add when you hear Elliot hesitate. You pull the straps of your bra up your arms and hook it at the back. 

“Oh, and suck them," Elliot says as you pull your top on.

Since Elliot is still fairly new to this, he needs help sometimes. His situation had been very similar to yours—a broken-up relationship, no job, and forced to move back in with his mum until someone came along and gave him hope. For Elliot, that person was you. For you, that person was your boss, Jane.

Elliot's voice lowers as he talks to his client. "Your body is so pretty, honey. I can't wait to trace my tongue up and down your belly, and then start going lower and lower until I reach your—”

You cough quietly to yourself, trying to hide your smile as you change into your leggings and slip on a pair of fluffy pink socks. You’ve heard Elliot talk dirty loads of times, and he’s heard you talk dirty just as many. Part of training him was him having to listen in on your conversations, and then you monitoring his. Neither of you gets embarrassed around it anymore. It’s more amusing, to be completely honest.

Deciding to leave Elliot to it, you grab your phone off your bedside cabinet and quietly tiptoe to the door. Before you leave, you look over to Elliot and mouth, Coffee?

He nods enthusiastically at you and mouths back, Yes, please!

You’re halfway down the steps when you rub your eye and feel the crumbly sensation of mascara under your fingertip. You’ve forgotten to take your makeup off the night before. You curse to yourself before heading back upstairs to fetch a makeup wipe.

When you reach your room once more, Elliot looks at you questioningly before he notices your face. His lips curl into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. You roll your eyes and put your middle finger up at him before heading over to your dresser, which sits directly opposite your bed. You open the top drawer and feel through the ridiculous amount of makeup and beauty products you’ve collected over time. As your fingers search, your eyes stare forward at your flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. You can see Elliot's reflection.

"God, you feel so tight around me," Elliot is telling his customer, and you bite your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Finally, your fingers grip the packet of wipes, and you pull them free. "I'm gonna come inside of your ass so damn hard—," Elliot is cut off by a muffled roar, and you turn to look at him questioningly.

He is still sitting on your bed, back against the pillows with one hand holding the phone far away from his ear. He has an uncomfortable look on his face, and it’s then you realize the noise has come from the phone. Or, more accurately, the noise is the loud, animal-like groans of a man coming hard.

Oh my god," you whisper to him quietly, now understanding what Elliot had meant by Simon sounding like a whale when he came.

Elliot uses his other hand to cover the bottom half of the phone, preventing Simon from hearing you speak. "Every. Damn. Time," he replies just as quietly, looking so serious it makes you giggle. He cracks his own smile before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Oh, that sounded like a good one, baby."

You’re glad Simon isn’t one of your callers because you’re not sure you’d be able to stay professional with that sound in your ear. You take care of your makeup before finally getting started on coffee.

Your living room and kitchen are all in one room. The only thing separating the rooms is the counter you eat at. Silver stools with black padded seats sit underneath, four of them for when you have guests over.

You walk past the L-shaped sofa and the counter. Once the coffee is on, you get started on breakfast. You decide on some cheesy, ham-scrambled eggs. Just as you start mixing the ingredients, your phone vibrates where you’ve placed it on the counter. You lean over far enough to see the screen. When no name appears, only a number, you figure it must be a new client since you save existing clients in your phone book.

You accept the call and bring it to your ear. "Hey there," you purr in your sexy voice. You never thought you had one until Elliot pointed it out to you. According to him, it’s a hot one too. "Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?"

"Josh." He’s breathing heavily, sounding as if he’s already started the party without you. "I-I'm new to all this…phone stuff," he informs you.

"That's fine, Josh," you say with a slight smile. "My name's Angel, and I’m going to take care of you, all right?" Your name isn’t Angel, but for safety reasons, you’re Angel as far as your customers know. And yes, you’re well aware of how clichéd it is.

"Yes," he tells you, his voice rougher than before. He’s probably getting more excited. Now, all you need to do is find out what he likes.

"Tell me, honey, you like it hard or soft, hm?" you question just as Elliot’s footsteps sound on the stairs.

"God. Hard. I like it hard," Josh answers. "I like it when you take control, with a little pain. Yeah, I like that a lot." In the background, you can hear the sound of his hand working his dick. At least you know he’s enjoying himself.

"Okay, Josh," you nod to yourself, knowing exactly where to go from here. Elliot appears in front of you, his lips forming an 'o' shape when he sees you’re with a client. You nod your head toward the food you’ve been preparing, signaling him to take over as you move away from the counter and toward the living area. Elliot passes you on the way, his hand patting you on the shoulder.

You flop over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, landing with a bounce on your back. "The first thing I want you to do is to strip for me, now," you order him, reaching toward the coffee table when you spot a magazine there. You bring it over to you and open it. "Are you naked yet?"

"Almost," he practically gasps to you. You can hear some more shuffling, and then he's telling you, "Yes, mistress, I'm naked."

Mistress? You sigh internally. You seriously can't believe how many men are into the whole dominatrix kink. In the beginning, it was kind of fun, but by now, it’s getting pretty old.

Mentally awakening your inner dom, you relax further into the sofa and flip through the magazine. "Good boy," you coo, finding a 20 Sex Tips for Women article. Huh, how fitting. "Now, here's what I want you to do, and you better listen closely, pet."

The call ends up lasting 2 minutes and 28 seconds. Not bad for a newbie.

________

“I might have a date this weekend," Elliot mentions casually, making you glance over the top of your book at him, eyebrows raised.

A few hours have passed since breakfast, and you've had at least seven phone calls since. The two of you are relaxing in the living room, you on one side of your L-shaped sofa and Elliot on the other.

"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" you respond, feeling rather hurt. You tell each other everything. You know the penis size of every boyfriend he's had. How can he share that information so easily yet let something like a date stay secret?

He cringes, and you just know you're not going to like what's coming next. "Because..." he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and rushes out, "BecauseitswithDanny." He says it so fast it almost doesn't register, but the name Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

"What!?" you exclaim, book falling forgotten onto the floor as you sit up. You're completely shocked, and you imagine your expression says everything before you even open your mouth. "How can you—why would you want to after what he did?" You can't understand what's going through Elliot's head, but you seriously want to knock some sense into him.

"I tried hinting to you this morning!" Elliot tells you, sitting up. The magazine he'd been reading earlier falls onto his lap, his attention now completely on you. "I told you I missed him!"

You scoff at that. "A hint is, 'Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of going on a date with my ex.' Not, 'I'm going to tickle you with Danny's ass-feather, complain about missing him, and hope that you get the hint that I'm going out with him this weekend despite the fact he broke my heart!'" You take a deep breath, oxygen running low after that rant. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"

"Of course it's your business. You're my best friend."

"—I just don't want you to get hurt," you continue as you both stare at each other with similar expressions. You're both desperate for the other to understand how you're feeling without wanting to cause any upset. "I love you, honey...and it destroyed you when he left."

"He said he's sorry," Elliot tells you quietly, making you realize just how much they've been talking. A pang of hurt goes through your heart, knowing that Elliot felt like he couldn't talk to you about this. "He said it was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. But I don't want to jump back into things so...I told him we'll start slow."

"Well," you nod slightly. "That's something, I guess." It comforts you to know that he isn't rushing into the relationship again. Maybe, if they start from scratch, it could work this time. Unfortunately, your gut tells you different. "I'm going to be honest with you, okay?"

Elliot gives you a lopsided smile, causing a single dimple to form on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile back for a moment before turning serious again. "I think...you're thinking with your heart and not with your head," you tell him softly. "I think you're in love with him, and you miss him, and you're not thinking rationally about this. Which I totally understand, honey. You love him; I know you can't help that. I just worry that Danny knows how you feel about him, and he's going to use it to his advantage." You watch Elliot's expression closely; he's nodding, letting you know he's listening.

You give your lip a quick nibble before continuing. "But if this is something you feel like you need to do, then I'll support you, you know that."

"Thanks, babe," he responds sincerely, but his eyes are sad. "You're right. I know you're right, but...my heart wants this so damn badly."

"What's your gut telling you to do?" you ask him curiously. You’ve always believed in following your instincts.

"Run," he answers with a painful laugh. "Run and don't look back because he's only doing this as a rebound."

You frown at the information. "Rebound?"

Elliot nods, tears filling his eyes. He crosses his legs underneath him, which surprises you given how skinny his jeans are. One arm goes to the back of the sofa while the other runs through his slick-backed hair. He pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, a habit of his, before telling you, "Him and Voldemort broke up. Danny says he broke it off because he misses me, but I checked Voldemort's page, and it looks like he's gone and gotten himself a new guy."

You hold back a snort at his nickname for Gary. Voldemort. It suits him. From Elliot's information, you're guessing that Danny is only after a rebound, but Elliot doesn't want to admit it because he still wants to be with Danny.

"Honey..." you sigh, scooting across the sofa so you can give Elliot a cuddle. He immediately returns the gesture but stays seated, whereas you lean up on your knees, making you higher than him. You rest your head on top of his, your arms around his neck. You know you don't need to say anything. Elliot knows he's burying his head in the sand. You think he just needs to find out the hard way; otherwise, he'd always regret not trying.

"I'm here for you," you assure him. This is something he needs to do, and you can't protect him from it, no matter how much you want to.

"Thank you," he tells you tearfully. You can hear how upset he is, but he's trying to hold it back. You squeeze him tighter, wishing you could take away all his pain. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."

Your lips curve at that. "I know," you joke because really, you're not that big-headed. "Now," you say as you pull away but keep your arms around his neck. "What do you say we turn our phones off for a while, get a Chinese, and watch some crappy chick flicks?"

His eyes are bloodshot and wet with tears, but the smile he gives you is genuine happiness. And that you completely understand because food makes you feel the same way. "I love you so much."

--

The film you end up watching is beyond cheesy, but the humor is awesome, and you find yourself giggling along. Your Chinese food is now in your overly-stuffed belly, and the only things left are the containers sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You sit side-by-side with Elliot, shoulders touching, a leopard-print blanket draped over your laps. Both of you ordered a beer with the takeaway. It isn’t enough to get you drunk, but that wasn’t the plan since you need to turn your phones back on for work later.

By the time the film ends, Elliot seems to be in a much better mood. Hopefully, he’ll stay that way for the next few hours.

“Gosh,” Elliot starts, reaching behind the sofa to the side table where a lamp sits. He switches it on, making you both blink against the sudden brightness. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“Same,” you say, squinting as your eyes adjust. Your muscles feel cramped, so you throw off the blanket and stretch. As you straighten your body, you begin to slide off the sofa but don’t bother stopping it. You let yourself slip onto the floor.

With the coffee table in the way, you have to arrange yourself so you’re lying between the sofa and the table. The wooden flooring is cold against your right arm, while the left side of your body enjoys the comfort of the fur rug.

“Weirdo,” Elliot snorts from above.

“Don’t judge,” you respond, letting out a yawn. Watching films always makes you tired. Maybe it strains your eyes. The floor is oddly tempting right now—so cozy—or maybe Elliot is right, and you’re just a weirdo.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Elliot speaks again, his foot nudging your side. “Can’t sleep now. We’ve got horny customers waiting.”

It’s only then you realize you’ve closed your eyes. “I’m up,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit upright. The smell of Chinese food still lingers in the air. It was absolutely delicious, but your stomach protests now, begging you not to even inhale another whiff of it. You pat your belly proudly, knowing it did a good job handling the feast.

“Good,” Elliot says. “We gotta get to work.”

Neither of you moves.

“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot sighs after a moment, making you crack a smile. “It’s so much effort. I hate... effort,” he says, spitting the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

You tilt your head to look at him better. “Just think about all those handsome, horny men stroking their dicks, waiting for you to—”

“I’m up!” Elliot exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hands dive into his pockets as you laugh loudly. “Christ, where’s my phone? My customers need me!” He’s being overly dramatic on purpose, and it makes you giggle even harder.

“It’s not funny!” he tells you, though he’s trying his hardest not to smile. “Who’s going to give those guys their orgasms? This is a serious situation!”

You giggle again, but then you try to put on a straight face. “You’re right. There could be a riot!” you gasp dramatically. “I’ll get on the phone to the prime minister right away!”

“And the president!” Elliot chimes in, but then you make eye contact, and the two of you burst into laughter. Sure, you can act pretty silly sometimes, but it’s healthy. At this age, you feel more mature than most people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be childish once in a while.

Once you both calm down, you know playtime is over. It’s really time to get to work. Sighing, you take Elliot’s hand when he offers it to you, and he easily pulls you up from the floor.

“Thanks, kid,” you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. You know he hates when you do that.

He lets out a high-pitched squeak and backs away. “You know my rules!”

“No one touches the hair,” you recite dutifully.

“Yes!” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yet you always forget. And what do you mean ‘kid’? I’m older than you!”

“Yes, well, mentally you’re the age of ten, so…”

“Bitch,” he says, lightly punching your arm, and you laugh.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you tease.

He plants his hands on his hips, cocking a hip at you and raising an eyebrow. “Honey, you can’t handle what I’ve got.”

“I’m heading upstairs. Gonna talk dirty to some dudes, grab a shower, change into my pajamas, get some more horny people off, read a book, then go to bed.”

Elliot takes the phone and nods. “Sounds like a damn good plan,” he says, holding up his hand.

You smile and give him a high-five.

--

One of the hardest parts of your job is keeping things fresh and coming up with new ideas. That’s why you love working with Elliot. He’s a guy; he knows what men like, so whenever you feel like you need something different, he’s your go-to.

New customers are always the easiest to please. No matter what you say, it’s fresh to them. Exciting. It’s your recurring customers who require more effort. There are only so many ways to describe a blowjob before it starts feeling repetitive. When you get that feeling of déjà vu, you worry your client does too.

Oh, and trying to figure out what a guy likes? That’s another challenge. Sometimes, it feels like a seriously fucked-up game of I-Spy.

“I spy with my little eye…” Imaginary-you says in a hopeful voice. “A foot fetish? No? Fuck.” You’re rocking back and forth now, losing hope. “I spy with my little—oh, I know! Voyeurism?” you practically beg, thinking about pulling your brains out with a spoon if this doesn’t work. “…Golden showers?”

Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but you get the point. It’s frustrating, especially when the client is shy and doesn’t know what they like themselves.

Deciding you’re getting cranky—probably because you’re tired—you decide to finish half an hour early tonight. You shouldn’t, especially after already losing a few hours of work earlier, but you’ve made enough money to cover your half of rent and bills this month. You’ve still got a week to earn more for food and anything else you need.

So yeah, you’ll finish early.

Yawning, you pull the covers out from underneath your ass before throwing them over yourself. You’re already in your pajamas—a loose pair of pink shorts and a white strap top—and your book sits next to you, waiting to be read.

But just as you pick up your phone, ready to turn it off, a new number flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth leaving. The problem is, with it being a new customer, leaving a bad impression could mean they wouldn’t come back.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, knowing the professional businesswoman in you can’t risk losing what might end up being a recurring customer. As far as you know, this phone call could change your career. You snort at that. Highly unlikely, but it’s going to bring in extra money, which is a good enough reason. “Just this last one, then I’m going to bed,” you tell yourself.

You place the earphones back into your ears and press the green button on your touchscreen. “Hey there, handsome.” There’s a pause, and you briefly wonder if they’ve decided to hang up when he finally speaks.

“Hey,” he responds simply, sounding kind of awkward.

“You caught me just in time,” you say naughtily.

“Oh?” he sounds intrigued, though the awkwardness remains. He’s probably just shy or clueless about what to do. “Why is that?”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by how much you’re attracted to his voice. That’s never happened to you before, and he’s barely said five words. Masculine, educated, and gruff. Swoon.

“Um...” You try to get back into character while scolding yourself. The conversation has only just started; you can’t screw it up already. Get your head in the game, girl. “Because I’m wet and needing a man to help me out.” Internally, you wince. That’s pretty weak considering how good you usually are at this.

He doesn’t seem to think so because he releases a sexy, “Shit. I—” He’s breathing heavily, and you wait for him to finish, sensing he has something else he wants to say. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he admits after a moment.

Fuck, you’re losing him, and you’re losing him fast. You need to think quickly if you want to keep him on the line. You don’t want to admit it, but your interest in this man goes beyond the money you’re earning from him. He’s ignited something in you. “Wait! Please,” you breathe. “I—I’m so horny. I need you. Please? Just stroke your dick for me. I need it.” There you go; you knew you could do better.

“Damn it,” he hisses, and then there’s the sound of a belt buckle, and you know you’ve got him. “What’d you need, sweetie? Tell me,” he demands, and for the first time since doing this job, you feel a wave of lust hit you.

Swallowing in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dry mouth—it all seems to have headed south, if you know what you mean—you respond truthfully, “You.” Jesus, you shouldn’t be doing this, but before you can stop yourself, your left hand is slipping underneath your strap top and finding your breasts. “I need you, please—” You pause for a second. You don’t know if it will work, but if you’re right about him, this is going to go down a treat. For both him and for you. “—sir.”

And you’re right because he lets out a loud groan, making you squeeze your thighs together in response. Jesus, you haven’t wanted someone this badly in what feels like forever.

“Fuck, you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re already nodding before he finishes his sentence. “Yes, god, yes.” You move your right hand so it’s also caressing your breasts. In this moment, you completely love your headset, which allows you to talk and touch at the same time.

“Mm, you’re so obedient, baby,” he tells you, approval evident in his husky voice. “Tell me, Princess, tell me are your nipples hard?”

Your pussy clenches almost painfully, and you try to remind it to calm down because it’s only just started. “They’re hard. So hard they’re showing through my shirt.”

You’re getting so hazy with lust you’re not sure what to do with yourself, so you pinch your nipples roughly and almost cry out in frustration, knowing it would be so much better if he were doing it for you.

“Damn, that’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you, and your belly does a funny flip. “You touchin’ them? Want you to roll them between your fingers. Not too hard, just enough pressure to leave you needing more.”

It’s not easy to admit, but you think he’s better at this than you are, and it crosses your mind that you should probably be paying him. “I already am,” you confess with a guilty laugh. “Your voice... it’s, uh, fucking hot.” You hesitate because you’re not sure if you can say that to him. It’s not very professional, but then you remind yourself that you’re only second-guessing it because you’re actually getting off on it.

"You that eager for me, princess?" he sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. "Tell me how it feels. You know, I'm stroking my dick to this. Getting hard over the noises you're making, and the pretty picture you're giving me."

The image of this man, who you are undoubtedly attracted to, stroking his hard cock over the thought of you pleasuring yourself drives you crazy. He seems so generous, something rare nowadays.

"It feels..." you breathe, trying to find the right words. "Like it's not enough. I need more. Christ." You throw your head back against your pillows, frustrated with yourself and the way you're acting. Completely unprofessional.

"Shh," he coos softly. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. Okay, princess?" He's so freaking good at this. You're practically shivering in anticipation of what he might say next. "I want you to get naked for me. And tell me, baby, you got any toys?"

"Um," you think about his question as you pull your strap top over your head. It gets caught on the earphone wire. "Wait a second." You quickly untangle yourself before placing the earphones back into your ears. Moving on to your shorts, you push them eagerly down your legs. "Yes, I have one of those little bullet vibrators."

"Good. I want you to get it for me, princess."

You bite your lip for a moment, feeling extremely dirty about what you're about to do. "Yes, sir..." you say before reaching toward your side cabinet and opening the bottom drawer. In an old, tiny, purple purse with a single zip sits the bullet. You take it out before getting comfortable on the bed once more. "I've got it."

He hums in approval. "Now, I'm more than happy to go slow, make this last, but I'm sensing that my girl wants to come hard and fast, am I right?"

You suck in an unsteady breath. Being called his girl really shouldn't make you feel as giddy as it does. Why and how does a complete stranger have such an effect on you? You're never one of those girls who fall for a man's charm easily. Yet here you are, swooning over a guy because he's good at talking dirty and has a sexy voice.

Apparently you were easier to seduce than you originally thought.

"Yes," you choke out, wondering if you'd wake up if you pinched yourself hard enough. You wouldn't try it, though, just in case you were dreaming. You really aren't ready for it to end. "God, yes."

"All right then," he chuckles, the sound warm. "I'll do what you want this time. Next time, what I say goes, okay, princess?"

Before you have a chance to respond, he's giving you more orders, and in no way are you complaining.

"I want you to spread your pretty little thighs for me, baby." His voice, and the way he's breathing, gives you the impression that he's getting just as excited as you are.

"Okay," you squeak rather embarrassingly. Cool air hits your most sensitive area as you do what he orders, your hands resting against the inside of your thighs, fingers clutching your vibrator as you wait impatiently for his instructions.

You have yet to turn the bullet on, but it already feels like your insides are vibrating.

"Now, take your hand and spread your pussy lips for me."

And there you go, once again speechless—and breathless—because of this man and his words. Seriously, he could do this job better than you. You have to admit, you're storing parts of this conversation away for both personal and professional use later on.

Your hands automatically do as he says, your body desperate for some kind of release. You feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start or what to do in order to relieve it. Thank God you have him to guide you; otherwise, you might combust. Then again, if he wasn't here, you wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"Okay," you breathe, feeling more and more like a client than a sex line operator. But taking control is obviously something he enjoys, so who are you to put a stop to this? What’s the saying? ‘Customers are always right?’ Well, you absolutely, completely, one hundred percent agree!

"Stretch yourself out," he continues, his voice starting to strain. "Force your sexy little clit out of its hood. I don't want it hiding when you start fucking yourself. All right, princess?"

Fuckkk. Just when you think he can't possibly get any hotter, he goes and says that. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire; your clit is so swollen it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you came the second you put any pressure on your nub.

"Now," he continues. "Turn your bullet on and press it to your clit. You're not allowed to stop until your legs are shaking and you're calling out my name. Got it?" You can hear how hard he's pumping his dick now. For a moment, you feel guilty. Are you neglecting him? But then you remind yourself again that this is what he wants.

You know you're not going to last long. You're too excited. Not to mention, it’s been a while since you've spent some time with your right hand. You twist the top of your bullet, putting it on the highest speed. You know you're worked up enough to take it; usually, you start on low and build your way up because you're overly sensitive. Right now, you know it won’t be an issue.

The bullet starts to shake violently, but the noise is low, like a quiet buzzing. Your left hand holds yourself open, fingers forming a 'V' and spreading your lips as far as you can, just as he instructed.

You don’t need to tell him what you’re doing; the moment you press the bullet to yourself, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips. You’re right—you definitely won’t last long. The vibrations are intense, and you draw small circles on yourself, pushing yourself even closer to the edge.

“Damnit,” he hisses. You’re quickly learning it’s one of his favorite words. “You sound fucking sexy. Wish I could see you. Watch you,” he inhales sharply. He’s just as close as you are.

“What’s—” you attempt to speak but end up gasping instead. Wetness gathers below, soaking your entrance and trailing toward your clit. The added lubrication lets the bullet slide more freely around your nub, the sensation unbelievable. “What’s—”

“Princess?” he chokes, likely having the same problem as you.

So close now. So fucking close. You just need a little more. The rhythm is perfect, and you can hear him breathing in your ear, letting out the occasional groan. It’s too damn much, but you can’t let yourself go—not without— “What’s your name?”

"Joel."

"Fuck - Joel!"

You see stars, as cliché as it sounds. Your whole body breaks into spasms, your left hand falling to the sheets and gripping the fabric desperately. Your right hand forces the bullet between your slippery lips, and your thighs clamp around your hand. Incoherent words tumble from your mouth: “Oh god,” “Fuck,” and Joel’s name.

As you come back down to earth, you can hear that Joel barely followed two seconds behind.

“Damn it, Princess. You’re so fucking good. Sound so pretty. Done so well,” the words spill from his mouth like sweet wine. He probably isn’t even aware of them. The sound of him fisting his dick is irregular and off-beat. “Fuck. Damn. You’re such a good girl.”

You remove the bullet from yourself—if you leave it there any longer, it’s going to become painful—and let out a giggle. Your cheeks are flushed, your body buzzing with pleasure. Lightheaded and giddy, you think to yourself that this guy must be amazing in bed. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly. “You can say that again. I can’t believe I almost hung up.”

“That would have been bad,” you reply, wondering if your heart will slow down anytime soon. “Very, very bad.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then pauses before adding, “Let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” You hesitate for only a moment. It’s unusual for clients to stick around afterward, but you’ve quickly realized this guy isn’t a normal caller.

“What’s your real name?” he asks. “No way is it ‘Angel.’” He snorts, finding your alias hilarious.

Is Angel that bad of a name? You think it’s kind of cool. The company is called Angels and Demons, with you being the Angel. Elliot’s alias is Daemon because it’s close to “demon” but sounds way better. When a customer calls, they get an automated voice instructing them to press the number for their chosen operator, complete with a brief description.

You’re losing your train of thought; you can’t give him your real name, can you? It’s against the rules. If Jane found out, she’d be pissed. She wouldn’t fire you, but her anger is almost as bad. With the image of facing her wrath in mind, you tell Joel, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Your tone is regretful because you’d really like to tell him. “My boss would…it’s against the rules.”

“Ah,” he responds, masking the disappointment. “It’s all right. I understand.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again, hating the idea of letting him down, especially after how amazing he just made you feel.

"Seriously, Princess, it’s fine,” he reassures you, easing the guilt. “I had a really good time tonight. You can bet I’ll be expecting a repeat tomorrow.” You just know that if you could see him right now, his eyes would sparkle with mischief.

Your pussy throbs again just thinking about it. God, he makes you insatiable. “I’m really, really looking forward to it,” you tell him honestly.

“Me too.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” Hanging up the phone, you place it against your lips, letting everything sink in. Alone with your thoughts, you can’t believe you just had full-blown phone sex with a client. It’s so unlike you. It’s more like something Elliot would do. Speaking of…

“Elliot, you won’t believe what just happened!” you shout at the top of your lungs.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.1k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! suggestive moments, mature readers only please!

You and Carter didn’t fight, it just didn’t happen.

Like any sisters, you got on each other’s nerves, you disagreed on things, you borrowed each other’s clothes without asking - but you didn’t fight. 

Growing up, your parents fought all the time. You and Carter would sit in her bedroom and listen to music, talking and laughing and pretending not to hear. Ever since then, you had a silent agreement; you didn’t fight and you never raised your voices at each other.

The problem with this system was that you were never quite sure when she was upset with you. Your stomach churned the whole rest of your shower, as she stood uncharacteristically quiet at the bathroom sink and did her makeup.

Maybe she hadn’t heard you, or maybe she had just hated your words so much that she couldn’t even respond to them. You knew she wouldn’t like it when you admitted that you’d be with Rafe if he asked you, but pretending it had never been said seemed particularly childish. 

A little while later, you sat on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror as she did your hair and makeup. You found your eyes continually drifting up to her, searching for any sign of anger. When a full half-an-hour passed and she still hadn’t responded to your comments about Rafe, you broke down and asked, “are you mad at me?”

“For what?” She scrunched her eyebrows.

“For what I said in the shower,” you wrung your hands in your lap, not sure you wanted the answer.

“Bitch, you know I have the short term memory of an ant, you’re gonna have to give me more to work with.”

You laughed at her bluntness, the lightheartedness of her words relaxing you enough to face your fear.

“What I said about Rafe,” you said. “That I’d be with him if he asked me to.”

She paused her work on your hair, setting the brush down and meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“When did you say that?” She twisted her lips.

“When you came back in, while I was in the shower.”

She shook her head, “must’ve been talking to someone else because I’ve definitely never heard you say that. I feel like I would’ve remembered something so insane.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, playing the whole thing back in your mind. You had definitely heard someone come in, the door squeaking at their arrival. That means someone else in the house was walking around with your deepest secret. And now Carter knew it too.

“Oh,” you said. “Never mind then.”

“Yeah right, you really think I’m just gonna move on from that?” Carter put her hands on her hips.

“We could just pretend I never said anything,” you shrugged.

“Yes you know me,” Carter rolled her eyes, “I’m famous for letting things go and being super chill when I hear someone say something batshit crazy.”

You sighed, “okay fine, but what you didn’t hear was me following the statement up by saying I know I shouldn’t be with him ‘cause I’d probably hate myself the whole time.”

Carter started working on your hair again, her contorted face betraying her attempt to act casual.

“Please just say whatever you’re thinking,” you urged her.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” she replied.

You snorted, “since when?”

“I just, like, ugh,” she dropped her head back in frustration. “Why him? Like I’ve never understood. What is it about him?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I’ve never really known. He’s just…”

“Arrogant, selfish, a bully…” she finished your sentence for you.

“Stop,” you laughed, shaking your head.  

“Just be careful, okay?” She placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting your eye in the mirror. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I know,” you nodded. “I will be.”

“If Rafe Cameron has zero haters then I am dead,” she concluded.

“I know that too,” you smiled.

Carter leaned past you to collect a couple bobby pins from the bathroom sink, her shirt slipping slightly off her shoulder and revealing a patch of deep purple marks.

“Oh my god,” you squealed. “Are those hickies?!”

She dragged her shirt back over her shoulder defensively.

“No! I fell!”

“Uh-huh, right onto Topper’s mouth apparently!” You poked her side, teasing her.

“Shut up,” she smiled and you cackled. 

After that, the Rafe conversation was dropped as you pressed Carter for more details on her hook up with Topper. She tried to play cool, but you could tell there was something more going on under the surface that she didn’t want to say. You decided to be patient, if she was going to finally come to terms with her feelings for him, she was going to do it all on her own.

When she was finally done with your hair and makeup, you inspected yourself in the mirror. 

“Baddie,” she winked at you.

You blushed, “alright let’s go, the boys are probably waiting.”

Carter stood back and crossed her arms, giving you an incredulous look.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re not wearing that.”

You looked down at your outfit, a crop top, black jeans, and boots. You thought it was a perfectly acceptable clubbing outfit, but Carter clearly disagreed.

“Why not?”

“We’re going out to, like, clubs. In downtown Miami. You gotta stunt on ‘em a little bit,” she argued.

“I am! Look how tight these jeans are,” you did a spin to display your point.

“Good thing I brought the perfect dress in your size for just such an occasion,” she ignored you.

“Oh okay so this was a premeditated makeover?” You smiled.

She ran down the hall to her room and returned with a lacy, red minidress. Knowing you’d lose any argument you posed, you changed into it reluctantly. The corset top hugged your waist, pushing your chest up. Your shoulders slumped instinctually, like you could hide away in yourself. You’d come a long way on your self-love journey, but your self-doubt still crept in from time to time. 

As per usual, Carter sensed it right away.

“Shoulders back, head up,” Carter reminded you. “Let ‘em know.”

You took a deep breath, nodding in the mirror, choosing to leave your insecurities behind. You’d borrow her faith in you for just one night.

As Carter, Maddie and Sabrina did their final touch ups and compared outfits, you pulled on your heels and headed downstairs. The other girls didn’t seem concerned with punctuality, but you were sure Topper was probably freaking out about how long they were taking.

It wasn’t Topper you found in the kitchen, though. 

Rafe stood at the sink with his back to you, his black button up pulled taught over his defined back muscles as he stared off into space and the cup in his hand overflowed.

You smiled, holding your shoulders back as Carter had taught you, bracing for him to see you in this dress.

“Thirsty?”

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He felt his resolve break with the rest of his brain, dizzy and drowning in the sight of you. He had the ridiculous urge to shield his eyes, like he was hiding them from the sun, your beauty too overwhelming to gaze directly at.

He set the glass down on the counter, drying his hands with a nearby towel, never once breaking eye contact with you.

Licking his lips quickly, he shamelessly let his eyes drag over your bare legs and up your body, knowing full well you could see him take in every inch of you. He didn’t care, he needed you to understand what you were doing to him.

When his eyes finally landed on yours, he clenched his jaw tight, nostrils flaring with his rising pulse. He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, telling you silently: you’re killing me.

“You like it?” You whispered, running your hands over the lacy fabric.

Rafe opened his mouth to answer, planning something along the lines of “do I like it? Are you fucking kidding me?” but before he could, the rest of the girls came clamorring down the stairs behind you, stealing the moment. 

At the sound of clicking heels and giggles, the rest of the boys came filing into the room.

Rafe gave you one more longing look before handing Kelce the glass of water. Kelce tried to protest, but Rafe shoved it in his hands anyway.

“We’re not leaving ‘til you drink it,” Rafe scolded him.

“Taking over Topper’s mom duties?” Maddie laughed at the exchange.

“No, Rafe’s much more dad vibes,” Carter countered.

“Yes and mom and dad will be pissed if our Ubers leave, so let’s go children,” Topper herded the group toward the front door. 

Rafe took the now empty glass from Kelce and left it in the sink, and you lingered back for a second, pretending to fix your shoe so you’d both end up at the back of the pack. He watched as you bent down and fiddled with the slingback, hovering close when you stood.

“Nice dress,” he mumbled down to you.

“You think so?” You twisted your lips to keep from beaming at him, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.

“There’s not much of it,” he teased, scratching the back of his head as he looked down over the lacy fabric. “But yeah, it’s nice.”

“You gonna give me the ‘you’re not leaving the house in that, young lady’ treatment?” You pressed him. “You really are like the dad.”

“Why? Would you change if I told you to?” He asked skeptically.

“Not a fucking chance,” you scoffed, swinging your hips as you spun and made for the front door.

He was really planning on staying away from you? What a fucking joke. He followed you out of the house like you had him on a leash. He was in for a long night.

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It took all of five minutes for Carter to grab Topper’s hand and pull him to the corner of the club, and it took even less time for their close talking to become a full on makeout.

You smirked at them as you ordered another drink, knowing you’d need something to help you get through this evening if Carter wasn’t going to be by your side. You could feel Tom’s eyes on you as he approached from the other side of the bar.

The whole Uber here, Tom had been eyeing you in the rear view mirror from the front seat. The only stare that made you more uncomfortable was Sabrina’s. It couldn’t be more clear that she’d grown attached to him on their jet ski ride, laughing loud at his unfunny jokes and hovering in his vicinity all night. You had unwittingly fallen into a love triangle you wanted nothing to do with.

You could feel his attempt to hit on you before he even spoke.

“Put her drink on my tab,” Tom told the bartender. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” you said, not wanting to give him any openings.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I know I’ve been kind of a jerk today, the least I can do is buy you a drink to say sorry.”

The bartender handed you the glass, and you immediately took a sip, fiddling with the straw uncomfortably.

“Sorry for what?” You feigned ignorance.

“Last night, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird,” he said, stepping closer to you. He clearly couldn’t see the irony that he was apologizing for making you feel weird while actively making you feel weird. “I just think you’re really cool and I wanted to get to know you better.”

He was crowding your space now, the scent of his heavy cologne choking your senses. Just a few days ago, you found the same smell enticing, but now, there was only one person you wanted standing this close.

Your eyes flicked over Tom’s shoulder, scanning the crowd for him. You found him leaning against the wall, Kelce talking to him emphatically about something you couldn’t hear. You didn’t have to get his attention, his eyes were already on you. Tight lipped smile, you flicked your eyes between him and Tom, trying to communicate your need for his assistance.

Rafe didn’t need anything more to understand what you were asking, tuned in to your every move and sensing your need for him before you even caught his eye. He pushed off the wall and left Kelce talking to no one so he could shove his way through the crowd. Taller than almost everyone, you tracked him the whole way through the sea of people. Tom seemed none the wiser, continuing hitting on you.

“Maybe we could get out of here,” Tom suggested, leaning in a little too close so you could hear him over the music.

“Nah, not tonight bro.” 

Rafe appeared by your side just in time, forcing Tom to take a step back as he draped his arm over your shoulders possessively. Tom’s eyes flew between the two of you as you reached up to the hand on your shoulder and threaded your fingers with Rafe’s. Relief swelled through your body as Tom stepped back. You leaned into Rafe’s hold more, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a grateful squeeze. You knew he felt it when you saw his mouth perk up at the corners. But he didn’t take his eyes off Tom, his work here unfinished.

“Since when are you two together?” Tom puzzled defensively.

“Look man, why don’t you go find, uh, Sabrina,” Rafe waved him off. “Or literally any other girl here.”

As if Rafe’s suggestion had summoned her, Sabrina appeared at Tom’s side.

“Oh my god,” she slurred, eyes red and glossy with intoxication. “Are y’all a thing now? Girl, I never thought you’d actually do it. Good for you!”

It had the cadence of women supporting women, but the undertone was clear. You didn’t miss the disbelief in her tone, subtly trying to cut you down while appearing to lift you up. If Carter was here, she’d bitch her out. But you didn’t need saving from this one.

You tightened your hold on Rafe’s hand, swinging his arm from around your shoulders but not letting go. You pulled him away from Tom and Sabrina, leading him deep into the crowd on the dancefloor. 

Before he had the chance to ask what you were doing, you placed his hands on your waist, spinning in his grasp until your back was flush with his chest and moving to the music. He made no protest, squeezing you between his hands and swaying along with you. Tom and Sabrina watched from across the room, his jaw clenched and her arms crossed.

After a few minutes, both sets of eyes eventually left you, but you didn’t notice, and you didn’t stop. It wasn’t for show anymore. You closed your eyes as you continued to let the music move you. Rafe’s strong arms on either side of you, your brain flashed images of his half naked body in the kitchen and how he kneeled in front of you in the basement. The same fingertips that had so gently caressed your calf were now burrowing into the soft flesh of your hips. One of your arms stretched up, your palm finding the back of his neck, kneading his skin as you clung to him.

When you looked up to meet his eyes, they were ablaze with pure lust. Your lips parted to tell him you felt it too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you showed him, your body moving through the music like water. The bass pumped through your chest, tangling with your thumping heart beat until you couldn’t tell which was which. 

Rafe held you tight against him, like if he let you go you might slip under the waves again. His head sank low, until the tip of his nose was grazing just over the curve of your neck. He was hardly moving, not so much dancing as swaying, letting you do the work his eyes drank in every inch of your body.

With a precise roll of your hips, you pushed against him, and you nearly gasped at the feeling of something hard and demanding pressing into your hip. Your lips twisted with the sweetest satisfaction.

“Thought you were trying to be a gentleman,” you said over the music.

“I was,” he brought his lips to your ear so you could hear him. “But you’re making it too fucking hard.”

Smirking, you twisted in his arms until you were facing each other. You both caught the accidental euphemism and met eyes, breaking into matching laughter.

“You know what I mean,” he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think I do,” you teased with a quirked eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

His smile fell, as did his hands, lowering from your waist to your hips. You reached both arms up, wrapping around his neck and lacing your fingers behind him. 

His eyes swept over your face as he whispered, “you look so-”

“Cute?” 

You meant it in jest, but he didn’t laugh. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched as he took you in, serious as hell when he said,

“So fucking beautiful.”

You shuddered in his arms, and he ran his hand down your exposed back, tracing his fingers delicately over your spine.

“Been driving me crazy since I saw you on the beach,” he continued.

His hand kept falling lower, though it slowed as it reached your lower back, asking for permission with his hesitancy. Your body arched into him without even thinking about it. His palm glided over your ass, the soft fabric of your dress and your plush flesh beneath it pulling an involuntary groan from him. He went lower still, slotting his fingers in the crease where your ass meets your thigh, lingering, setting up camp like he’d stay there all night if you let him. He found the spot so deliberately that you knew he’d been thinking about it for days. 

You waited with baited breath, your silence inviting him to keep talking. 

All he said next was your name. It was low and needy, like a request, or maybe a warning. Flames erupted in your stomach and sent a hot blush sweeping across your body.

“Do you…” your throat tightened with vulnerability, “do you want to go somewhere?”

Yes, Rafe thought, anywhere, for any amount of time.

But there was a small voice in the back of his head giving him pause. Your voice, earlier today in the shower, when you thought you were talking to someone else.

“I don’t want you to hate yourself,” he shook his head, sad eyes falling from your face to his shoes.

You tilted your head as you examined him, unsure for a moment what he meant. Then it clicked, realizing those were your words on his lips. He was the one who heard you in the bathroom. You fought the temptation to run away in embarrassment when you remembered what else he must’ve heard. 

After all you’d admitted to, the piece he was clearly holding onto was the only part you didn’t actually mean. You had added the detail about hating yourself when you thought you were talking to Carter and that she was upset with you.

It was too much to explain to him there on the crowded dance floor. You slipped your hand into his and pulled him from the crowd, out a side door and into the alleyway.

Once outside, you tucked your hair behind your ears and looked down anxiously at your feet. The loss of the music and the sobering night air weakened the boldness you had mustered inside.

“When you said we should go somewhere I wasn’t picturing so much garbage,” Rafe motioned towards the nearby dumpster. 

You laughed, his playful words successfully easing your nerves. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself why you’d brought him out here.

“You heard me, didn’t you? In the shower?” 

“I’m sorry,” he blushed, caught red handed. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. But…yeah.”

“I didn’t mean it,” you told him.

Hurt flashed in his eyes for just a second, before he nodded and squared his shoulders to cover it up.

“Got it,” he shrugged.

“No, I mean, the hating myself part,” you clarified. 

“So the other stuff…?” He was quick to follow up.

The door for you to finally tell him how you felt was wide open in front of you, but you weren’t sure if you could walk through it. The words you’d been holding back your whole life sat on the tip of your tongue, but refused to pass your lips. You looked at him helplessly.

“I can’t,” you shook your head.

Rafe sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What? You can’t what?” 

Your mouth fell open in disbelief, incensed that he was the one with an attitude here.

“You know what?” You said, hands on your hips. “I don’t think you have a lot of room to be snapping at me, Rafe. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“Everything I’ve done?” He huffed. “Please, tell me what I did that’s so terrible?”

“Seriously? High school wasn’t that long ago, Rafe.”

“Look I know I was a dick, okay?” He stepped forward, voice softening a bit with his apology. “And maybe you’ll never forgive me. But all that shit? That guy? That’s in the past, and I don’t want to talk about the past anymore, I just wanna be with you now.”

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you shook your head sadly. “I don’t know if I can just pretend none of that happened.”

“How long then?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Tell me how long I’m gonna be paying for some shit I did when I was seventeen so I at least have an idea, please. Give me a date so I can plan for it.”

“Let’s see, Rafe, I wanted you for twelve years, you’ve wanted me for like two days. Does that seem even to you?”

Your words struck him, the anger in his eyes dissolving, replaced with tenderness. He stepped towards you tentatively, ducking just a bit to better read your face. 

“You really think I’ve only wanted you for two days?” He mumbled softly. “Baby…”

It was the second time he’d called you that today. You were in too much pain when he said it after you fell off the jet ski, but your brain had tucked it away subconsciously to revisit when you felt better. He’d called you baby before, when you were in high school. It had always given you butterflies, and you never called attention to it, afraid he’d stop if he realized how much it meant to you.

Since then, you’d reframed the memories to convince yourself that he never actually meant it, that it was some kind of manipulation tactic. But the way it rolled so naturally off his tongue earlier, and the way he’d breathed it so desperately now, made you reconsider.

“Please don’t call me that,” you pleaded. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

Rafe just blinked back at you, not an ounce of deception in his voice when he said, “I’ve always meant it.”

His confession pinched your heart, the whole story rewriting itself in your mind. For the first time ever, you let yourself actually believe that he cared for you, that he’d always cared for you. To anyone else who knew the whole story, it might seem unlikely, but seeing the look in his eyes right now, you had never been so sure of anything in your life.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, your deep longing for him stronger than ever. He felt it too, you could tell by the way he drew closer, his body lining up with yours, eyes locked to your lips.

With the most tenderness you’ve ever encountered, he reached his hand up, the pad of his thumb landing on your bottom lip and pulling it gently from between your teeth, undoing you.

“Rafe…” you whispered, a plea and a question, as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Can I?” He breathed. “Please?”

You nodded, never meaning anything more than when you told him “yes.”

(chapter 7)

a/n: chat what do we think? are we forgiving him? only 3 chapters to goooo. Also I wrote “shoulders back. head up. let ‘em know.” on my bathroom mirror as my new morning mantra 💘

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