— julia. jules. juli. 22. she/her. south east asian. gemini sun, virgo moon, sagittarius rising. my interests. a trying writer in these trying times. currently in bed, procrastinating writing.⋆˚࿔
— i made this account to do something creative this summer, so why not revisit my hobby of creating stories and daydreaming.
byf. ⟡ main masterlist. ⟡ taglist (under repairs).
recent work/s : apartments and cats; c. kent ⟡ sneaking around; j. maybank
sneaking around the chateau with jj maybank before dinner night with the pogues ⟡ (18+)
warnings; smut, oral sex (f!receiving), established relationship, jj being a munch yup
word count; 1329
a/n; idk if this is any good lmao also jj being a munch makes my head spin like me next
main masterlist. ⟡ obx masterlist.
Tonight, Kiara is hosting dinner night at her parent's restaurant, The Wreck. 'For the Pogues and every–fucking–thing we've been though,' she said. She's been planning this dinner for a week, curating and tasting new vegetarian dishes for the group to try.
All of you (excluding Kiara) are at the Chateau getting ready for the night. John B and Sarah were getting ready in John B's room, while Pope and Cleo were waiting outside, hanging out on the hammock waiting up because Pope didn't trust you guys—more so with John B and JJ—to arrive on time.
"30 minutes, guys! Or Cleo and I will leave you, and Cleo will actually do that, you all know that," Pope shouts from the patio screen door, his footsteps fading out as he returns to the hammock to cuddle with Cleo.
You were getting ready for the dinner, makeup scattered on JJ's desk (an old cabinet he sawed off just for you and your stuff,) your house clothes (JJ's stretched out shirts that you didn't want thrown away) discarded on the floor because you had to accommodate something formal for the night, but something is not right. You've been hot and bothered all day, never getting any time with JJ for the past two days. So, you got the idea of having a quick "session" before the dinner with him because you think this is the only time you'll get time alone (it's not but your horned-up brain doesn't register that at all.)
Opening the door, you look around to find your boyfriend. You see him, whistling, walking towards the living room from the kitchen. He looked gorgeous in what he considers as formal wear—a clean gray button up and some jeans. His hair slicked back and actually looks decent for once. Not that you're complaining with his everyday outfit, but tonight this fit of his does something to your brain—and your core.
You grab his arm when he walked by, not knowing that you were standing there. Startled, he double takes on who grabbed his arm, ready to throw hands at whomever. As he looked to find you, his worries melted. His shoulders lets go of whatever worry he had been holding on to at the door.
"Whoa—oh hey, mama," he smiles then inhales you like you're the only thing he needs to breathe—to live. "You ok?"
Taking in all his focus, you clasp your hand on his jaw, firm but still inviting him in. Your nails making contact with his skin, marking his cheeks with crescent shaped dents.
"Hey, my love," you tilt your head to the side, looking at him like he hung the moon, your eyebrows furrowing in adoration.
You know that nickname is his favorite, and he knows what that nickname means. He knows you've been feeling hot all day, but he had to fulfill deliveries, so you had to wait for him, then when you two finally got together, you were reminded of the dinner Kie planned when Pope and Cleo entered the Chateau. So, now the two of you have been inserting moments alone between the plans made.
His smile slacks, mouth ajar as he walks towards you, his hands on his side like a boy following his first crush to the edges of the world. His eyes sparkling and full of you and only you. He looks at you like you bewitched him, body and soul. He leads you into the room, locking the door behind him, then grabs your waist and caresses the side of your hips. He taps on your hips twice, signaling you to jump into his arms.
You oblige, hopping up, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs doing the same to his waist. He catches you perfectly and doesn't even exert the effort of carrying you like he was meant for this—meant for you. His hands under where your thigh meets your ass, casually gripping like his life depends on it, blindly walking forward until his knees hit the side of the bed.
"We doin' this?" He asks, his eyes blinking slowly, still locked all on you—never left yours since you grabbed his jaw.
"Mhm," you nod vigorously, shaking your head like a bobble head figure which makes JJ laugh, his stomach vibrating sending shocks to the ache between your legs.
He plops you down on the mattress, your arms still wrapped around him and legs around his waist like a koala. Laughs and giggles bouncing around his room. Like two kids left unattended by themselves in the playground. Forgetting everything like you were the only two people in the world.
"Jay," you giggle, kissing his cheeks. His nose. His jaw. Anywhere around his face but his lips making him whine. Loud. You untangle your arms and legs from him, making him stand up and you sit up from your elbows.
"We only have less than 30 minutes, I'll be quick," he kneels down on the carpet, pulling your legs down the bed and putting them over his shoulder. His hands wrapping from under your leg and situating itself on your hip bone.
Your hips buckled and involuntarily grinding on the air from the heat of his palms putting you in place. His mouth waters from seeing you in complete disarray then trails hot, delectable kisses from the side of your knees to your inner thigh, taking his sweet, sweet time.
JJ always took his time with you, worshiping and caressing every inch of you like you were made by the gods—and for JJ, you probably are. Doing all he can to make you wither under his touch, leaving fervent trails in his wake. You'd always get high on his way of taking his time, but no, not tonight—at least not right now.
"Jay," you hum, closing your eyes, running your hands through his slicked back hair—you could always help him style it back later. "I love you, but this isn't quick," you remind him, your voice already breathy and whiny.
"Hm," JJ groans in agreement, pulling—almost ripping—your underwear down and throwing it in god knows where. He returns to his former position, preparing himself for the meal. He looked down on you like a sinner praying for repentance, grounded and all for you. He locks his lips on your precious bud and god.
You throw your head back, gripping his hair like he's going to vanish if you let go. He goes deeper and lower, his nose bumping into your clit. Licking and slurping in circles before thrusting his tongue inside you.
The whole room is a blur, the walls circling around you. You whip your head to the side, looking for an object to ground you down as JJ makes you float in euphoria. Biting your lip so hard, you're shocked you didn't draw blood from it. You were close, your breath getting shallow then—
Knock knock knock.
You hold JJ's head from your core then slowly pulling him up, the lower half of his face wet, covered in your slick. He smiles like a kitten who almost drowned in milk.
"Ya' guys decent? We gotta go," someone knocks, voice muffled from the door.
Cleo. Shit.
JJ immediately drops the smile off his face. You forgot about the dinner.
JJ grabs a shirt from the floor then grabs your leg, wiping his face then the masterpiece he left on you and leaving a kiss on your thigh. You stand up, staggering, holding on to JJ for support as you find your balance.
"We'll finish this later," he whispers, helping you into a new pair of underwear you left on his drawers. You nod, light and happy that you got to spend time alone with him.
You exit JJ's room, all smiley and unaware of your appearances, facing the two couples who looked like they definitely heard what you two were doing.
Clark Kent's first time in your apartment and meeting your cat.
warnings; fluff, newly established relationship, cat lol
word count; 718
a/n; clark kent is literally the loml
main masterlist. dc masterlist.
"So, here is my humble abode," you open your apartment door for Clark to enter. Shyly smiling as he enters like he's making himself smaller to enter your doorway, carrying his and your work bag and also the dinner for the two of you. You wanted to help him and hold your own bag, but he wasn't raised that way and his Ma would scold him for not helping his girlfriend.
You started dating a month ago, finally ending an almost year long pining and yearning competition. "A puppy love staring contest" as Lois once teased you about it, in which you roll your eyes. When you talked to Cat about your first date with him, you overheard Jimmy cheering and yell in the background, "Cat, Lois, you owe me 20!"
"Let me grab those," you take your bag and the plastic bags from his hands, heading towards your kitchen island, "Come on in, don't be shy Clark," you giggle as you see him just loitering around your apartment door. Tonight was his first time coming over to your place.
"Your apartment is really cozy," he states, walking around the living room.
Your ears redden from the compliment, "Thanks, welcome to my safe space," you gush.
Clark was enamored with your apartment. Looking at your memory-filled walls that covered in collages of newspaper clippings, articles written by you over the years; some first page articles being framed, and some small fluff pieces just stuck to the wall in flimsy tape. You've been working at the Daily Planet much longer than he has, and you being his favorite writer, he had been admiring at looking up at you even before he started working there.
He ran his hand through the levels of your bookshelves, looking at books and other trinkets you have throughout your life. He picks up a picture frame of a selfie of the two of you, before you two were dating. This was when Clark had his first page feature of a food cart owner. Cheeky smiled and peace signs scattered around the picture (and a little Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane grinning far in the background.)
While reminiscing about that day, Clark notices an orange ball heading towards his way. He looks down to see a fluffy orange tabby rubbing along his calf, then inserting itself in the middle of his feet, flopping down.
"Well, hello," he whispers to the cat.
Not wanting to disturb the fur ball, Clark carefully leans down, not moving his feet—not even bending his knees—to pet it. Slowly introducing his hand towards the feline, and when the cat doesn't react to a massive hand near its vicinity, Clark extends his finger to rub the cat's forehead, and the cat purring in response.
In the kitchen, after preparing the cutlery and replacing the oily packaging for plates, you turn around towards the kitchen island to see your cat and boyfriend having a bonding moment. Immediately grabbing your phone to capture the moment, giggling while looking at the two of them. Your 6'4 boyfriend stopping everything to be extra careful around your attention seeking cat.
"I see you've met Scarn," you tuck your phone in the back pocket of your pants, "C'mon, dinner's ready."
Your cat perks up to the sound of your voice and immediately starts to head over to you. Clark turns and stands up and walks towards yout, "Scarn?"
"It's Michael Scarn," you giggle, referencing your favorite show, "Y'know from The Office?"
Clark sits on the stool and turns his head in confusion, clearly not getting it.
You sit across from him mouth agape. "Oh, farmboy, we gotta watch it," you hand him his plate, "It's the funniest show ever."
While he takes his plate from you, Scarn jumped up on the stool next to Clark and hopped across it, settling in on your boyfriend's lap. Clark smiles at your cat then rubs the back of Scarn's head. He doesn't even look down to see where your cat is.
"He really likes you," you chime in, "feeling like the third wheel here," the two of you laugh.
"I like you better though," Clark adds, his smile crinkling the sides of his eyes, showing his laugh lines.
You rolled your eyes in a teasing manner, "What a flirt."
when you host a party with your family and friends, ends up with you drunk off your face, who helps you end the night other than your own boyfriend?
warnings; fluff, alcohol, weird family stuff, established relationship
word count; 2503
a/n; im backkkkkk and wrote this at two (or four) am drunk and half asleep lmaooo i think i write better when im drunk
main masterlist. obx masterlist.
You’re drunk.
You were hosting a house warming party for your new apartment. You’ve invited your family; your cousins, your aunts, your immediate family that were close within the neighborhood, and your friends. Since you were hosting, you’ve facilitated three different drinking circles that were formed during the party.
One, with your cousins, who wanted to play drinking games while playing computer games (these cousins you have were younger than you—you were the oldest one but you wanted them to be a part of the family so you served them with the drinks they wanted).
Two, the aunts and immediate family you had, your aunts wanted to catch up with you, so you spent an hour or so telling them all about your new job and your journey from your parent's house to your new apartment. They wanted to know everything about everything. And you, wanting to be polite and be a good host, answered every query they had.
And lastly, your friends, who stayed for an hour but still made your house the place where they pregamed; they invited you to the club where they were going to next, but since your attention was divided three ways, you passed on the offer. Still, they gave you drinks and asked about the place and your boyfriend.
The boyfriend who was absent the whole time.
John B was absent because you wanted him to be absent for the party, and being the good boyfriend he is, he obliged, not wanting to be another burden on your already busy night for you.
He was staying in your apartment parking lot waiting for your call to come up because you didn’t want your family to be on him all the time.
It happened with your cousins’ boyfriend, who was overwhelmed with the personal questions and the halfhearted threats your family gave. Sure, it helped them know who their niece was dating, but it became too personal for their niece or the person their niece was dating. Their niece—your cousin—only communicated through text messages now.
You’ve noticed how your family worked by now. If they’re currently not in the family, they will try their best to—jokingly, but still—threaten the new member, until they snap, if they got what it takes to be a part of the family. So you try to keep John B out of that situation, your sake and his.
You’ve been secretly dating John B for almost a year now. Your coworkers know, your friends know, even your cousins know about him, but you’ve been really secretive about him with your family and older relatives.
He’s been understanding about it all but you can't help but feel guilty about it. He’s so understanding about it that you almost can’t help but blurt it out to them.
A few hours ago, you asked him about it, “You should go home, JB, I really want you to meet them, but I don’t want them ruining us, or me” you rant, focusing on the cracked tile your apartment building had.
“You know, I’m okay staying here, so that you wouldn't overthink while you host your house warming party,” John B has a way of calming you down, even if you were in the wrong.
“I’ve already seen your apartment,” he holds your face, stroking your cheek. He really knows how to calm you down, “We even blessed the kitchen island and bedroom walls,” he snickers, earning a light hearted slap on the chest. He holds on to your hand that was on his chest.
You should be proud that you have a boyfriend that isn't insecure, or rather, you should be proud that your boyfriend doesn't need the validation of your family. He was ok with hanging out in the hotel lobby or the parking lot, wherever he preferred, while you were hosting for your family and friends upstairs.
“I’m just bummed out that I can't help you with the hosting upstairs,” he looks at the elevator, “JJ, Pope, and Kie said that I’m a very gracious host,” he snakes his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“Well, of course they would say that,” you wrap your arms around his neck, “they sleep there almost every day,” you giggle, which makes John B shrug with a smirk that etches his face.
When you're with John B, you feel like all your problems go away. Well, except now, where all the people you know and love, even though they're sometimes annoying, are upstairs, inside your apartment.
“I better go,” you look at the time that's on the analog clock at the top of the apartment concierge, 9:48 PM, “My hosting duties are in dire need; I left Sarah in charge,” you wince.
Sarah was upstairs, pouring drinks, and answering questions about where you are with ‘I think she’s with her landlord about the noise,’ and ‘She’s taking care of her neighbors with their cats.’
You don’t have neighbors with cats, but she can make shit up as she goes as long as you weren’t there.
“Call me when the party is over,” he unhooks his arms around you, which make you unconsciously pout, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be in the twinkie smoking Jay’s secret stash,” he smiles, his eyes drinking you in, like he’s not going to see you in years.
You unfurl your arms around him, bummed about your family and their really weird and annoying way to let someone new join the family. You think that it is nice for them to think about your safety and time, but isn’t letting them know about your current partner, and them joking, enough for jokes about embarrassing you?
“I’ll fake being really wasted so that they would leave early,” you start to laugh, “and curfew starts so my friends are going to a club in a few minutes so they wouldn't stay long anyways.”
The security guard that’s always on duty in the parking lot already knows who John B is, so he wasn't a lone stranger in the lot when curfew starts.
You wave as John B starts to head towards the parking area, “Bye-bye, lovey.”
He waves back, but doesn't turn his head, instead looking side to side for stray cars coming his way.
You turned around and went for the elevator. Pressing the arrow up and waiting for the elevator cabin to come, you thought about introducing John B to your family. Balancing on wanting them to know about your relationship and wanting your relationship close to your chest and no one sabotaging it.
The elevator doors pinged and you stepped inside. As you pressed your floor number you thought about if you did introduce him, you would face different aunts, uncles, cousins, relatives, and even other friends that you weren't close with wanting different answers from the same questions. If you were serious, if you were casual, if you were mature enough, if you were financially stable for it, or if you weren’t financially stable for it all. They’re all valid for all their questions, and you were thankful for them, but you just wanted to find out for yourself with no one around you judging your choices to be your choices.
The elevator speaker said that you were on the floor you pressed and stepped outside. You walked through the hallway, anxious but still proud that you have your apartment. You’d face this with the only thing you’re good at with the three groups that you’ve seen that formed while you were gone.
Alcohol.
Lots and lots of alcohol.
You relieved Sarah with her substitute host duties and took over the drinking situation.
So that returns you to where you are now. You, at almost 1 AM, drunk because you thought you could manage drinking with three different groups of people. (With three different kinds of alcohol—because different groups, different vices—you surely didn’t last long, and was tipsy and almost on the edge of sleep by the eighth drink.)
“Thanks for the night, niecey,” your drunk uncle exclaimed, dragged by your aunt with his collar towards the elevator. You wave at them, thankful that they were the last people to leave. You were drunk, but not drunk enough to forget that you had John B in the basement waiting for your call.
You close your apartment door and scramble around finding your phone, which was in between two couch cushions, as you call John B.
John B was sitting in the Twinkie the whole time. He was debating on calling JJ to smoke with him when he saw you turn around for the elevators. A few minutes later, he decided against it when he saw the first wave of guests of yours exit from the elevators; your friends, tipsy and shouting about wanting to continue the night to the clubs.
Deciding to wait it off and not smoke the weed JJ had pre-rolled for him so that he could help you clean up. John B was awaiting your call, bored but still alert enough to notice a phone vibrating.
John B was in the middle of his not-planned nap when he finally noticed his phone vibrating with your name on the caller ID. Your name front and center with his contact photo of you, sleeping with your mouth open on his chest.
He answers on the third ring, half asleep and with a groggy voice, “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, my JB , they all… are all gone and went,” you slur your words, clearly intoxicated. It takes approximately 5 seconds for John B to perk up and immediately hop off and lock the twinkie.
He says hi to the security guard on duty, the guard carelessly nods, and spam presses the elevator buttons, like it helps the elevator to come faster.
It doesn't.
John B was listening to you babbling on the phone about everything and nothing at the same time, when it cut off when he entered the elevator. He arrives at your floor a few minutes later and knocks on your door.
No one answers.
He knocks again. No one answers, again.
When he knocked a third and final time, he thought that you passed out on your couch. He almost turns around giving you the time to sleep, when you open the door with a sleepy expression, you subtly perk up when you see him, but your drunk and sleepy self, more prominent, resulting in you immediately leaning into him, arms wrapped carelessly around him.
“Woah, woah, woah,” he catches you, holding you by your waist, and you wasted and half-asleep, “Baby, have you cleaned your place?” He asks, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist so that he could enter your apartment. He drops you on your couch; you plop down sideways, your head hitting the couch cushions, as he turns back around and locks your door.
You moan, shaking your head, not caring if John B saw, “I started on the table but got a headache in the middle…” you start to doze off, grabbing something soft at random—a throw pillow from the floor.
“C’mon, up up up,” he pulls you up and drags you toward the bathroom, “You can’t sleep with a full face of makeup, you taught me better than this,” he puts you down on the sink as you lean on the mirror.
“Please take care of me, JB, I’m drunkie,” you snorted with your eyes closed, thinking your rhyme was very funny.
John B smiles, “Yes, you are, baby,” he starts wiping away your makeup with the steps he remembered with you teaching him.
You earnestly smile, “You know, none of my ex-boyfriends did this with me, they always didn't care enough,” you exhaled softly through your confession, John B’s brows raised with shock because this was the first he heard about this.
“You don’t have to worry,” he pauses, still wiping your face with a cotton wipe, “They’re all dicks, baby, I’ll take care of you always,” he promises, to you and himself. He knows that you’ll never remember this but he will keep that promise near his heart.
You grin, hearing this. While you were intoxicated out of your mind, he was wiping you down like you were the finest piece of China he had ever encountered, with utmost care and patience. Like if he were to roughly wipe, you would crack and shatter.
As he finished, he walked away and goes toward your closet, finding your pajamas, and returning to the bathroom when he saw you softly snoring, still having the same position as before.
“Nope, no, wake up” he calls your name as he softly wakes you up, “You’re gonna be annoyed in the morning when you’re still in denim.”
Still with your eyes closed, you hum as you turn towards him, raising your hips, giving him permission to take off your shorts. He slowly takes it off, as he replaces it with your pajamas.
“Raise your arms up, baby,” you follow as he whispers, dragging your shirt up your torso and off your body.
He kisses your tummy as he throws your discarded shirt in a corner somewhere in the bathroom. He replaces it with a sleep shirt, his overstretched shirt that you stole from him a year ago.
“Brushing your teeth is the last step baby,” he tells you as you nod, just following what he says. You show your teeth for a while, weirdly a mix of a grin and a frown, as he takes his time putting on the paste on the brush.
What you don’t realize, because your eyes were closed the whole time, is that he took a picture of you holding that pose. Immediately replacing the old contact picture with this one.
This is now his favorite picture of you.
You slightly open your eyes and groan, “JB, this grin hurts,” he puts his phone down and starts brushing your teeth. As he finished with yours, he started brushing his own, letting you catch your sleep on the counter.
“Okay, we’re all done here, c’mon” he turns around, notioning you to jump on his back, giving you a piggy back ride. You oblige, giggling, feeling like a little kid all over again.
He walks away from your bathroom while you're on his back. You reach over and turn off the light switch, and wrap your arms back around his neck.
He plops you down on your side of the bed as he tucks you in. As he finishes, he circles around and goes to his side, when he finally lays down, you immediately turn around and cuddle, you wrap your arms and legs around him, essentially locking him in.
He’ll never say this to you, but this has been the best night of the week. Taking care of and treating his girl like a princess has been the highlight of his week.
“Thank you,” you whisper on the crook of his neck, “I know I’ve been spoiled tonight, so I wanna say thank you so much baby,” you confess.
You’d never have survived this night without him helping before the party started, and helping you after the party with yourself. You would never ask for a more perfect boyfriend.
“Of course, you're my girl,” he answers, “Although I didn’t clean up the dishes,” he grimaces, forgetting about the real mess in the other rooms.
You giggle, “that’s a tomorrow problem,” you make yourself comfortable and doze off. Silently snoring before John B could return a remark.
With you by his side tonight, everything else is a tomorrow problem.
╰warnings┈➤ just pure fluff (and a swear word or two)
╰word count┈➤ 1158
"What was it called again?" JJ scratches his head while he looks at you shuffling the cards.
You two are the only people at the Chateau. Kiara is helping her parents at The Wreck, while Pope and Cleo are at Heyward's. John B. and Sarah were nowhere to be found. Hit with boredom, you drag JJ into the kitchen to play a card game.
"It's a Filipino card game for children. Unggoy-unggoy or monkey-monkey in English," you grin, "it's a funny name, I know."
"Monkey-monkey?" JJ widened his eyes at you in surprise. "Are you kidding me? Why haven't we played this game?" He immediately perks up, sits properly, and watches your hands intensely.
"Because we never have the downtime for it," you stop shuffling and gather all the cards in one hand.
"The only objective is not to have the last card. So it goes like this, I put a random card back in the box and I'll deal the remaining between the two of us," you do the instructions, putting a random card in the beat up box and put it aside.
"Do I show you my cards?" JJ asks as he starts gathering his cards on the table.
"No, no. You're the only one who can see it because it defeats the game if your opponent sees them," you finish dealing out the cards and pick up your cards.
"Okay, so what next?"
"You pair your cards off and put the pairs on the table. Essentially, those cards are trash now.” You pair off your cards, an A with an A, a ten with a ten, putting them on the table face up so that JJ can copy your actions.
"The color or the suit doesn't matter?"
"Yup, just the numbers," you smile at him, peering at him to see that he's looking too seriously at his cards. "Baby, you're gonna burn a hole through those cards," you laugh.
He hides the smile behind the cards, "Shut up."
A beat passes, then he asks, "Hypothetically, what if I have three of the same number or letter?"
"You don't have to ask hypothetically, you know, I know you have three of a kind," you giggle, "but if, hypothetically, that happens, you only pair them off, you leave a card behind."
"Hm, okay," he throws a pair of threes on the table.
You smirk at him, "Now I know you have a spare three in there."
"That's cheating."
Both of you stay silent for a while, pairing your cards and putting them on the table between the two of you. You only have six cards remaining: an 8, a 3, a 4, a 6, and a King and Queen. You look over to JJ's side to see that he has five cards.
"I think I'm finished, what's next?" He puts his cards face down to look at you.
"Okay, since I know what I'm doing," you grin, JJ playfully rolls his eyes, "I'll go first. You hold up your cards, but don't let me see."
He holds up his cards, but narrows his eyes, as if he doesn't trust you with his cards. "What are you gonna do?"
You lean over the table and grab one of his cards.
"Hey, you can't do that!"
"I can because that's literally the next part of the game." You look at the card you took from JJ's hand, and it's a 6.
Good, one step closer to winning. You pair it with the six you have and put it on the table.
"Now, it's your turn, take one of my cards." You hold up your cards closer to him. He hums, running his finger through them. He takes one and smiles, looking at you while he puts down a pair of fours.
"I think I get it now, it's your turn now, mama," you blush over the given nickname. You take one of his cards—a three—you pair it off and put it on the table.
JJ has two cards remaining while you have three. Shit, he's winning. You immediately shuffle your cards behind your back, and putting them back in front of you, "It's called strategy, Jay. Look it up," you grin at him.
"Shuffling cards isn't a strategy, but okay, whatever you say," he picks a card from your hand, a king. His eyes widen, looking at the card.
A moment passes, and then, he shuffles his cards.
"Ha! You didn't get a pair from that! My strat worked," you joke, stopping his shuffling by holding one of the cards. "Baby, give me it."
"No, I'm not done shuffling," he whines, pulling back his cards, and you are not letting go.
"Come on, jayyy," you whine back, "give me one," you fight for his cards.
The two of you have this push and pull of the cards for a minute, until he finally lets go of the card you were holding.
A King.
It was the same card he took from you.
You're back at the beginning.
JJ cackled, "The strat really worked, babe." He punched the air, having the biggest grin you've ever seen.
"Jay, sit down," you stiffly said, holding your three cards, "you haven't won yet."
You turn around and shuffle your cards, putting the king in front of the cards you have.
"Come on, mama, turn back around, I was kidding," he reaches over and touches your shoulder.
You turn back around. "Here," you show your three cards, hoping for JJ to take the king.
And he did. Hell. Yes.
You smile at him, "Did you make a pair?"
"Fuck. Clearly not, babe," he shuffled them again. "I'm hoping for you to take the King, praying even," he propped up his elbows on the table.
You cautiously lean over and take one.
This time, you see JJ's eyes look at you, then you turn the card and see a queen.
A queen.
"The King's Curse has lifted! All hail the queen!" You laugh in celebration. "I genuinely thought I was going to get the godforsaken king again. Your turn, my glorious, handsome, gorgeous boyfriend ever," you beam.
"I'm not gonna get mad anymore 'cause you called me gorgeous," he picked up your last card and made a pair, leaving him with a king. You clap your hands and stand up.
Walking around the table, he pulls you into his lap, "I can't believe I lost," he nuzzles his face on your neck.
"Well, it is your first game. You'll beat me someday," you run your hand through his hair, "but today is not that day."
The front door opens, and you see Sarah and John B enter the kitchen.
"Hey, what're you guys playing?" Sarah asks, looking at the cards in disarray on the table.
"It's a—" you started to say, when JJ pulls his head out of your neck and looks at John B.
"Hey JB, how about we play Monkey-monkey? Loser buys beer."
— requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰a/n┈➤ did i simulate this game alone? yes, yes i did. and idk if i explained the game right, correct me if im wrong in parts :> (and yes i am filipino. south east asian girlies rise up ⬆️)
warnings; alcohol, drugs, swearing. angst (?) (idk what this is lol). mdni (18+)
word count; 931
Rafe invited you to this house party near the cut. He said that it was his close friend's birthday, and since your relationship was still new, you figured it was a good way to meet some of his friends, the people he grew up with.
You already met Sarah; she was the one who introduced you to Rafe, but she wasn’t here, and this was a new crowd. A crowd full of Kooks, and as a visitor, you were proclaimed as “Rafe’s Touron Girlfriend.” You didn’t mind that, to be honest, since it was kind of true, you only visit during the summer, and this summer, the kook king took a liking to you.
You were nursing a drink since the start of this evening because you aren’t really a fan of alcohol, knowing that he gets wild at parties. It was okay, sure, you were never one for drinking, but it would have been nice to not be the designated drunk driver for one night.
Now, you ended up here. Alone. In the kitchen, looking at the living room where they were doing Karaoke. You looked to the crowd when a girl was waving at you, smiling and nodding for you to sit next to her. You, bored, shrugged and started walking to her. You sat down in the middle of her and another girl who was singing a pop song.
“Hey! You’re new here, right? I’m Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend,” she took her hand out to shake as she shouted over the music.
You knew Topper from when Rafe dragged you to the Country Club and watched him play golf. You never interacted, but you could sense that Topper sometimes gives you the side eye when he feels like you’re not watching.
“Hi, I’m Y/N, Rafe’s girl—”
“You’re so different from what I’ve heard! Aren’t you one of those half-Pogue half-Kook that his sister, Sarah, hangs around with?” she beams, cutting you off. Ruthie looks like one of those girls from those Fourth of July commercials that you see on television, all staged and shit.
“I’m not a Pogue or a Kook. I’m just visiting for the summer,” you corrected her, but you doubt that registers in her mind.
“Oh, a touron! I didn’t think Rafe would be into you guys.” She hums as she stands up, seeing a friend of hers, and starts talking to them. That conversation left a bitter taste on your tongue, but you paid no mind, thinking that she was already drunk.
You looked over to the projector to see that they were playing a song you knew. You started humming along when the girl next to you took a microphone and handed it to you.
“You sound so nice! You should sing!” The girl beams, handing you the microphone she used a few songs ago.
“Oh, no, no! No, it’s okay, let other people sing,” you declined politely, pushing the microphone away.
“Come on! Seems like you know the words to this,” she insisted, handing the microphone.
You shook your head. “Fine, don’t blame me when you hear my singing voice,” you both laugh as you accept the microphone from her.
As you start to sing the song, you see in the corner of your eye, Rafe and Topper, walking into the living room, staying behind the crowd. They were laughing at something on Topper’s phone. As he drank the beer he was holding, he smiled at you and nodded to the beat of the song. When you sang the chorus, you made eye contact with Rafe, serenading him.
Smiling, nodding at the beat, and not minding everyone in the room. It was just you and him. His eyes never leaving yours as he drank, mindlessly smirking at Topper when his friend said something to him.
As the song slows down to go to the bridge, you turn to the girl who handed you the microphone to give it back. When you turned back to Rafe, he was talking to Topper and his other friend, Kelce. He was looking around the room, noticeably not at you, and left.
You furrowed your eyebrows. You were just making heavy eye contact with him a few minutes ago, but now, when he leaves the room, he completely ignores you. He never leaves without you acknowledging it, so of course, you get curious. You stand and leave the room, following the path your boyfriend took.
You knock on different doors to get varied results. Some doors were unlocked to see people asleep, some open on people puking on the floor, and some were locked, but you can distinctly hear people having sex.
The last door was ajar, and you heard muffled voices of guys. This must be where Rafe went. You peek at the gap when you see Rafe snorting a line of white powder. Cocaine.
What the hell.
You didn’t know Rafe did—does—drugs. Alcohol, yes, but drugs? Never. He never talked about it, never mentioned it, not at all, but then again, you've only been together for two months—almost three months. But isn’t that a topic you tell your girlfriend?
As you think more about it, you inadvertently step back and hit a drawer in the hall. The cans and cups clatter and some fall, but you didn’t care. You try to gather your thoughts.
Am I being overdramatic? Maybe. Maybe this is normal here, but still.
Why wouldn’t he tell you?
You had to leave.
So, you did.
You ran from the hallway, through waves of people, out of the house, and onto the street.
—requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰a/n┈➤ heyy... heyyy... how yall doin... this is inspired by that one sebastian stan movie, endings & beginnings (2019)
╰word count┈➤ 448
╰warnings┈➤ fluff, cursing, blood mention, no use of y/n, reader is capable of getting their period, i think thats it
Rafe arrived home from a meeting with one of his company’s clients when realizing one thing: Tannyhill was eerily quiet. Rafe assumed Sarah was out with those Pogues again, but he wasn’t expecting absolute silence.
“Hey, baby? Ya here?” He went silent for a minute, listening for a response and walking up the stairs, only to get a groan from the master’s bedroom.
He stops, his blood goes cold. Rafe’s mind immediately runs at full speed. Is there someone else in the house? Is he being robbed in full daylight? Where the fuck is his girlfriend and why isn’t she responding?
“AYO! WHO THE FUCKS IN THERE? I SWEAR TO GOD–”
Rafe started bolting through the corridor and into the hallway of the master’s. When he arrived, he saw you, holding your knees with your face on the ground next to the bed. The blanket was halfway on the ground, like you were trying to pull it off the bed and gave up.
“Rafey? What happened?”
“Hey, baby. It was nothing, I just got off work, thought you weren’t here,” his demeanor from earlier, all hot and angry, gone, replaced with a softness that only you get to see.
“Heard you yelling from downstairs. I didn’t have the energy to respond loudly right now, and I still don’t,” you muffled through the carpet. Rafe chuckled and knelt towards you.
“It’s okay, baby. One question, though: why are you here? Let’s transfer you to the bed, come on,” Rafe held your arm and started to pull you up when you groaned and hugged your knees tighter. Rafe immediately let go of your arm, thinking that he had hurt you.
“Noooo, it’s much more comfortable here, and this is the only position I can endure. Transfer me in, like, five hours, or two days, or honestly, don’t move me at all. Let Mother Earth absorb and take me to the core of the earth right now.”
It just clicked on Rafe’s head what’s happening right now. He sat down next to you, rubbing your back.
“D’ya need anything for this? Don’t you have an ice pack for this shit?”
“Not an ice pack, it’s a heating pad, and it’s charging in the bathroom. I was going to get it, but the cramps got the best of me; that’s how I ended up here,” you pointed towards the bathroom door. Rafe stood up and disappeared to the bathroom. He returned with the heating pad, putting it on your lower back.
“Could you brush my hair, Rafey? It helps me relax.”
“Okay, baby,” Rafe started to brush your hair with his free hand.
Because when had he ever said no to you?
— requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰a/n┈➤my first fic here!!! yippee !!! its all self indulgent and its all the things i want rn bc the pain suckssss saurrr muchhh
When you moved from the mainland to the Outer Banks, you didn’t know that parties would come this often. You were a shy kid; most of your friends—if you call them friends—didn’t invite you to parties. But here, things are different. You just met Sarah a few hours ago, and she immediately invited you to the bonfire.
Now, you were in the middle of refilling your cup when you felt a pair of eyes looking at you. You turned around to see a 6ft guy wearing what looks like a stock photo golf player, smirking at you as he drinks from his cup.
He took that as an invitation. As he waved to his friends bye, he walked towards you and leaned down towards the keg, refilling his drink as he looked at you.
You tilt your head and send an inviting smile towards him.
“Come here often?” He says, smiling.
“Is that what you say to the girls you talk to?” You laugh, taking a sip from your cup.
“Nah, okay, let me try again,” he fixes his posture. “I’m Rafe. Rafe Cameron,” he stuck his hand out for a handshake.
You say your name, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it.
“So, you new here? I think this is the first time I've seen you here at the bonfire.”
“It’s because it is,” you smile at him, “I just moved here, like a few weeks ago, and my new friend, if I can call her that, Sarah, invited me here tonight. She mentioned having a group of friends, but I think they left the party.” you look around to find her, but she’s nowhere in sight.
“If this conversation goes wrong, I probably should have stuck by her,” you pout, earning a small chuckle from him.
“I promise you, this conversation will be a pleasant one,” he says, clearing his throat and looking off to the crowd near the bonfire. “So, uh, how do you know her? Since you just moved here and all,” He leans towards you, drinking out of his cup.
“Oh, I just got hired at this country club, and she was there having lunch with her, I think, sister, and I bumped into her, we talked, and all— she’s very friendly. I could never be that extroverted, honestly, it’s such a flaw of mine to not know how to socialize, but, hey, look, I’m trying,” you ramble on.
As you looked over to him, you could see that he was listening, making eye contact, nodding along, which made you smile shyly. “What? Is there something on my face?” You ask, touching your cheeks and mouth.
“No, it’s just that you look so hot,” he looks at your eyes, then your mouth, then back again. Oh, so he wasn’t listening. Typical for guys like these to think of only one thing.
“Thanks, Rafe, Rafe Cameron. Is that it? Y’know, I thought you were one of the good guys,” you roll your eyes. You start to leave when he grabs your forearm.
“Woah, hey, hey, hey, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean for the compliment to sound douche-y. I truly am sorry,” he explained, loosening his grip around your arm. “Can we keep talking? I like listening to you.”
Your back was to him when he talked. There were so many things you could do. You could just pry his hand out of your arm and throw a fit, or you could throw the drink in your hand at his face, or just never give him anything and leave. But why couldn’t you?
Was it his face? His charm? His goddamned golfer outfit? Whatever it was, it pulled you in, and you didn’t stop it.
“It didn’t ‘sound’ douche-y. It was douche-y,” you turned around, crossing your arms together. Cautious but still open.
“Okay, it was douche-y. I apologize, can you forgive me?” he puts his hand on his chest.
“I don’t forgive you here.” You stay silent for a beat, thinking. “But there is a diner I saw a few streets from here, maybe I’ll forgive you there,” you shrug nonchalantly, hinting because when are you ever going to see a 6’2 man asking for your forgiveness?
He slowly grinned, getting the hint, and walked towards you. He reached his hand out, but you immediately pushed it away. He tilts his head, confused.
“If you ever fuck up again, I swear—”
“I won’t. This is a learning moment for me. Consider me a new man,” he cuts you off, pulling out his phone and handing it to you. “So, can I ask for your number?”
“I don’t know how you made me do this.” You take his phone and enter your number. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” You give the phone back to him.
“Yo, Rafe! We gotta go, man!” You hear from a distance, his friends in an expensive car.
“Looks like you gotta go,” you frown, tapping his chest.
He turns his head, looking towards the car. “Looks like it,” he sighs, “So, I’ll see you at the diner? Friday, 7 pm? Text me your address, I’ll come pick you up,” he rambles.
“Okay, calm down, I’ll text you,” you laugh.
“Okay,” when he started to pull away, it was a blur. You grabbed his arms, stood on your tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. You immediately pull away.
“You gotta go, I’ll text you, bye!” You push him away, smiling. He laughs as you push his heavy body towards his friends. He looked back towards you and waved goodbye.
When he left, Sarah showed up, drunk and all smiles.
“Woah, where did you come from?”
“The beach, there’s another smaller bonfire there, come on.” She pulls you away.
“Hey, Sar, do you know someone called Rafe Cameron?”
“Yeah, that’s my brother. Be careful around him, he’s a complicated person to deal with.”
“Oh, I will.”
—requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰a/n┈➤ i am having the worst writers block ever. idk what this is, its 2am and this wasnt proofread hsahdgadahsd i'll tell you guys later if this could be a series i think im thinking of making her sweetheart!reader,,, idk yet
You both were tired from this week. You, with work, and him, with his vigilante shit. During the week, the two of you only see each other in passing, either one or both are busy, and never see each other unless it's for lunch or dinner. Until now.
The only sounds apparent from your apartment were two things: the wooden floorboards creaking from the weight of your bed, and the noises coming from the two of you, all over each other, making out.
"Dick-" you get cut off by Dick's lips on you. "I missed you," as you wrap your arm around his waist. You grind on his body unashamedly, like a dog in heat. "So, so much."
"Mhm, me too, baby," he moans, softly tugging your hair. His leg pushes you to lie on your back as he grinds back. "Thank fuck I didn't have patrolling duties tonight. I missed this," he mumbled, his lips trailing down from your lips to your neck. "I missed you."
You hum, listening to him while cradling his head as you wrap your legs around his waist.
"So, what's new with your bat-family?" You ask, trying to start a conversation. He stills and raises his head from the crook of your neck.
"We are not doing that."
"Do what?" You answer innocently, smiling.
"Baby, you just killed my hard-on with one question," he groaned, rolling over on his back to lie next to you. You turn and lay your chin on his chest.
“I’m kidding!” You giggle, “Is Dickie Jr. really dead? Did I really kill him?”
“No, you didn’t,” he grabs your face, “my hard-on is still going strong, baby,” and engulfs you in an all-encompassing kiss. You giggle in the kiss and crawl above him, placing his torso between your legs.
You moan, trying to pull his shirt off, when he stops you.
“Please don’t call my penis “Dickie Jr.””
“No promises,” you smile.
— requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰word count┈➤ 323
╰a/n┈➤ my house currently doesnt have wifi so i have been coping by using my overactive imagination to create situations that i want to be in,,, anyway... dick grayson! yipee (did you guys see the little taylor swift reference i inserted)
divider made by: me!
You both were tired from this week. You, with work, and him, with his vigilante shit. During the week, the two of you only see each other in passing, either one or both are busy, and never see each other unless it's for lunch or dinner. Until now.
The only sounds apparent from your apartment were two things: the wooden floorboards creaking from the weight of your bed, and the noises coming from the two of you, all over each other, making out.
"Dick-" you get cut off by Dick's lips on you. "I missed you," as you wrap your arm around his waist. You grind on his body unashamedly, like a dog in heat. "So, so much."
"Mhm, me too, baby," he moans, softly tugging your hair. His leg pushes you to lie on your back as he grinds back. "Thank fuck I didn't have patrolling duties tonight. I missed this," he mumbled, his lips trailing down from your lips to your neck. "I missed you."
You hum, listening to him while cradling his head as you wrap your legs around his waist.
"So, what's new with your bat-family?" You ask, trying to start a conversation. He stills and raises his head from the crook of your neck.
"We are not doing that."
"Do what?" You answer innocently, smiling.
"Baby, you just killed my hard-on with one question," he groaned, rolling over on his back to lie next to you. You turn and lay your chin on his chest.
“I’m kidding!” You giggle, “Is Dickie Jr. really dead? Did I really kill him?”
“No, you didn’t,” he grabs your face, “my hard-on is still going strong, baby,” and engulfs you in an all-encompassing kiss. You giggle in the kiss and crawl above him, placing his torso between your legs.
You moan, trying to pull his shirt off, when he stops you.
“Please don’t call my penis “Dickie Jr.””
“No promises,” you smile.
— requests are open ᝰ.ᐟ
╰word count┈➤ 323
╰a/n┈➤ my house currently doesnt have wifi so i have been coping by using my overactive imagination to create situations that i want to be in,,, anyway... dick grayson! yipee (did you guys see the little taylor swift reference i inserted)
divider made by: me!
