Trying to find f1/ lando norris fic where reader is a driver and she's in her hotel room and a crazy stalker fan breaks in and holds her hostage and the othe drivers save her
Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction
dividers by @/enchanthings
summary: four times where you try not to be phased by your friend adapt’s new habit of buying you whatever you want and the last time where you realize maybe he does want to be more than friends
not my photo - creds to lindsluvss on pinterest
cw: very surface level friends to lovers (by my standards), mention of pills (medicine), fluffy but kinda cringy fluff, sorry i'm so bad at writing endings, i use adapt and alex interchangeably, it was fem coded in my head but tried to make it as gender neutral as possible using 2nd pov, 3.78k words
#1 - just a drink
it started with small stuff. you remember how you met him a couple months ago. you were invited to the core house for a kickback through a mutual friend and had been having a blast but needed a little breather and a cup of water to bring you back to earth. you ended up in the kitchen finding that adapt happened to be in there for the same reason as you. you two spent time talking for way longer than you meant to, having such a fun conversation that you ended up swapping numbers.
fast forward to now, the months spent talking made adapt earn a spot as one of your closest friends since getting to know each other. currently, you were spending time waiting on alex to be back from whatever video shoot he said he was busy at. you had gone ahead and driven to the core house to meet him there so he wouldn't have to go out of the way to pick you up from yours. the two of you had planned to have a movie night and catch up on a tv series that you both had been planning to watch. your friends tried to convince you that it was a date but you promised it wasn't.
you are knocked out of your thoughts by a drink blocking your vision. you look up a little more and see a hand is attached to it. you grab onto the drink and turn around at the same time making eye contact with alex.
'just who i was thinking about'
"thank you," you say smiling at him. "no problem, we had stopped at in-and-out and i know you said you weren't hungry, but i just went ahead and got you a drink."
"thanks a lot! ooh and it's my favorite," you get up and start following him to the movie room.
"yeah i remember you had said something about it once so i just pulled it out of my brain inventory and was like this should be the right choice," he replied nonchalantly.
you simply laughed at his little metaphor and sipped your drink thinking nothing of it.
#2 - the flowers (kinda)
"ooh these are so cute," you say offhandedly looking at the lego flowers sitting on ron's nightstand. it was another day of you hanging with adapt which at this point started to feel more like you following him around the house. not that you were complaining.
ron and adapt look over from their chat to see what you're referring to. you point at the flowers. "i love these little builds. i haven't gotten around to buying one yet,"
ron nods, "oh yeah my girlfriend picked those out and we built it together. that's her favorite type of flower,"
you smile at his words and look back at the bouquet. "she has good taste, tulips are so pretty."
"is that your favorite flower?" adapt asks looking at you.
you shake your head, "no but they are a close second, my favorite are orchids," you reply with no hesitation, moving on to inspect some of the other figures in ron's room, oblivious to adapt's sudden quietness.
you don't realize the meaning of his quietness until a couple of days later when you're sitting in the kitchen eating with him. you're listening to him talk about some of his next streaming ideas when he stops himself.
"oh i forgot-" he says and jumps up, "be right back!" he states as he runs upstairs for a reason unbeknownst to you.
he comes back with his hands behind his back asking you to close your eyes. you laugh at his attempt to be secretive but listen to his request. you hear something get placed on the table.
"alright you can open them,"
you open your eyes and the first thing you notice is the lego logo. looking closer you realize that the box is for lego orchids. you feel your eyes widen with excitement.
"omg alex i was just talking about these the other day!" you say, picking up the box to inspect it more.
"i know," adapt says watching you fondly. "gilly and i were in target the other day and ended up in that section somehow and i had remembered your words."
'more like i spent twenty minutes searching target by myself to find these so i could see you happy', he thinks.
his wish comes true as he watches your smile brighten.
"thanks so much for thinking of me," you say. your mouth opens to say something else but you quickly close it again as your thoughts catch up to you.
'i want to build it with him but i don't want him to think that i'm trying to make our friendship more than it is'
"of course, you know i care about you a lot,"
you remain clueless to the fact that he did want you to ask if he wanted to build it with you.
'guess i'll try harder,' he thinks.
#3 - the sunglasses
“about what time will you be ready do you think?” you hear adapt ask as you rummage through your closet for your swimsuit. he had invited you out to their pool party and offered to pick you up so you wouldn’t have to worry about driving since the party would probably end up going late.
you make your way back to microphone distance of your phone. “give me about two hours, i gotta take a shower and all that,” you reply throwing your clothes on the bed. you make your way back to your vanity where your phone is resting and see adapt moving around as well.
“okay that sounds good, do you need anything?” he asks stopping to look directly at his phone, at you.
you keep moving though, getting up to arrange your products for your shower in the bathroom. “uh no i think i’m okay-,” you cut yourself off with a gasp as your foot steps directly on an object on the floor, making a loud crunch sound. you remove the blanket covering the broken object and gasp again.
“omg i just stepped directly on my favorite pair of sunglasses, i was going to wear these today!” you say sadly, picking up the pieces to put on your vanity.
“oh no, what kind are they?” adapt asks still looking at you in the screen. you turn your camera around to show the glasses on your desk.
“they’re just turtle shell, i was gonna wear brown or black swim gear but i guess i’ll go find some other color.” you respond, turning the camera back around to face you.
“no i think you should stick with what you got. it was your first choice right?”
you nod at his words, “yeah worst case scenario if the sun is too bright i can just run to the dollar tree real quick to get an emergency pair,”
“great plan-”, he is cut off by someone yelling his name in the background.
“hey i gotta go but i’ll text you when i’m on the way okay?”
-
you smile at adapt as he stands outside his car waiting for you to walk up so he can open the door. he sees you coming and immediately smiles back.
“you look pretty,” you thank him and try not to blush or take to heart his kind words as he shuts your car door and makes his way to the drivers seat.
‘he’s just being nice’
you are snapped out of your thoughts from adapt closing his own car door and turn to watch him as he buckles his seatbelt and checks his phone for any unread messages.
“just making sure nobody asked me to get anything before we head back,” you nod quietly and look around the car, noticing something at your feet. upon further inspection it seems to be a gift bag.
“oh are we celebrating someone’s birthday at the party?” you ask looking up at him. he sets his phone down in the cup holder and puts the car in drive.
“oh no that’s for you,”
you make a confused face but pick the bag up anyways. “what could you have gotten me?”
“gonna have to open it and see,” he says making a turn at a stop sign.
you open the bag and are met with an oval shaped container which you pull out. you open the container and the contents make you look at your friend in disbelief.
“adapt you did not need to get me new sunglasses. i told you i could’ve just went to dollar tree!” you say with a slight laugh.
he waves you off, “i had time to go before getting you and we have a sunglasses store near the house so i just stopped. those looked the most similar to the ones you showed me earlier. ‘didn’t want your fit to be thrown off,”
“you are so thoughtful! these look way better quality than the ones i had,” you say, pulling out the glasses and examining them.
“yeah they might be able to survive your godzilla foot,” he says, holding down a laugh as he takes a quick glance at you.
you respond with your own laugh and playfully hit him on the arm.
#4 - express delivery
“oh sorry were you sleeping?” adapt asks as he struggles to make out your face in your curtain drawn room.
“no i'm just too lazy to get up. i woke up earlier with a headache and figured i would keep the blinds closed," you reply, reaching over to turn on your sunset lamp next to your bed.
“are you okay?” your friend asks and you see genuine concern on his face.
“i'm good don't worry! i probably just worked a little too hard, luckily it's my day off. i'm just gonna bed rot probably," you reply with a slight chuckle.
“you need anything?”
“the real answer to that question would be yes, a dozen cookies would heal me right now but that can’t really come true so i'm just gonna say no. i already have medicine and water. thanks though!”
adapt continues to look a little disturbed at your condition but tries to fix his face, "alright well i'm gonna be streaming soon but if you need anything text me or if it's an emergency call me,"
"just a headache but i appreciate it! have a fun stream,"
the two of you hang up and you continue to scroll a little bit more before feeling a little more of your headache which causes you to push past your laziness to grab some medicine and water. you check your medicine drawer for the correct pills and then make your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle.
suddenly your front door bell rings and you get a little confused as you were expecting no guests but walk to the door anyways. looking through the peephole, you spot no one but go to open it anyways.
as you open the door you are met with a bag on your doorstep. you bend down to read the tag because surely the driver got it wrong but the address does read correctly.
“okay…” you turn the bag around to look for a note and lo and behold there it is.
--hope this heals you.. need you to have maximum hp--
you do happen to know someone who loves to talk in game metaphors. laughing aloud, you pick up the bag to bring it inside. placing it on the countertop, you pull out the decent size box and open it.
your jaw drops as you are met with a dozen of your favorite cookies, just as you had mentioned earlier. you pick up your phone off the counter and immediately open your message threads.
alex i was literally joking, no way you sent these - you
like i said i need you to have max hp let me know when you’re healed - adapt
you grab a cookie out of the box and take a bite, instantly falling in love with the taste. turning the camera around, you hold it up and take a selfie with the treat in your hand.
you send the picture with one line, healed <3
#5 - the party and the after (shopping) party
once again, you find yourself sitting on the couch in the core house yapping with jason about nothing while waiting for adapt to end his stream.
"wait, you know about my birthday party on friday right?" jason asked as you two had found a break in the conversation.
you nod at his question, "yeah alex told me that you told him to invite me, so i'll be there!"
"yeah it's gonna be here so i don't wanna hear anything about you having to go home early or nothing. you know you'll just end up in adapt's room like you do after every other function," he says matter-of-factly.
you swat him with one of the throw pillows after hearing his words. "shut up! i already said i was going!”
jason blocks your hits with his hand, "alright just wanted to make sure," he smirks and continues, "can’t wait to see my favorite couple,"
you roll your eyes, "shut up we are not a couple. adapt does not like me like that,"
"oh so you like him like that?"
"jason!" you yell in a scolding tone, this time aiming to throw the pillow at his head.
"alright! i’ll stop trolling," he gets up to start walking towards his room probably to escape before you think about throwing anymore furniture at him.
"text me gift ideas!" you yell after him, rolling your eyes again with a smile.
-
"you look so comfy," you say to adapt, who is dressed in a oversized tan hoodie. you had just arrived at the party which seemed to be in full swing judging by the size of the crowd and the volume of the music. you texted adapt as soon as you made it through the front door and found him waiting for you by the staircase.
"yeah i was laying upstairs until you got here so i could have my first shot with you. 'might have accidentally taken a nap but you know," he says with a sleepy smile.
"aww that’s sweet. c'mon, let’s go take one then," you grab his hand to lead him through the throng of people. you catch the eye of the birthday boy jason, who judging by his color and slight sway, seemed to be a little lit already.
"jason come take a shot with me and alex!" the boy follows your duo happily causing you to laugh as you realize that your assumption about his tipsiness might be true.
five shots later and you find yourself in the same inebriated position as jason, laying with your head at the end of adapt's bed while he sits at his desk chair, both of you on the cusp of drunkenness.
the two of you scroll on your phones in a comfortable silence. you felt yourself getting a little dizzy so adapt brought you upstairs to get out of the crowd but now you’re bored and will probably fall asleep soon.
feeling your eyes start to get heavy, you close them and shut off your phone, laying with your hands underneath your head.
“alex?”
"hmm?" he responds half asleep himself.
"can you get me a blanket?" he doesn’t respond verbally but you hear him walk towards his couch and the next thing you know your body is warm. you feel the bed dip again and figure that he’s laid down as well, probably the correct way. you are almost fully asleep before your drunken mind convinces you to talk more.
"someone had on the cutest shirt downstairs..."
"yeah?" alex responds, sounding just as sleepy as you think your brain feels.
"mhm and they told me they got it from the mall. i have to go tomorrow," you sigh and turn over, not even listening for your friend's response, and finally fall into slumber with the faded music providing white noise.
—
you wake up to water and headache medicine next to your head and groggily take it. right as you finish your sip of water, in adapt walks, shutting the door behind with his foot. he notices you are awake when he looks up.
“oh hey, the guys ordered food and i put your order in,” he states, placing the food on the bed for you to grab.
"thank you," you reply grabbing the meal.
"no problem. i also put towels in the bathroom so whenever you’re ready you can get showered and we can go," he says casually sitting down at his desk to mess around with his pc.
you wave him off, "oh it’s okay, i’ll just get an uber home,"
alex turns around in his chair to look at you, "oh i didn’t mean home. i was gonna drive us to the mall,"
"the mall?" you reply, confused.
"yeah, you said you wanted to go last night."
you pause for a second before responding, "i do vaguely remember that but i can go by myself, you’re probably busy today,"
you watch as he shakes his head, "no it’s okay. i gotta go too i just figured we’d make a trip out of it," he explains nonchalantly.
"let me know when you’re ready. no rush,"
-
and here the two of you are walking through the mall. a comfortable distance between as you scan the stores.
you turn to adapt, "you wanna just separate and go to different stores and then meet back up for food?"
adapt tilts his head like he's thinking, "nah, i think i’ll just tag along with you, if that’s okay?"
you try not to think too much about it and shrug, "okay,"
you lead him to the first store, "well let’s get what i wanted most,"
you look around the store flipping through the hangers of clothes and looking at the walls before widening your eyes when you recognize.
"ooh the top!" you move to the section, feeling alex walking behind you. you pick up two colors which you feel look the best and hold it up to your body.
"hmm, which color looks better?" you ask, turning to alex while holding them out in front of you.
"hold them up in front of your body again?" you do as he asks and he tilts his head.
"i like the purple,"
you nod and smile, "correct answer,"
you put the other back and continue to walk around the store. you’re amazed at how adapt seems to not be bored at all as he watches you pick up and place things down.
you become a little indecisive with a particular pair of shorts before adapt speaks up.
"you should get them,"
"really?" you confirm, sneaking a glance at him.
"yeah i think they’ll look really good on you,"
you narrow your eyes at the garment, "not what i would usually get but i’ll trust your word,"
with that, you figured you looked around enough so you lead adapt to the front register. the two of you wait in line for a little bit before you finally get to the front and are able to set your items down on the counter.
the cashier gets to scanning the items and it takes you a second to pull out your card. you’re looking through your wallet but get confused and pause when you hear ‘transaction approved’.
looking up, you confirm on the screen that it was in fact paid for. adapt looks nonchalant as you turn to him.
"did you just pay for that?" you say with an ounce of distress.
"mhm,"
"why?"
"you wanted it so i just figured you can save your money cause i have it,"
you continue to stare at him unable to form any words. he laughs at your facial expression.
"don't worry about it. where do you wanna go next?" he asks, picking up the bags of items to carry for you.
you’re so taken aback but try to get over it quickly, “um thanks. i guess we can go to your store next,”
"alright, let's go,"
and that’s how the trip continues. every time you do so much as mention that you want something in a store or even stare at it a little longer than usual, adapt seems to be ready to buy it. he won't even let you stand near the register, instead hurrying up and tapping his card before you can even think about it. he walks out of every store carrying all of the bags because he refuses to let you do it.
the two of you end up in the food court after you get tired of shopping. you figured that you can eat there and save from having to stop on the way back to dropping you off home, adapt drops the tray on the table as he returns from retrieving the two of y'all's order. you start eating but your brain is so overloaded that you can't stop yourself from speaking.
"so elephant in the room, why'd you buy all this stuff for me today?"
he shrugs at your words, "i don't know. i just like taking care of you. when you're happy, i'm happy."
you pause for a second, drinking your drink as you think, before just letting it rip, "like in a friend way?"
he pauses too, causing your heart to drop. he looks up at you and watches your expression as he speaks.
"would you be upset if i said no?"
you smile a little bit sadly, "no because i was trying to ignore my feelings so you wouldn’t be upset,"
he looks genuinely confused, "why would i be upset?"
"i thought you were just being friendly this whole time but now i realize you were basically trying to court me with gifts," you reply with a little laugh.
he laughs at your words, "sorry my love language is gift giving," he says before making a scared face.
"not that i've reached love, its just the saying-"
"-i know alex," you say cutting him off with another giggle. you place your hand on top of his across the table.
"i really appreciate your thoughtfulness towards me and i enjoyed this day out with you," you finish, squeezing his hand with a shy smile.
he squeezes your hand in reciprocation, "of course. you deserve it. ever since i met you all those months ago i knew we were meant to be together. i just had to build up the courage to leave the friendship stage. i’m glad you were able to catch on because i didn’t know how much more i could buy without seeming suspicious," he concludes with a laugh.
"i mean you basically tried to buy the whole mall for me today so i would say mission accomplished," you joked, pointing the bags sitting next to him.
he waves you off, "just wait for my gift when i ask you to be mine for real."
-
a/n: thanks for the request! i enjoyed writing it was very fun to play with, i hope you enjoy feel free to request more, barely proofread if i missed anything pls spare me , also thanks for all the love on the page so far, this one took way longer to write cause i got distracted by the finals lol
welcome to my masterlist! here you’ll find all my work in one place!
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wildflower - eddie munson x fem!reader and steve harrington x fem!reader love triangle｜henderson!reader, mom!reader, dad!eddie, rockstar!eddie, ex!eddie, best friend!steve, choose your ending｜+18｜ongoing
when eddie left hawkins to chase his rockstar dreams, you kept a major secret from him—in the form of a little boy with his father’s big brown eyes and mop of curls. your best friend, steve, has always taken care of both of you, stepping into the place he left behind. two years later, eddie is coming home.
the needle and the damage done - eddie munson x fem!reader｜mom!wife!reader, dad!husband!eddie, rockstar!eddie, addict!eddie｜+18｜ongoing
years after corroded coffin became the biggest band in the world, eddie’s life hasn’t gone the way he hoped. deep into a years-long drug addiction, all he wants is to save himself and repair his family.
real love, baby - billy hargrove x fem!reader｜hookup to lovers, accidental pregnancy｜+18｜ongoing
no one was supposed to know billy hargrove was sleeping with one of hawkins high’s freaks. you having his baby turns everything upside down.
we are never getting back together - eddie munson x fem!reader｜ex husband!eddie, ex wife!reader, dad!eddie, mom!reader, older!eddie, new boyfriend!steve｜+18｜ongoing
when you start dating your former classmate, steve, two years after your divorce, you’re hopeful for a new chapter. your ex husband, eddie, has a new relationship of his own—but is still unwilling to let you go.
nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby - eddie munson x fem!reader｜dbf!eddie, older!eddie, harrington!reader, dad’s best friend trope｜+18｜ongoing
being forced to move back to your dad’s boring hometown was a bummer. his long-ago best friend, eddie, makes things more interesting.
teen pregnancy series - a ST x fem!reader pregnancy series｜+18｜ongoing
unexpected pregnancies with the stranger things characters.
don’t say you love me - eddie munson x fem!reader, billy hargrove x fem!reader｜hopper!reader, love triangle, accidental pregnancy｜+18｜ongoing
all these years you’ve carefully curated your good girl image—at least, with your chief of police dad. so, how do you tell him you’re pregnant and don’t know which of hawkins’ bad boys is the father?
such small hands - eddie munson x fem!reader｜henderson!reader, major angst, hurt/little comfort, post s4 events, accidental pregnancy, some x steve｜+18｜ongoing
after the tragic death of your boyfriend, you discover a piece of him remains with you.
when you walk towards me - steve harrington x fem!reader｜ex husband!billy, divorced mom!reader, former best friend!steve, baseball coach!steve｜+18｜coming soon but like really soon
when you married billy right after graduation, steve never thought he’d see his former best friend again. eleven years and a divorce later, he’s coaching your son—and hoping for a second chance.
baby daddy! rafe series - a rafe cameron x fem!reader anthology series｜dad!rafe, mom!reader, ex!rafe｜+18｜ongoing
snapshots of your life with your daughter—and your ex, rafe cameron.
stop the stars - billy hargrove x fem! oc katelyn henderson｜hookup to lovers angst｜+18｜hiatus?
coming soon
runaways - steve harrington x fem!reader｜preacher’s daughter!reader, track star!reader, baseball player!steve｜+18｜coming soon
bigger than the whole sky - steve harrington x fem!reader｜angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, loss｜+18｜coming soon
closer to morning - eddie munson x fem!reader｜ex husband!steve, step dad!eddie, mom!reader, dad!steve｜+18｜coming soon
jason doesn’t know - eddie munson x fem!reader｜jason carver’s wife!reader, cheating｜+18｜coming soon
dinner in america - eddie munson x fem!reader｜based on the movie｜+18｜coming soon
scream: the hawkins massacre - an eddie munson x fem!reader horror miniseries｜scream au｜+18｜coming soon maybe but don’t hold your breath because i’ve been fighting with this draft for months
steve harrington
zombie movies & first kisses - steve x fem!reader｜henderson!reader, first date｜3.3k words｜fluff
your brother sets you up with his good friend steve.
lover boy - steve x fem!reader｜modern college au, frat king!steve｜3.3k words｜+18｜smut
your “friend” with benefits is the most popular guy on campus, and also no good for you. unfortunately, you can’t avoid him when his frat throws the best parties. (reimagining of this idea set in the 80s coming soon)
for the very first time - steve x fem!reader｜virgin!reader｜4.7k words｜+18｜fluff, smut
steve is determined to make your first time special.
is there someone else? - steve x fem!reader, some eddie munson x fem!reader｜college au｜4.5k words｜+18｜smut
eddie, your friend with benefits, ditches you for the night. waiting for him in his dorm is embarrassing—good thing his roommate is there to keep you company.
baby, it’s cold outside - steve x fem!reader｜best friend!steve, christmas｜promptmas 2024｜3.4k words｜+18｜smut
a planned movie night with your best friend turns into more when you get trapped in a snow storm.
fall in love again - steve x fem!reader｜mom!reader, dad!steve, ex husband!steve｜christmas ‘24｜1.5k words｜fluff
your ex husband steve comes over to spend christmas eve with you and your three kids.
no one knows (oh, what you do to me) - steve x fem!reader｜ceo!steve, older!steve, personal assistant!reader｜1k celebration｜3k words｜+18｜smut
being the personal assistant to the company’s ceo comes with a lot of perks. he’s kind, it pays well, and he’s also very hot. at a company party, your dreams finally come true. prompt: “behave.”
there is no other love (it’s only yours) - steve x fem!reader ｜ best friend!reader, idiots in love｜8k words｜fluff
you and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it. or, 5 times you were mistaken for steve harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.
call out my name - steve x fem!reader｜best friend!secret boyfriend!steve｜4.9k words｜+18｜smut
nancy calls while your secret best friend-turned-boyfriend is over. he puts your self control to the test.
hard to concentrate - steve x fem!reader｜s5 finale breeding kink｜4.2k words｜+18｜smut
vecna has finally been defeated. everything you’ve been through makes steve realize how in love he is, and how badly he wants to build something new and beautiful with you.
who’s gonna drive you home tonight? part one - steve x fem!reader｜frat!steve, sorority girl!reader, enemies to lovers, secret fwb, repressed feelings｜17.5k words｜+18｜smut
when a frat party like any other turns into something heated with the guy you hate more than anyone else, neither of you are sure how to deal with it.
gator tillman
you know my desire - gator x fem!reader｜gunplay｜1.9k words｜+18｜smut
you and gator try something new and exciting.
don’t forget (you’re mine) - gator x fem!reader｜2k words｜1k celebration｜+18｜smut
gator interrupts a night out with your friends. prompt: “if you make me pull over, i swear you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”
if i catch you… - gator x fem!reader｜dark fic, cnc, almost noncon, gun/knifeplay｜4.1k words｜+18｜smut
you find yourself tied up in a cabin deep in the north dakota woods. your captor gives you an offer, the opportunity to run…
the last supper - gator x fem!reader｜soft gator, sweet!reader｜4.2k words｜angst/fluff
your boyfriend, gator, brings you to sunday dinner to meet his family for the first time.
kurt kunkle
cam - kurt x fem!reader｜onlyfans!girlfriend!reader, virgin pathetic submissive kurt｜5.7k words｜+18｜smut
you invite your boyfriend, kurt, to collab with you on a video for your onlyfans to cheer him up.
eddie munson
late night with the devil - eddie x fem!reader｜3.6k words｜+18｜smut
all of hawkins, including your parents, think your boyfriend is a devil worshipper. you have to sneak out at night to see him, but he makes it very worth it.
please please please - eddie x fem!reader｜hopper!reader, delinquent!eddie｜+18｜smut
the police chief’s daughter gets involved with hawkins’ most notorious delinquent metalhead.
flesh and bone - eddie x fem!reader｜+18｜smut
eddie loves to worship you.
new year’s magic - eddie x fem!reader｜NYE ‘24｜fluff
you share a special moment with eddie at steve’s annual new year’s party.
nothing else matters - eddie x fem!reader｜older!eddie, birthday boy for CCF｜+18｜smut
eddie is bummed about turning 40–you help him feel better.
meet the parents - eddie x fem!reader｜promptmas ‘24｜+18｜smut
eddie meets your parents on christmas eve in the worst way possible.
do you trust me? - eddie x fem!reader｜vampire!eddie｜+18｜smut
surviving the upside down changed something in eddie. he’s finally ready to show you.
please be gentle (when you’re tearing me apart) - eddie x fem!reader, steve harrington x fem!reader｜asshole!eddie｜+18｜major angst, some smut
you’re in love with eddie, eddie’s in love with someone else. somehow, he accidentally ends up in a relationship with you anyway.
do you wanna come over? - eddie x fem!reader｜virgin!eddie, cheerleader!reader｜+18｜smut
hawkins’ most popular takes it upon herself to help the local freak lose his virginity.
shelter from the storm - eddie x fem!reader｜first time, one bed trope, friends to lovers｜+18｜smut
a bad storm results in you staying the night with your best friend, and sharing a bed brings out some unexpected revelations.
dnd: do not disturb - eddie x fem!reader｜ public sex｜+18｜smut
eddie makes it up to you after hellfire runs too long.
no vacancy - eddie x fem!reader｜rockstar au, one (no?) bed trope｜+18｜smut
when there’s not enough beds for the whole band, you and eddie share the back of the van.
wildest dreams - eddie x fem!reader｜virgin!eddie, best friend!reader, first time, friends to lovers｜+18｜smut
your best friend asks you to take his virginity.
you must be a dream - eddie x fem!reader｜perv!eddie, virgin!eddie, Carver!reader, popular!cheerleader!reader, fwb!king!steve, pure filth｜+18｜smut
⤷ part 2
eddie is obsessed with the queen of hawkins. maybe it’s a little unhinged, but he can’t help himself, not when you look like that.
right down the line - eddie x fem!reader｜rockstar!eddie, older!eddie, manager!reader｜+18｜angst, smut
⤷ part 2
as corroded coffin’s manager, you know you should stay away from eddie. getting involved with your biggest client would be career ruining. unfortunately, he makes that very hard.
johnny storm
the calm before the storm - johnny x fem!reader｜accidental pregnancy, contains movie spoilers｜+18｜fluff, smut, angst
when you finally work up the courage to tell johnny some major news, the last thing you expect is for sue to beat you to it. but parenthood isn’t even the scariest thing headed your way.
emperor geta
an heir for an emperor - geta x fem!reader｜empress!reader｜+18｜smut
the emperor has decided he wants an heir. it’s a duty you’re happy to fulfill.
the emperor’s love - geta x fem!reader｜ empress!reader｜part 2｜+18｜smut
geta shows you how in love he is with the sight of you carrying his heir.
both arms cradle you now - geta x fem!reader｜surprise pregnancy, forbidden love｜+18｜smut
as the emperor’s favorite concubine, you long for a future you know will never be true. falling pregnant with his child puts everything at risk.
sam (warfare)
coming home to you - sam x fem!wife!reader｜check warnings!｜+18｜angst, fluff, smut
sam is heartbroken to leave his pregnant wife home when he’s deployed - but he doesn’t expect things to go quite so wrong.
billy hargrove
how do i live without you? - billy x fem!reader, platonic steve harrington x reader｜pregnant!reader｜angst with some fluff
when your boyfriend dies shortly after finding out you’re having his baby, your friends step in to take care of you.
out of control - billy x fem!reader｜dubcon, sex pollen｜+18｜smut
you and pain-in-your-ass billy hargrove encounter something weird in the tunnels. something that drives you both a little wild.
you can’t fix this - billy x fem!reader｜dubcon｜+18｜smut
⤷ part 2
you make a deal with billy so he’ll leave your best friend, eddie, alone.
jonathan byers
girls on film - jonathan x fem!reader｜shy!reader｜+18｜smut
you get paired with jonathan for a photography project, and suggest something a little experimental.
undressed - jonathan x fem!reader｜munson!reader, first time, virgin!jonathan｜+18｜smut
after smoking with jonathan for the first time, he accidentally admits his feelings for you.
robin buckley
naked in manhattan - robin x fem!reader｜best friend!robin｜promptmas ‘24｜+18｜smut
while sharing a hotel room with your best friend during the band trip to nyc (and sneaking in some drinks), robin shows you a whole new world.
harringrove
i bet on losing dogs - billy hargrove x steve harrington｜+18｜angst, smut
steve never liked billy, not as a friend or even as a person. falling in love with him was a mistake he never meant to make.
rafe cameron
baby, come here (i get so lonely at night) - rafe x fem!reader｜frat!rafe｜+18｜smut
rafe texts you to come over. you can never tell him no.
jj maybank
friends don’t - jj x fem!reader｜best friend!jj｜fluff
jj has always been your best friend and nothing more. only these aren’t things just friends do.
joel miller
listen to that fireplace roar - joel x fem!reader｜younger!reader｜+18｜smut
it’s snowing heavily outside, and joel really doesn’t want you to leave.
steve harrington
take a ride - steve x fem!reader｜334 words｜+18｜smut
steve wants to make a baby in his truck.
good for us - steve x eddie munson x fem!reader｜hard dom!steve, soft dom!eddie, sub!reader, threesome｜768 words｜+18｜smut
you’re always so good for your boyfriends.
kiss me - steve x fem!reader｜coworker!reader｜1k celebration｜1k words｜fluff
your coworker steve has a crush on you, but he’s too scared to make a move.
eager to please - steve x fem!reader｜rockstar!steve｜577 words｜+18｜smut
you get to go backstage with your favorite rockstar, and show him just how good you can make him feel.
lonely on tour - steve x fem!reader｜modern rockstar!steve, instagram baddie!reader｜1k words｜+18｜smut
while on tour, steve falls for the hottest influencer he’s ever seen while on instagram. he has to have you.
billy hargrove
please… - billy x fem!reader｜+18｜smut
you make him beg.
eddie munson
good for us - eddie x steve harrington x fem!reader｜hard dom!steve, soft dom!eddie, sub!reader, threesome｜+18｜smut
you’re always so good for your boyfriends.
pussydrunk eddie - eddie x fem!reader｜+18｜smut
he can’t think about anything else.
sucking eddie off - eddie x fem!reader｜+18｜smut
no one makes him feel as good as you do.
eddie & plus size gf go to prom - eddie x plus size! fem!reader｜+18｜smut
eddie can’t control himself when he sees you in your prom dress.
love letters - eddie x fem!reader｜dom!eddie｜+18｜smut
your boyfriend leaves filthy notes for you at school.
obey your (dungeon) master - eddie x fem!reader｜dom!eddie｜+18｜smut
eddie teaches you a lesson for being impatient. prompts: “keep talking back, i dare you.” & “i’ll give that mouth something to do.”
don’t stop - eddie x fem!reader｜sub!eddie｜+18｜smut
you make eddie fall apart.
rafe cameron
rafe & his plus size gf - rafe x plus size! fem!reader｜+18｜smut
rafe is obsessed with his girlfriend and her body.
jason hochberg
private lessons - jason x fem!reader｜first kiss｜fluff
head counselor jason teaches you archery.
headcanons
the guys taking care of you while sick - billy hargrove, eddie munson, eric (aqpdo)
summary: the voice in your head isn't yours but your soulmate's, and your favorite regular at work is starting to sound really damn familiar.
contains: soulmate au, coffee shop owner!reader, strangers to lovers, cursing, fluff, charles is a regular at reader's coffee shop, no use of y/n
word count: 5.2k
playlist: dive — olivia dean; something stupid — frank sinatra
a/n: hiii!! this is the second fic of my series of oneshots patch of soulmates, and this one was lovely to write! thanks to @lyricsandvenom and @starry-132173 for reading this first, as usual, and I hope you enjoy <3
series masterlist! ◦ masterlist!
You don't think too much of it when he comes in that first time.
He comes in through the front door. The bell jingles, interrupting the soft jazz coming through the café's speakers. You look up, and there he is — good-looking, light-haired, blueish eyes. You smile your usual customer service smile and, before you can greet him, he speaks.
"Hi. Good morning."
It's nice. His voice is really nice. It rings low, carries a thick Monegasque accent you could pick out anywhere. You get a lot of different people with different accents in the café every day. Besides, you have a nice voice with a Monegasque accent speaking in your head all the time. But you've met a whole damn lot of Monegasque people since moving to help your aunt with the coffee shop in Monaco. So.
"Hello, good morning. How can I help you?"
The man freezes. He stares at you wide-eyed, something between surprise, excitement, and terror flying through his expression. Your eyebrows immediately furrow at the sight and you open your mouth to ask him what's wrong, but he beats you to it again.
"Do we know each other?"
Your eyebrows furrow further, confusion painting itself across your face.
You can't possibly remember every customer, sure, but you like to think you're really good at remembering faces, and you have to admit that his is too damn beautiful to forget. You look him up and down just to make sure, and, just maybe, to admire the view, and you're certain you don't know him at all.
"I don't think so. I've never seen you before."
He blinks. He turns his head slightly to the side, like a curious cat staring straight into your soul, searching for answers, secrets, worlds. It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, but you're patient. You work in customer service.
"I guess not," is his cautious response, and he's sort of looking at you as if you're an alien. "I'm Charles."
You blink back at him. He reminds you of someone, but you can't figure out who it is.
"Hi, Charles. Are you okay?"
Charles (the name suits him, somehow) gapes at you like a fish out of water. He seems at a loss for words, which feels a little silly to you, but you're patient. You work in customer service.
"Yes. Yes, I am okay," he enunciates each word carefully, and you nod in encouragement. He looks up at the menu handwritten on the wall behind you. "Any… recommendations? To drink?"
You're impressed at how quickly he seems to get himself together, despite the awkwardness that lingers inside the empty shop. You smile politely at the question.
"The cinnamon cappuccino is probably my favorite drink on the menu," you offer calmly, and he nods in earnest, already taking out his wallet.
You prepare the cappuccino. You add more chocolate than usual, because this guy looks like he needs it. He pays for it, and then he thanks you, and then he bolts out of the café as if he's in a rush.
You don't even shrug. Some people are weird.
You read on the internet once that people wouldn't recognize their own voices if they heard it coming from someone else. You wonder if that's also true for your soulmate's voice.
Most people don't find their soulmates within their lifetimes. You suppose it makes sense — it's not enough to simply meet them, you have to recognize them, pinpoint that their voice is the one inside your head, and, worse, they have to recognize you too. Making sure that it's actually a match is probably the hardest part.
You've had people come into the café and say that that they knew your voice from their own thoughts. Every single time, you could confidently tell that they were wrong, because you could always tell they didn't have your voice. Every single time, you couldn't find even an inch of familiarity to the sound of their speaking.
The voice inside your head, the one that narrates your thoughts, counts grams of sugar and coffee, and reads your aunt's recipe book, is male. It has a Monegasque accent. Most times, it has a sing-song cadence to it that feels very unique. It annoyed you as a kid. You are used to it now.
To be complete truthful, the accent might've been one of the reasons why you agreed to move to Monaco of all places. That was a few years ago, and your soulmate hasn't shown up yet. To be fair, most people's don't — it feels like a long shot, now, and you guess you're over it. Most people don't find their soulmates within their lifetimes, which means you've accepted you won't find yours.
Charles, the weird but beautiful guy, comes back the following day.
"Hi," he beats you to it again, and you smile politely.
"Hello, good morning. How can I help you?"
He walks closer to the counter, eyes fluttering between your own and the menu behind you. He's still as good-looking as he was the previous day and still sounds awkward as fuck when he opens his mouth to speak, clearly a little uncomfortable.
"That cappuccino was good."
Your smile turns amused, slightly intrigued, and you can't help the snort that escapes you.
"I'm glad."
He clears his throat, shoves his hands inside his pockets.
"I'd like another recommendation. If possible."
"Yes, of course," you chirp happily, and then turn around to stare at the menu even though you wrote it yourself a couple of hours ago. Every customer enjoys a little bit of a show. "The strawberry matcha is really good, and we got fresh strawberries just this morning, so it's… Extra crisp, I'd say. If you want something to eat, the chocolate croissants came out of the oven 10 minutes ago or so. They're my favorite."
When you turn back to look at him, your eyebrows rise at the way he's studying you. Charles has that cat look back on his face, and, for some reason, it makes your cheeks flush.
He looks at you as if he's looking for something. He looks at you like a child seeing a favorite character in Disneyland but being unsure if they're real or not. It's almost endearing, in a way, if not incredibly awkward.
"Are you okay?" You find yourself asking him for the second day in a roll, and he blinks in surprise, his face immediately turning red with embarrassment when he notices he's been caught staring.
"Yes. Yes, sorry." He looks away while this deep mortification paints his scarlet skin. "I'll take the matcha. And the croissant. Yeah. Sorry."
You chuckle slightly at his words, punching the items into the cash register while he looks at everything but you, rocking on his heels while he waits.
Charles lets his credit card fall on the floor once before he picks it up quickly and pays, and a little smirk fights its way to your lips even when you're trying to be polite and professional. He's weird in a cute way, you think.
He keeps his eyes on the ground while you prepare his strawberry matcha, and soon enough he's muttering a soft thanks and rushing out again. You watch him leave with a small smile.
You wonder if he'll come back. You're not sure why, but you sort of hope he will. You like your regulars.
"You weren't here yesterday."
You look up from the book you're reading, startled, to find blueish eyes staring back at you. Your eyes travel towards the bell on the door, asking yourself if you were really so focused on the story you didn't hear it ring.
"Hello, good morning," you say out of habit, putting down your book and straightening yourself on the cashier's chair. "I don't work Thursday mornings."
He walks closer, leaning his forearms against the counter while he looks up at the menu and then back at you again.
"I thought you were the owner."
You smile, aware of how weird this is. Aware of how easy it feels to fall into conversation. That's not usual for you.
"I sort of am, yes."
He leans his head to the side. Curious cat.
"Sort of?"
"My aunt has owned this café for over a decade," you explain, fingers tapping against the cover of your book, tone still chipper yet softer, "she asked me for help a couple of years ago. I accepted. She's been retired for a few months, so I guess I'm the owner now — but, you know. It'll always be hers."
Charles listens attentively, drowning in every word, eyes slightly widened as he drinks every single one of your syllables. It feels intimate, somehow, to be heard like this.
"Do you make all the pastries?" He asks in stride, and the question makes you chuckle.
"No, no, we have chefs for that. They usually leave things ready before leaving for the evening and I just pop them in the oven in the morning. I make some of the cookies and most of the drinks, though."
He nods seriously. You wonder if this situation looks as insane as it feels to anyone watching it through the café window, both of you looking at each other while your jazz playlist plays through the speakers.
"So you're here on Thursday afternoons?"
You blink. Your fingers stop tapping.
"Are you stalking me or something?"
That seems to snap him out of whatever mood he's in, and he takes a few steps back.
"No! No, absolutely not. No. God, I'm sorry if that's what this sounds like. I—no." He shakes his head violently, clearly mortified. "The guy that made my drink yesterday didn't give me a good recommendation, so I just got the cappuccino again, and it wasn't as good as yours. I—I prioritize a good drink, okay?"
That's enough to make you laugh. He relaxes at the sound, looking at you sheepishly, and smiles. You smile back. It feels electric, in a way.
"I'm gonna tell Andrew that his drinks are getting formal complaints," you mutter, but your tone is playful, and he chuckles. You are weirdly fond of it. It's a little familiar. "So, how can I help you, Charles?"
"A good cinnamon cappuccino, to make up for yesterday," he orders, and it makes you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief as you punch the order in, "and you can pick the pastry."
You look back up at him.
"Really?"
"Yes," he nods, "you're good with recommendations."
You grin at him, and his cheeks turn red.
"Okay. A good cappuccino and a mystery pastry coming up."
You and your weird guy fall into a nice rhythm. He comes in almost every morning (and every Thursday afternoon). He orders a different thing almost every day, and sometimes falls back into the cinnamon cappuccino. You usually pick the pastry. He makes quick small talk — how is Andrew, how is your aunt, did you watch the football game last night. Sometimes other customers walk in and your conversation lasts mere seconds. Other times, it stretches on for minutes, soft words exchanged across the counter. Maybe you give him a couple of free pastries and add extra chocolate in his cappuccino quite often, but no one needs to know.
The first time Charles decides to eat in the café instead of taking away his order, he's the only customer in the coffee shop.
You get a lot of movement in the early morning, and he usually comes by a good hour before the chaos of lunch time, which means you're usually alone. This day is no different, and he accepts your recommendation of an iced chai latte and a piece of pumpkin pie with a smile.
He actually takes one of the few seats by the counter, and you look at each other with a new wave of shyness that you both thought had already melted away throughout the last couple of weeks.
"So," for once, you speak first, always that hint of customer service on your words, looking down at the counter as you wipe it with a clean rag. "You've lived in this area for long? I had never seen you before you first came in."
"No, I actually moved nearby the week before we first met," Charles answers before taking a big bite of his pie, eyes widening with surprise, "this is really good."
"I told you so." You shrug, forcefully wiping at a coffee stain. "That's nice. What attracted you here? Was it our banger sign? I designed that."
He chuckles at the question, blue eyes looking up at you with a certain fondness that leaves you breathless. He swallows the piece of pie and takes a sip of his latte, and then his face turns incredibly red. You stare at him curiously, waiting.
"This is going to sound really weird," he warns you, but you swat the idea away with a small smile.
"You're really weird already," you say in return, and he smiles back.
"I saw you through the window," he says softly, and you blink at him. He groans, looking away. "I told you it was going to sound weird. Just—hear me out, okay? I was a new guy to the neighborhood, and I saw you through the window, and you—you know when you have a childhood best friend, but then one of you moves out of town and you never see each other again?"
You blink again, wondering where the fuck he's going with this. "Yeah?"
"I saw you through the window, and it was like seeing a lost childhood best friend again. You just felt so damn familiar I had to come in and look. You still feel really familiar."
There's a brief second when the two of you just study each other. His good-looking face, his beautiful eyes, his strong features. You weigh his words in your chest.
It's weird, yeah, but don't you feel it too? The way you were a little fond of him from day one, the way you were sure you'd heard his laugh before but couldn't pick out where.
"I'm, what, like a distant family friend you barely remember?" You ask lightly, trying to take away some of the seriousness from the conversation. He thanks you with a snort.
"Somewhat, I guess. It's nice, though." He takes another sip of his latte and you watch him quietly. "And you did win me over with the drinks and pastries."
You laugh softly, not even embarrassed of the way you're staring at him, and you wonder if you've got the same cat-like expression now that he always has when he studies you.
"I'm sure I did, I'm pretty good at this," the words slip out of you with a little too much truth in them. You watch as Charles' body tenses slightly, wide eyes moving to meet yours with that same mix of surprise, excitement, and terror they had when he came in for the first time. Your eyebrows furrow slightly, questioning, wondering. He chokes on his drink.
He coughs loudly and you're immediately by his side, slapping his back.
"I'm okay," he sputters out in between coughs, clearly embarrassed, cheeks bright red, "I'm super okay."
"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows furrow further, and he nods too intensely.
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." He coughs a few more times, and then the bell on your door rings.
You stare at him with something between confusion and worry, but he waves you off and nods towards the customer coming in. You shoot him another questioning look that is answered with a sure nod, and then you're back behind the counter.
"Hello, good morning. How can I help you?"
Charles finishes his food and his latte before you finish pouring the new customer's coffee, and he offers you a quick wave before leaving through the front door, little bell ringing in his wake. Something inside you aches.
He feels familiar, too.
For the first time in a month, Charles doesn't pass by the café.
You feel stupid, but your head snaps up every time the bell rings, looking for him in every customer, in every stranger passing on the other side of the window. It's a little silly, maybe, but he became a part of your routine, quick small talk before the rush of lunch time, quiet conversation while he sips at his drink and your jazz playlist fills the air with music. As weird as he is, you've come to quite enjoy his company.
He doesn't show up the following day, either. You linger around the shop while cleaning up, wiping down the tables like someone on a mission, wondering if you can will him into being here just so you can ask him what happened before you have to close shop.
By the fifth day, your head stops snapping up. On the eighth, when the bell rings on the late evening after you've already turned off the music, you don't even look towards the door.
"We're closed," you speak before whoever this is can react, hands busy with putting each chair on top of a table, apron severely stained after a busy day.
"Hi. I'm sorry for getting here so late."
Something inside you crackles with electricity. The voice rings clearer than the front door bell through the silent air, sending sparks in your direction. You recognize that voice. That accent. That sing-song cadence. It's so familiar your chest seems to burst with it.
When you look towards the door, it's just Charles. Still, your heart hammers between your ribs, trying to push itself out of your body, your eyes wide in a mix of surprise, excitement, and terror.
It's just Charles.
But, for one second, he sounds like something else. Someone else, even — someone who narrates your thoughts and reads your aunt's recipes.
"Hey." You put another chair down, staring at him across the café, slightly out of breath. "It's been a bit."
"I know. I'm sorry." His hands comes up to his neck, his face is sheepish, and you've missed his weirdness around your shop. "I've just been—busy, a little. How are you?"
"I'm okay." You cross your arms in front of your body, a little too aware of yourself. "You're a bit late, though. I've already cleaned up the kitchen and the coffee counter—you're gonna have to come back tomorrow. Or whenever you want," you add that last bit hurriedly, but he barely seems to mind.
"I expected that." Charles clears his throat, and you watch him shove his hands inside his pockets in that tell of nervousness you're starting to grow used to. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner with me. When you're done."
You gape at him. Your heart rate manages to rise even more. You should worry about a heart attack at this point.
"What?"
"I enjoy our conversations," he says simply, shrugging, "I'm sorry I haven't been around much, but I checked on Google what time the shop closes and thought maybe I could pass by and we could—get something to eat. And chat. Like we do here, except you won't be at work."
For a few moments, you consider it uncertainly.
You've missed him these last few days. You're not sure how you feel about him just walking in when you've already closed and asking you out for dinner. You're not sure how you feel about how familiar his voice sounded just then, how it sent shivers through you.
Charles is a weird guy. He's also your favorite regular, and you've been a little fond of him from the start.
So when you say sure, he immediately starts helping you with the chairs, asking what else you need to do before the two of you can leave. You laugh at his eagerness, directing him to where the tea cup cabinet is and showing where each cup goes. You don't usually like closing by yourself, but you're glad for it today. This way, the two of you can linger around the café as he helps put things in their places, exchanging soft smiles and quiet giggles before leaving for what is basically a date. It's a date, right?
He picks the restaurant, tells you it's a place he's been going to every once in a while. When you ask why he makes a habit of becoming a regular at every place he goes to, he shakes his head and says he's only a true regular at your shop. Your cheeks flush at how low his voice is when he says it.
And, oh, how you notice the way his voice sounds during dinner, while he laughs, while he tells you about getting all his haircuts at his parents' salon. You notice everything about it — the way it lingers in the air, the way it reaches out to you, the way it would've annoyed you as a kid, but you're used to it now.
But would you recognize your soulmate's voice if you heard it outside your head? You're not quite sure. You take a quiet walk through Monaco after dinner is over and you fight over who gets to pay the bill (he does, he grabs it too quickly), and you breathe in the night air with a suspicious peace in your body that rattles your chest. The wind is crisp and comforting. Charles walks by your side.
"So, you're from Monaco, right?" You ask, hands inside your pockets to chase away the cold breeze. "What got you to move to my side of town?"
He snorts, a smile on his face when he looks at you.
"I just moved out of my parents' house and wanted a nice place. The neighborhood is nice enough." You hum in agreement, so he keeps talking. "You… Are not from Monaco? Right?"
"Right." You nod, eyes traveling across the beautiful streets. "My aunt needed help with the café. I had just finished university and I guess—I guess I was a little lost on what I was supposed to do next. It was a big change, but it felt right, I guess."
"It does feel right."
Your gaze finds his in the comforting night, and you notice the way his cat eyes fall down to your lips for just a moment before they flutter back towards your irises, his skin turning a soft shade of pink that sends a small shock down your spine.
You stop walking, and he stills in place.
"Why didn't you come by the café this week?"
He seems surprised by the question but doesn't back down. You appreciate the way he's willing to be honest. You appreciate the way being honest feels so simple.
"Ah, I was a little freaked out," he admits, and your eyebrows rise, encouraging him to continue. "The whole familiarity thing, you know? It felt like too much. I got nervous." He pauses, voice taking up a degree of confidence and certainty that gives you butterflies. "But I'm not freaking out now. You—you're really nice, and fun. I've enjoyed seeing you every day more than I could put into words. And I'm not freaking out anymore."
You study him for a couple of seconds. Charles, your weird regular, standing in front of you with his heart on a platter after disappearing for a little over a week, taking you out for dinner, still looking down at your lips every once in a while and studying your face as if he's looking for something, making sure you are there, making sure you are real. Your heart bangs against your ribcage with a surety you can't ignore.
"I'm glad you came back," you answer calmly, "I missed you. You always made the morning pass by quicker."
A full grin takes over his mouth, the shade of red on his face growing darker when you take one of your hands out of your pocket and reach out towards his. He interlaces your fingers together, thumb rubbing affectionately on the heel of your palm, and it all feels like fireworks exploding in the Monaco skies while you walk under the stars with your favorite regular, who sneaks glances at you way more than he does at the beautiful night sky.
You give him your address and he walks you home. You talk all the way there, making fun of your coworkers and a few passersby on the streets. When you get to your place, Charles kisses your cheek softly as a goodbye, fingers still holding on to yours while the small touch sets your body on fire. Before he can pull away, your free hand takes a hold of his upper arm, keeping him in place when you lean forward and kiss his cheek, too. When your lips touch his skin, it's already burning.
"Not bad for a first date." There's not a hint of that chipper customer service tone on your voice — it's playful and teasing and raw, and he laughs breathlessly, inhaling deeply as if trying to breathe the sound of you into his lungs.
"I guess not," he nods, and you both just look at each other for a second, two curious cats wondering what happens next.
It's you who pulls him towards you again, pressing your lips to his for a quick moment before you're all but running away, slipping into your apartment building and running up the stairs like a tempting teenager, grinning at the sound of his voice yelling out your name by the gate. You can hear his smile and it just feels right, because you knew you needed to kiss him just like you knew him from that first day when he walked through the café door.
He's a regular. You'll see him tomorrow.
You don't have to say it, do you? It's in the sound of his voice. He falls right into step with you.
A few days later, after quite a number of late dinners after work and stolen kisses through the streets of Monaco, Charles wakes up at 4am and shows up at the café while you're unlocking the door. You look at him as if he's fucking crazy (he is, apparently) and he offers to help set things up for the morning.
"It's not even 5am yet," you chastise him while he slips in, body relaxing at the welcoming sound of the door bell ringing. "What are you doing here?"
"You told me you'd be alone in the shop today," he tries, and you're not even sure how he picked up the throwaway comment you made earlier in the week, complaining through text that none of the other cashiers or baristas could make it to work on this day. "I thought I could help."
You stare at him is disbelief, shaking your head as you lead him to the back, telling him where to leave his things while you find him a clean apron. You can barely believe he's actually here, but it makes you warm.
"So, boss," he says when he's properly dressed, hands behind his back, and you can't help but snort at the ridiculous sight. "What do we do first?"
"I'm baking cookies today." You throw a hairnet towards him that he miraculously catches. "You can probably help with that. We need the cookies to be inside the oven before 5:30am, preferably."
"Yes, boss," he salutes, and it looks so stupid you have to laugh. He smiles, enjoying the sound, and it sends another wave of warmth through your body.
You work together nicely, like a well-oiled machine. Charles follows your directions with ease, and this huge sense of calm and belonging washes over you while your elbows brush against each other, bodies too close as you roll the dough into small balls.
He counts the grams of sugar and flour aloud and, God, it's too familiar. It's right there.
"Why do you like jazz that much?" He asks while the dough bakes, working beside you to set up all the tea cups and mugs by the coffee machine as if he's done this a thousand times. You wonder if he learned just from watching you do it.
"What do you mean?"
"The café playlist. It's always jazz."
Your hands still. You listen to the music closely for a few seconds. He watches you with a fondness you've felt from day one. You guess the universe has its magics.
"I like the piano," you answer simply before returning to work.
"I can play the piano," he tells you, and you can only shoot him a surprised glance before the bell on the front door rings.
He actually fits quite easily by your side. He carefully takes the pastries from under the counter while you take orders and prepare drinks, and he's good with the small talk and calming conversation most of your customers look for.
When you tell him you'll pay him for the work day, he says he truly only wanted to spend the day with you. You kiss him behind the closed café doors, arms around his neck while the sky gets darker and darker, giggling by the cash register because everything seems to fit right in. His lips brush against yours again and again, his eyes hungry, and you melt under his touch, a whispered thank you for the help escaping you in between hushed kisses.
You don't have to say it, so you don't — the two of you already know the truth, and that's enough.
You only acknowledge it a couple of months later, one night in his apartment, when you sit down on the floor by his piano and stare at him eagerly. His fingers travel through the keys, playing a familiar tune — some song from your café playlist, one that plays on the speakers all the damn time.
Then he hums, and you know that sound, because you've heard it every other day ever since you first heard this song.
"Most people don't find their soulmates within their lifetimes," you say, and the piano stops. Charles turns his neck to look at you on the floor, blueish eyes so soft they make your chest ache with the amount of affection you feel for him. You smile. "When did you know?"
"First time I stayed at the café to eat. I don't remember exactly what you said — but you spoke to me without any customer voice at all for the first time, and I clocked it immediately." He looks shy, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. "I freaked out. But you already know that. You?"
"During our first date, I think. But you always sounded familiar."
He smiles, and the world glitters around him.
"Like a lost childhood best friend?"
You laugh, body warm and heart swollen.
"Yeah. Like a lost childhood best friend."
Weird little guy. He gives you that cat look before he starts playing again, finally closing his eyes as he picks up the humming and you sigh, enjoying it quietly, humming the same tune with the exact same voice inside your head.
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HIIII omg I hope you guys enjoyed reading! I loved writing this one and oh it is so special to me. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! have a good day <3
Warnings: Infidelity, Workplace Affairs, Fingering, Nickname ("Bee"), possessiveness, a lil yandere if you squint, hot people being immoral
Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: I like to think this is the same protagonist that fucked Professor!Oscar Isaac in Great American Epic. I feel like this doesn't need to be said but: no, this isn't based on Dev's real relationship. I do not advocate for cheating. I just like writing immoral mess.
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
"Blink twice if you've lost the will to live."
A cup of iced coffee slid into view with your name written on it in rushed, slanted cursive and punctuated with a smiley face. You'd lost track of how long you sat staring at the words in your inbox. It seemed like every five seconds, another ping pierced the deepest corners of your brain. Another blue dot shot daggers at you. Another slack message screamed at you.
(114) Unread Messages
(126) Unread Messages
Ping...ping...ping...
You were shoved back into reality when he nudged the plastic cup a little closer to you and you remembered how to use your hands for something other than typing.
You groaned, finally forcing yourself to turn away from your desktop to address the tall, lanky man in front of you. "I don't know how you always know."
He fidgeted with his tie, bashfully, and shrugged. Always so humble.
"You're actually not as mysterious as you think you are." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the top of your cubicle, "You have the worst poker face of anyone I know. So if you look like you're on the brink of death, chances are, you're probably on the brink of death. Y'know?"
You snorted when he did his best impression of you, which included a heavy huff and a not-so-subtle rolling of the eyes.
"Well, we can't all be a ray of sunshine like you." You countered, taking a long, slow pull from the paper straw and sighing in relief. "Just the way I like it, thank you."
Something crossed Dev's features--something akin to deep satisfaction, you presumed--and he grinned.
"Why are you always so surprised that I know what you like?" He quirked a brow at you.
You pursed your lips in thought at the softball question. Truthfully, Dev was a particularly good listener--a fact you learned pretty quickly. But you also felt like you rambled way too much and it was hardly ever anything worth retaining. You tried to decide if it'd be worth it to be that honest in your response.
"I guess I never realized I revealed that much about myself that was worth remembering."
"C'mon," he leaned forward over the cubicle and you could smell the subtle sweetness of his cologne, "everything about you is worth remembering, Bee."
A beat passed in the conversation and your tongue darted out to lick coffee from the corner of your mouth. You watched his eyes track the action as he took a slow, deep breath.
"Careful," you cooed, swiveling the chair around to redirect your attention back to your computer, "wouldn't want You-Know-Who to get mad."
You heard him guffaw behind you, though you could hear the hint of anxiety in his voice when he spoke.
"'You-Know-Wh--' you're still on that? She knows we're just friends, I don't think it's that big of a deal."
"I'm just saying," you stretched your arms over your head, elongating your spine and cracking some of your stiff joints, "every time she sees me, she looks like she wants to stab me about 50 times. I don't know what you did, but the lovely lady has a possessive streak."
You took another drink from the plastic cup and smiled subtly to yourself, peeking at him over your shoulder.
"I don't particularly understand it, it's not like she has anything to worry about. Right, D?"
Hesitance from the culprit. Shocker.
"Riiiight, Dev?" You asked again, clearly leading the horse to water.
He blinked at you as if he hadn't heard your question and shook his head.
"Nah. We're good. We've been good."
You took a long pull from the straw and turned back to your work.
"That's great! I'd hate to see you guys break up over something as silly as petty jealousy."
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
Per usual, there was a mad dash to the office elevator once the clock struck six. The thirty person office trickled down to ten.
Then five.
Then just two on opposite sides of the office floor, heads buried in papers and pages of post-it notes. Deemed the hardest workers in the company, no one was ever surprised when you two were the last to leave. You insisted that you both just worked well together, and had the analytics to show it.
And you were right. T's were crossed. I's were dotted. Numbers were calculated. There was no smoking gun.
And yet...
Your peers exchanged whispers in the bathroom and break room about how you both were seen leaving the office, oddly euphoric, at nine o'clock at night.
Security footage would show you standing on opposite sides of the elevator, speaking casually or scrolling through your phones. You always left the building and walked down separate side streets.
All of this crossed your mind in a brief flash as Dev propped you up on your boss' desk. He unzipped the back of your dress to reveal the cherry blossom pink lingerie he bought you for your birthday.
"God." He groaned. His neatly styled curls were now a cloud of dark locks framing his gorgeous face, and his dark eyes bore into you like he wanted to swallow you whole.
You couldn't lie, it thrilled you when he looked at you with a hunger you've only seen in men with nothing to lose.
It was a huge shift from the sweet, nervous man you talked to everyday. And it satisfied you knowing that only you, for whatever reason, had the power to bring this out of him.
"What?" You asked with mock curiosity. His large hands gripped your thighs tightly. You felt your lower stomach twitch.
He said nothing but slid his hands up your thighs to pull your dress off of your hips. In a beat, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you into a deep kiss. One of many that night. His lips were already swollen from how many times you'd gently nipped at him or sucked his bottom lip between your teeth. And each time you did, you could hear a deep groan permeate the air from deep in his chest.
This time, he used his knees and his free hand to push your thighs apart and prop one knee up on the desk, "God I'm so fucking glad your period is over. I needed you so bad."
You laughed. It was a light, bubbly laugh that surprised you.
You didn't like that. You pushed the implication away as his teeth tugged at the cup of your bra and snapped it back into place.
"I've been dreaming about how you look in this. Fuck," he muttered, pressing his lips to the swell of your breast, "it looks perfect on you. So perfect. My perfect girl."
He hooked his fingers into the strap of your bra and slipped it over your shoulder.
"So you admit it," you asked coyly as he dragged his lower lip over your hardened nipple, "you are wrapped around my finger."
He laughed. Short, and airy, with a smile that lit up his entire face. "Shut up, you don't need me to tell you that. It's a given."
As you combed your fingers through his thick, dark hair, you gently tugged at a handful of it. You cooed just above a whisper, "But I'm needy. I want to hear you tell me."
He laughed again, this time standing up straight and wrapping both hands around your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the desk. You took the opportunity to wrap your legs around him and walk your fingers up his stomach beneath his shirt.
"You truly get off on the power you have over me don't you?" He groaned, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, "Do you revel in the fact that you own me and that I need you?"
You couldn't help the grin that spread across your lips, "Yeah? I own you?"
"I'm yours."
"Mmm. That's right. You're mine."
He pulled you in for another deep kiss, cupping your cheeks in his hands. It was desperate and sloppy, like he worried you'd slip away if he let go for just a moment.
"Be with me," he sighed against your lips, "please. I need you."
You tried to ignore what he said, choosing instead to pull him down on top of you across the desk and kiss down his stubbled throat, "God, you're so beautiful."
"Bee--" he let out a hoarse groan, hiking your thigh up and around his hip as you rocked against him, "shit."
You reached down to rub the front of his pants, earning a sharp gasp and another low groan in your ear.
"This is mine," you purred, "you're all mine."
He buried his head in your neck as you unzipped his trousers, and he muttered something against your skin that you barely understood.
"Hmm?" When he looked back up at you, his wide brown eyes were glossy with need and something else you really didn't want to think too hard about. "Dev..."
"Bee, you know what I'm gonna say. You know what I'm gonna fuckin' say."
You looked him over and felt the pang of frustration in your chest--and between your thighs. You knew this conversation was coming, and you kept putting it off hoping that he'd just forget about it and move on.
"I'll leave her right now, I'll do it." The haze of lust was gone from his gaze, and he looked deathly serious. "I'm not fuckin' joking when I say that you. own. me. I only want to be yours. I don't want to be anyone else's."
You winced, avoiding eye contact with him, "You know why--"
"Enough with the bullshit, Bee." He pinned your hands above your head on the desk and lowered his head to meet your avoidant gaze, "Am I yours or not?"
"It's not that simple."
"It's very simple. Am I yours or not?" He returned his knee between your thighs and pressed down right where you needed him to. You sighed. "Tell me to leave her. I'll do it."
"She's good for you--"
"No."
He pulled the thin fabric of your panties to the side and traced the seam of your lips with the thick tip of his middle finger.
"Say you'll be with me." He whispered in your ear, as his fingers brushed just over your sensitive clit before moving away again. You squirmed under him, "Tell me you don't want anyone touching me but you. That no one can have me but you."
Under the airy demand was a clear plea to free him from whatever torment you were putting him under. After months of back and forth, of claiming him and sending him back, you were finally getting your retribution.
"Do you hate me?" You breathed, your hand inching down to press his hand down against your aching core. He snatched it and pinned it back down against the desk.
"You know I don't. But, God, I wish I did," he admitted, laughing humorlessly, "it'd make all of this so much easier." He buried his head in your neck again, casually circling his finger around that spot you were silently begging him to touch.
"Please..." you whimpered.
"Tell me she can't have me," he muttered against your skin, "and I'll make the ache go away."
You shut your eyes, tightly, fighting against the words that you'd been tucking away in the shadows of your soul since you met him. You swallowed hard and let out a shuddering breath.
"I need you," you admitted, your voice sounding so small to your ears. He dipped his fingers into you, and your eyes rolled back when his teeth latched onto your neck. "Dev."
"Say it."
Your mouth popped open but nothing came out but a whine.
"Bee, say it."
"I-I'd ruin you."
Your chest heaved. He picked up the pace between your thighs, "I'm already ruined. Say it. I'm yours."
You were struggling to find the words as you rocked your hips against his hand, "You're m-mine. Shit, shit, shit. God, you feel so good."
"And no one else can have me."
You nod, chasing the high, "Just mine, only mine."
"Who else's?"
The words came spilling out of you. You gripped his wrist, trying to anchor yourself to anything for the sake of your own sanity. You could feel your heart thumping against your chest and hear your pulse steadily increase in your ears.
"No one. You're mine, mine, mine. No one can have you but me--shit, shit, fuck, oh my god." You dug your nails into his skin, "Right there, right there!"
You felt your brain temporarily shut off and your hips rise off the desk. You could just feel your lips moving and the voice that escaped sounded like a mix between a cry, a whine, and a choked sob.
better man | older!hockey commentator!garrett x assistant!reader
you know how they say there are three sides to every story? well, here’s garrett’s…
cw: 18+ mdni, angst, secret workplace relationship, age gap (reader in 20s, garrett late 30s), fighting, mild violence, mention of blood, reference to abusive parent, reference to unwanted advances (NOT garrett), misunderstandings, garrett’s pov, swearing (wc: 2.5k)
part one / part two ⋆˙⟡ masterlist
Garrett could feel things starting to spin out of control.
When he saw Adrien put his hands on you, it was like something inside of him snapped, and it was taking every ounce of his composure to keep from tearing the other man apart.
As he aged, Garrett was getting better at slowing himself down and thinking things through before reacting in a reckless manner. In his youth, he’d been much more prone to blowing his fuse at the slightest provocation, but over the years he’d done a lot of work to tame that beast within.
He was trying hard to be a better man.
Garrett’s greatest fear in life had always been becoming just like his father—so many memories of his childhood tainted by the violence of a man whose shadow still loomed too large in the recesses of his mind. He wasn’t proud of the anger he carried deep inside; he never wanted to scare you or let you to see that side of himself where he lost all sense of reason and control.
But you looked so helpless standing there in front of him, wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights, and he was frozen too, mind racing to consider the repercussions his actions in the moment might have on you.
He was trying so fucking hard.
But he could feel it coming, rage building like an unstoppable storm swell rising up inside him. His body charged like a wire as that old familiar anger started to surge through his veins, its electric buzz ringing loud in his ears. It was deafening.
Everything slowed down in a rush of adrenaline and before he could react, you were already hurrying off the set and the cameras were moving in on him and his co-hosts, ready to roll.
More than anything, he wanted to chase after you and make sure you were okay, but he was already mic’d up and couldn’t exactly run off the set to follow. What would people say? Nobody was supposed to know the two of you were together.
In his mind, you belonged to him.
Not in the way that he wanted to own you or control you, but in the sense that you were the person he held closest to his heart. You were the calm to his storm. The sweetness to his bitter. The piece of him that had been missing for so long he hadn’t even realized it wasn’t there until you made his life feel more complete.
You were his girl.
In some ways it was killing him to hide that you were together—he may not have had the best track record with relationships, but Garrett had always been the type of guy who wanted to show off his lady to the world. Secret hook-ups and sneaking around weren’t really his style.
But you’d told him over and over that you didn’t want anyone to find out what was going on because of the potential repercussions for your career. You were just starting out and trying to make a name for yourself; sleeping with someone higher up wasn’t going to gain you any respect in the industry.
In a lot of ways, Garrett shared your concerns.
Carrying on a relationship with a younger assistant who worked on his show wasn’t a great look for him, no matter how you sliced it. The age difference was bad enough, but paired with the skewed power dynamics and potential for abuse of his position over you, it looked even worse.
Giving someone like Adrien any sign that you were together would be a surefire way to blow your cover. He had an innate talent for finding an opponent’s weakness and using it against them—and he’d always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to Garrett.
It wouldn’t take long for gossip to spread through the station like wildfire. To burn you both, Adrien would only need a spark.
Garrett could only imagine the headlines and comments on social media. Before you, he’d been linked with models and actresses for whom that type of criticism was part and parcel of their careers, but you were so innocent to the dark side of fame that came wrapped up with success. In his own selfish way, he wanted to protect you and keep you all to himself.
The old brownstone he had recently purchased was being renovated, so he’d been living out of hotels, using that as an opportunity to sweep you off your feet like a fairytale, splurging on nights in fancy rooms where he could pretend for at least a little while that it was only you and him.
Keep those wolves from your door just a little bit longer.
You came from different worlds and it was pretty obvious you’d never dated anyone like him before—someone with money and power. He could tell by the way your eyes got big and wide when he showed off and bought you pretty things. He liked that he could be the one who spoiled you. Got off on pleasing you and making you smile.
He’d give you anything you wanted.
As much as he tried to hide his feeling while at work, he knew there was a chance he’d slipped up a time or two in front of others—maybe let his eyes linger a little too long or smiled a bit too much in your presence; it wasn’t easy falling in love behind closed doors.
Deep down, he suspected Adrien knew something and that his behavior towards you was an attempt to get a reaction. The smirk he’d shot Garrett afterwards had given him away.
And Garrett knew the mature thing would be to get through the show, find you afterwards and speak to someone about Adrien’s inappropriate conduct in a calm, professional manner. It wasn’t going to help anyone to lose his cool or make a scene on-air. In fact, it would probably just end up making things worse for everyone involved.
But then again, fuck it.
“If you ever touch her again, I’ll end you.” Garrett’s words came out razor sharp like he was biting each one back, nostrils flared as he tilted his head to survey his opponent.
Unaware of what was happening at the desk, the rest of the crew were counting down to airtime.
“Alright guys we’re on in five.”
“What’s that?” Adrien asked, lips curling in a cruel smile that belied his innocence.
“Three.”
“You fucking heard me,” Garrett snapped, jaw ticking at the sight of Adrien’s smug grin. He could feel a flush spreading over his cheeks as sweat pricked his brow.
“Two.”
Garrett’s body was vibrating as the intro music to the sportscast began to play. He didn’t remember much after that—it was like he was on autopilot, listening to everyone around him speak in faraway echoes while all he could think about was the way Adrien’s hand had traced the curve of your hip.
The show opened with the panel discussing the highlights of the New York versus Buffalo game from the night before. Right away Adrien made a wisecrack about New York letting up a bad goal, looking straight at Garrett as he spoke.
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Graham? Sneaking it into the crease with a filthy little assist.”
After that, things went red.
Garrett stood up and lunged at Adrien over the desk, pulling him out of his chair by the collar of his shirt, silver-flecked dark curls falling into his forehead as he struggled with the other man.
“You got something you want to say?”
Adrien offered only a smile in return, one that Garrett promptly wiped off his face with a sharp right hook. Then the two men followed each other down, tumbling onto the floor, knocking over chairs on their way as they fell together in a tangle of writhing limbs.
It took three security guards working in tandem to pull Garrett off Adrien, and during the scuffle he lost his phone, his newly split knuckles leaving dark red stains down the front of his shirt.
As the guards led Garrett off the set, he scanned the room in a bid to find you. Even though he hadn’t wanted you to witness the fight, he selfishly craved the comfort of your face—safe harbor in the storm that was swallowing him whole.
Before he could spot you, he was whisked away to an office in the executive suite where an assistant brought him a towel for his bloody knuckles while he got raked over the coals by Nate, one of the show’s very agitated executive producers.
“That was too far this time, Graham. You were on live television for Christ’s sake! What the hell were you thinking?”
Saying nothing, Garrett leaned back in the plush leather chair across from Nate’s desk, running his tongue over a cut on his lower lip and grimacing at the familiar metallic taste of his own blood.
“…I spoke to Adrien’s agent and the good news is that he’s fine and isn’t going to press charges. Of course I’ll have to smooth things over with the board...”
Garrett bowed his head for a moment then looked up with a steely glare. “I want him off the show—it’s him or me.”
The producer smiled like the sentiment was only vaguely amusing. “He has a contract. We can’t just kick him off—and you seem to be forgetting the fact that you were the one who attacked him first, or am I imaging things?”
Garrett stared straight ahead, glowering as he bit his tongue. He wanted to tell Nate what Adrien did to you, but he didn’t want to put you in that position without speaking to you first. It was your story to tell, not his.
“I get it. He rubs people the wrong way.” Nate continued as he gestured in the air. “That’s his whole thing, and the viewers love it—”
“You’re not listening to me,” Garrett interrupted, standing up to make his point and towering over the desk with an imposing frame. “If he stays, I go.”
At that moment the same assistant returned to sheepishly hand Garrett his missing phone. He noted with a grimace that the case was cracked.
Nate’s smile was patronizing. “My hands are tied. Why don’t you go home and take some time to cool down before making any rash decisions. Relax, get some rest. It’ll look different in the morning.”
“Sounds like you’ve made your choice,” Garrett stated with a disgusted shake of his head before he turned, storming out of the office and letting the door slam shut in his wake.
What he hadn’t told Nate, was that he had recently received an offer from a rival network, one that promised more money and creative control. He’d initially turned it down to stay closer you, but of course, things had changed and he needed some leverage.
The other network’s president, Catherine Cavanagh, had given him her personal phone number in case he ever changed his mind. In the elevator on his way down from the executive suite, Garrett sent her a quick text, not really expecting a response.
>> Are you free for a drink?
Minutes later his phone buzzed.
>> La Perla. 8pm.
He smiled to himself, tucking his phone away in his jacket. With that settled, he turned his focus to finding you.
Before leaving the station, Garrett did a quick walk through of the studio to see if by some chance you might be still there, but you were nowhere to be found. He sent you a couple quick texts before heading to his car.
>> Just got my phone back - long story. Are you ok?
>> We need to talk. Can I see you later?
The whole ride back to his hotel to get ready for his meeting, he anxiously awaited your response but it never came. Eventually he tried to call you, but the it just rang with no answer until your voicemail picked up.
Later, after getting out of the shower and bandaging his hand, he checked his phone again and was surprised to see you still hadn’t responded to any of his texts or calls. Anxiety rising, he tried to phone you a few more times in the car on the way to the restaurant to meet Catherine, finally leaving you a short message.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m a little worried since you haven’t been answering me all night. Is everything ok? Please call me as soon as you get this. Doesn’t matter how late, alright?”
As soon as Garrett sat down at La Perla with Catherine, her eyebrows raised with interest at the sight of his split lip and bandaged knuckles.
“Quite a nasty cut you have there.” She gestured at his hand. “Those new house renovations going a bit awry?”
Always poised and professional, she didn’t mention the fight with Adrien, but Garrett imagined she had already heard about what happened. Gossip tended to travel fast.
“So what changed your mind, Garrett? A few weeks ago you wouldn’t even consider my offer,” she got right to the point with a cloying smile.
Garrett leaned back in his seat with a matching grin. “My circumstances have changed, and I’m interested to hear what you can offer.”
“So you want me to give you the whole sales pitch again?” She laughed good naturedly as she swirled her drink. When Garrett nodded, she began.
“Well, we’re currently the top streaming sports network in the country and rapidly expanding. We can offer you a very generous contract—as you know, my husband is a big fan of yours,” she added with a knowing smile. “The camera loves you and we think you’d be perfect to host your own segment, a more in-depth interview format…”
Throughout the conversation, Garrett kept stealthily checking his phone just in case you returned any of his messages. When he saw you hadn’t, worry creased his brow.
It wasn’t like you not to answer for so long.
He’d never been to your apartment, but he knew your address by heart from sending cars to pick you up. You only lived a few blocks from the restaurant, so he decided he’d walk to your place after the meeting to check in and see if you were ok.
After shaking hands with Catherine and making plans to meet to go over details of her offer with his agent, Garrett left the warmth of La Perla to step out into the rainy night.
As he started to head toward your place, a sobering thought crossed his mind—what if you’d heard about the fight with Adrien and that’s why you weren’t answering his calls?
The on-air brawl had been messy and violent. If you’d heard about it or saw something, it might have changed your view of him. Maybe you were scared or disgusted and never wanted to see him again.
For just a moment, he wondered if he was no better than his father, forever cursed to carry on the shameful legacy that went hand in hand with his last name. But then he remembered how frightened you had looked when Adrien touched you, and he knew his actions were justified.
As he approached your building, he hoped you would give him a chance to explain himself and that once you heard his side of things you’d understand. He wanted to apologize to you for losing control and using violence, even though he couldn’t promise it would never happen again.
Because even though hitting Adrien had been the wrong choice in the moment, it had also felt good. Really good. And the truth was, he would do it again in a heartbeat.
He wasn’t sorry.
to be continued!! 🤍 thank you to everyone who has been following along and interacting so far 🫶 i’d love to hear your thoughts!!
tags 💌: @winx333-blog @tubby23 @missmaddyline
dividers by @//cursed-carmine + @//strangergraphics
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ The second Movie Night shatters multiple couples and causes production-halting arguments, making room for reconciliation between you and Rafe as a secret about your shared past is brought to light
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ heavy swearing, verbal arguments, slut shaming, classism, light smut, if you can't acccess this chapter because of the content label i have uploaded this series to ao3 for you all as well (my account link is in my pinned post)
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
YOU sat at the edge of your vanity, staring at your reflection as you applied a layer of lipgloss. More than three weeks in a sun-soaked fishbowl, and somehow, the drama only managed to feel more suffocating with each passing day.
Usually, the morning routine was the same. The boys would trudge downstairs in the kitchen and assemble a line of iced coffees, slightly burnt avocado toasts, and fruit bowls to bring up to the girls. When you had woken up wrapped in the sheets next to Theo, everything had felt alright. Not normal, but alright.
He’d given you that sleepy, half-smirk smile of his and whispered that he was going to head down to whip up some breakfast for you.
But that was forty-five minutes ago.
You had finished your skincare routine, put on your favorite bikini, done your makeup, and still, no Theo.
Confused and feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach, you walked out to the terrace and peered down at the outdoor kitchen. The boys were scattered, the rest of the girls eating, but Theo wasn't even there. In fact, he was sitting by the pool, staring blankly at the water.
Confessional : You
“I don’t get it. An hour ago, we were fine. Now he’s sitting across the villa looking miserable, and I haven't even spoken to him yet.
Sighing, you walked down the stairs and took a seat on one of the daybeds, pulling your knees up to your chest. The villa was ambient with the usual morning chatter, but you felt isolated in your own confusion.
"Hey."
You looked up, the shadow of a tall figure blocking the morning sun—Rafe. In his hand, he held a condensation-beaded plastic cup filled with a smoothie.
"I didn’t see you eat anything," Rafe said, his voice quiet, almost cautious. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes searching your face. "I noticed... uh, I noticed you didn't get any breakfast brought up. I was going to make you a plate but I didn’t want to, like, overstep or anything…"
"Thank you, Rafe," you murmured, reaching out to take the cup with a small smile. Your fingers brushed against his, making your heart do that stupid little flip as you took a sip.
Things were still undeniably awkward between you two, the weight of your date yesterday still hanging in the air. You were definitely more open to him now, the walls you’d built around your heart beginning to melt, but the confusion of being caught between your connection with Rafe and your one with Theo was draining.
Rafe sat down on the edge of the daybed, leaving a respectful amount of space between you, though his eyes never left your face. "You look beautiful today, by the way.” He compliments boyishly, almost like he wasn't sure if he should even say it but decided to anyway. “...But you look worried."
"I don't know," you admitted, staring down at the pink smoothie, swirling it around mindlessly. "Theo's just... he's acting so weird. He said he was making me breakfast, and then he just ghosted. He won't even look at me. I haven’t tried to talk to him about…anything, yet. But…I just feel weird."
Rafe’s jaw tensed at the mention of Theo's name, but he caught himself, taking a slow, controlled breath. He didn't want to push you away.
"C’mere," Rafe murmured, shifting closer, and before you could even process it, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. Startled, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding, melting into him. His chest was just as solid as you remembered, skin smelling like the same expensive cologne. Rafe leaned down, pressing a tender kiss into the top of your head, holding you tight against him for a long while.
"Don't stress about it, alright?" he whispered against your hair, hands gently rubbing your back.
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, a soft, grateful smile tugging at your lips as you squeezed his arm. “I’ll try.”
WHILE you were trying to figure out what might’ve caused Theo’s random shift in attitude, the rest of the villa was navigating their own drama. Over by the daybeds, Cleo and Justin were chatting, but something in their body language was off. Ever since the most recent challenge, where Cleo and Pope had shared a heated kiss, a strange wall had been built between her and Justin.
And Justin tried to play it cool, but the insecurity was eating him alive.
He looked around the villa, his eyes landing on Rima, who was sunbathing by herself near the pool. Yes, Rima was his ex-girlfriend, the girl he shared history with, but despite everything, she was the one person in this villa he felt comfortable confiding in.
Walking over, Justin tapped Rima’s shoulder. "Hey, can I pull you?"
Rima sat up, adjusting her sunglasses, a look of surprise crossing her face. "Uh, yeah, sure…” She stands. “Everything alright?"
"Just need to talk for a second," Justin muttered, leading the way toward the hidden lounge, the door shut behind them.
OUT on the grass, John B was pacing back and forth, stress pulling at his features. He and Sarah were on the rocks and he was desperately trying to convince himself that Sarah’s challenge kiss with JJ didn't mean anything, but the lingering guilt of his own actions at Casa was making him paranoid.
JJ and Pope were lounging on the beanbags nearby, watching the man lose his mind.
"Bro, chill, you’re gonna burn a hole into the lawn," JJ muttered, adjusting his cap.
John B stopped, turning to the guys. "I can't chill.” He hissed. “It's like she's intentionally dragging it out, giving me the silent treatment, throwing these little comments at me. I mean, I did what we’re supposed to be doing! I explored someone, but I still came back to her. She’s being petty for no reason…"
JJ let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Especially considering you didn’t even tell her the worst of it."
John B's face drained of color, whipping his head around, spotting Sarah walking past just a few feet away. "Dude, shut the fuck up," John B hissed, eyes wide, heart racing.
But Sarah didn't look over, entirely oblivious to the conversation.
Once she was out of sight, John B let out a breath, turning back to JJ. "Are you trying to get me killed?"
"I'm just sayin’," JJ defended, raising his hands. "You're sittin’ here complaining about her being petty, but you didn’t even tell her everything. If she finds out from someone else—"
"She’s not gonna find out," John B interrupted, his voice tight. "Telling her everything right now is just going to ruin everything.” He groans. “I came back to her. That's what matters."
Pope sighed, looking at John B with a mix of pity and disapproval. "We get where you're coming from, but... maybe you just shouldn't have done it in the first place if you knew it was gonna eat you alive like this."
"Yeah, I fucking know that, Pope.” John B snapped, flaring his nostrils. “But there isn't shit I can do about it now, is there?"
Confessional : John B
“Things happened with Delaney but... it was a mistake. I regretted it the second we left.”
AS the afternoon dragged on, your confusion regarding Theo only morphed into irritation. He hadn't spoken a single word to you all day. Every time you walked into a room, he conveniently found a reason to leave.
You tried to rationalize it. Your first thought, naturally, was that he was upset about your date with Rafe yesterday. It made sense—no guy wanted to watch the girl he was coupled up with get swept away on a date by the guy she was coupled up with before that she clearly still has feelings for. But you quickly brushed that thought away. Theo had been so understanding last night, telling you that he knew you were in an awkward position, that he didn't expect you to just forget your history with Rafe overnight, and that he was willing to give you space to figure it out.
So why the sudden shift?
Seeing him standing by the outdoor gym, wiping his brow with a towel, you decided you were done accepting his cold shoulder. You walked over, your shoulders square, chin up.
"Hey, Theo," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Can I pull you for sec?"
Theo didn't even look at you, keeping his eyes locked on the ground, jaw clenched. "I'm not really in the mood to talk."
You blinked, taken aback by his tone. "...I just want to know why you're literally avoiding me. Is that too much to ask for?"
"No," he shrugging, voice careless as he looked up at you. “But I already said I’m good.” He throws at you, turning his back and walking away.
Your chest tightened, hurt and embarrassment flooding you. You stood frozen for a moment, biting your lip to keep from tearing up, before turning around to walk away.
What you didn't notice was Rafe standing by the kitchen island, eyes locked onto you during the entire interaction. His eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you walk away with your head down, your shoulders slightly slumped, and his blood boiled. He hated seeing you upset, but seeing you get dismissed like you were nothing? He couldn’t stand it.
Confessional : Rafe
“I’m looking across the villa and I see her try to talk to Theo. And this guy just completely turns his back on her, walks the fuck away, and leaves her standing there looking like she’s about to cry. I don't give a fuck what's going on between them, you don't treat her like that. And you can call me a hypocrite because I've technically done the same thing,” He winces, dragging the words out. “But I owned up to it and haven’t done it since!” He throws his hands up. “Plus, she’s the only reason this guy is even fucking here and he’s treating her like shit.”
Taking a deep breath, Rafe focused on keeping his temper in check. He knew his reputation in the villa, his reputation overall. He knew that if he approached Theo aggressively, it would only backfire and make things harder for you.
Rafe walked across the grass, his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his swim shorts. As he approached Theo, he took a breath, stopping a few feet away.
"Hey, Theo?" Rafe said, his voice uncharacteristically steady, though the boy's name tasted like venom on his tongue. "Y'got a second?"
Theo looked up, his expression hardening when he saw Rafe standing over him. "What do you want?"
Rafe shook his head slightly, a thought flashing through his mind. I can't believe I’m doing this shit right now. But at the end of the day, Rafe’s primary goal was always going to be protecting your heart, regardless of where he stood in the picture.
"Look, man, I'm not here to start anything," Rafe said, keeping his voice low so the other Islanders wouldn't overhear. "I just noticed... I saw Y/N try to pull you just now, and you brushed her off. I don't know if something happened between you two, but... she's doesn't deserve to be left hanging like that. If she's trying to talk to you, I think you should just give her the respect—"
“It doesn’t have shit to do with you.” Theo cuts in, letting out a harsh scoff, standing up from the beanbag so he was eye-level with Rafe. The height difference was minimal, but the tension between them was anything but. “Don’t come over here trying to play the hero.”
Rafe’s jaw worked, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes, but he kept his hands planted in his pockets. "...I'm not trying to start an issue, man."
But Theo was non-receptive. In fact, Rafe’s calm demeanor seemed to only fuel Theo’s anger as he stepped directly into Rafe’s space, his chest pressed nearly against his.
"You’re not fooling anyone," Theo hissed, his voice trembling with anger. "You've been hovering over her, trying to slide back into her bed, and now you're trying to lecture me on how to treat her?"
The villa went silent around them, eyes on the two men. Across the lawn, the guys stood up, their eyes wide as they prepared to sprint over if things started looking bad.
But surprisingly, Rafe remained quiet. The old Rafe would have cracked a smile and thrown a right hook without so much as a second thought. But right now, he was holding himself back with every ounce of strength he had. Inside his pockets, his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists, jaw clenched so hard the bone looked ready to snap, and his eyes were lowered, dark and dangerous, locked onto Theo’s face.
For a long, agonizing five seconds, neither of them moved.
Then, Rafe let out a short huff of air. A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, and, without uttering a single word, Rafe turned, pulled his hands from his pockets, and walked away, leaving a fuming Theo standing alone on the grass, glaring at his back.
RAFE searched the villa, spotting you sitting on the steps that led to the upper levels of the villa. He walked over, his expression softening the moment his eyes landed on you.
He sat down on the step beneath you, turning his body so he was looking up at you. "You okay?" he asked softly. "I saw what happened over there, when you tried to talk to him."
You let out a breath, burying your face in your hands for a brief second before looking back at him. Without really thinking, the words spilled out of your mouth. "I'm just... I'm confused. I'm not even sad or anything, I'm just... I don't understand why he's acting like that. He was the one telling me how much he understood me last night, and now he won't even give me the time of day."
Rafe sat there, listening as you poured your heart out. Every single word was like a twist of a knife in his chest, it pained him physically to hear you express emotional investment in someone else, to see you hurt over a guy who wasn't him. But he didn't interrupt. He allowed you to vent.
You suddenly caught yourself, guilt hitting you. "Oh my god, Rafe... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be sitting here crying to you about Theo. That's fucked. That’s not fair to you."
Rafe reached up, his hand gently wrapping around your ankle, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Don't apologize to me. I told you, I don't care what the reason is.” He started, voice soft. “If you're hurting, I want to be the one to help you through it."
You offered him a pitiful smile, leaning forward. "I appreciate that, Rafe."
ACROSS the villa, Pope and Cleo were sitting by the daybeds again, their heads huddled close together as they laughed at something on Pope's phone. They had been chatting significantly more than usual all afternoon, a fact that everyone in the villa had noticed. Whenever anyone asked them about it, though, they both brushed it off, claiming they were "just talking." But the look in their eyes told a completely different story.
Over by the kitchen, JJ was standing by himself, zoned out.
"...Yo, you good?" John B asked, walking up to grab a piece of fruit.
JJ jumped at the sound of the boy’s voice, letting out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "Honestly...I’m kina thrown off by Haja. It’s like every thing she does is to make Miles mad. I’m not a fucking pawn in their little game, bro.” JJ’s face twists. “I brought her back because I thought we had an actual connection, but it feels like she’s just using me to fuel whatever weird fire she still has going on with her ex..."
ON the daybeds, your conversation with Rafe was interrupted when Rima walked up to the two of you, her hands trembling slightly, looking more nervous than you had ever seen her.
"Rafe... Y/N, I'm sorry to interrupt," Rima said, her voice shaking slightly. She looked down at Rafe, her eyes wide with a strange anxiety. "Can I please him really quick? It's... it's kind of important."
Rafe frowned, looking between you and Rima, eyes stopping on you for an answer. You looked between them, not feeling any particular way. It was clear they’d grown to be friends. You nodded. "Yeah, of course, go ahead.”
Rafe shot you a small smile, getting up from his place beside you. “Y’alright?"
"Just... let's go to somewhere else," she muttered, her eyes darting nervously toward the kitchen where Justin was standing, talking to JJ and John B.
You watched them walk away, a sense of uneasiness settling into your bones. But not about them.
About everything.
To you, the villa felt like a pot of water, ready to boil over, and you couldn’t put your finger on why.
Until the sudden, loud ping of a text message echoed through the villa.
You grabbed your phone, everyone watching your eyes go wide as you the message aloud.
"Islanders, tonight will be a red-carpet affair. Please get dressed for... MOVIE NIGHT! #GrabThePopcorn #DoubleFeature"
EVEN as the girls began to get ready in the dressing room, the silence was deadly. You felt that you truly had nothing to worry about. If anything, you were anticipating Movie Night, hoping, damn near praying, that it would show everything that happened at Casa.
And finally tell you if Rafe was telling the truth.
Noticeably, though, Rima, Cleo, Sofia, and Haja were the only ones who looked visibly shaken, their movements stiff and shaky as they pulled out dresses and began doing their makeup.
You and Sarah, however, were trying to break the tension.
"Oh my god," you laughed nervously, blending out your concealer. "I am actually terrified, but at the same time, I cannot wait to see what the hell is going to happen tonight."
Sarah giggled, curling a strand of her blonde hair. "Literally. Hopefully, it’s nothing like the first one. That was a mess..."
Normally, Rima and Cleo would have interjected themselves into the joke or conversation, throwing commentary back and forth. But they both remained silent, staring blankly into their mirrors. Cleo was biting the inside of her cheek, while Rima’s hands were visibly shaking as she applied her mascara.
"...Haja, are you excited?" Sarah asked, glancing your way with a confused look, trying to loop her into the conversation and clear some of the clear awkwardness.
Haja snapped her head around, her expression defensive. "Why are you asking me that?" she bit out snappily, pulling her dress up with a sharp jerk.
Sarah raised her eyebrows, exchanging a shocked look with you in the mirror. Sofia, per usual, remained quiet in the corner, her face unreadable.
You and Sarah both resigned yourselves to silence, sensing that this night probably wouldn’t be ending too well.
MEANWHILE, in the bedroom, the vibe was split.
Rafe was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He wasn't worried at all. In fact, he was actually pretty excited. He knew exactly what he had done at Casa and was desperately hoping that Movie Night would finally project the truth onto the big screen, showing you that you had absolutely no reason not to trust him.
This night was his golden opportunity to finally get you back.
On the opposite side of the room, JJ and John B were in a similar nervous states. John B was pacing the floor, sweating through his shirt, running his hands through his hair so violently it looked like he was going to pull it out.
"Bro, I'm shaking. I am literally fucking shaking," John B panicked, his voice cracking. "I’m cooked, dude."
JJ wasn't doing much better, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “Maybe they won’t show it, man.” He throws out, but even he doesn’t believe it.
John B shoots him a sharp look, sighing.
Pope walked over, clapping John B on the shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. "Just breathe. What's done is done. Just sit there, take it on the chin, and be honest when it plays. If it plays."
Justin was sitting on the bench, unbothered, tying his shoes. He didn't think he had anything to worry about.
Theo was sitting nearby, looking slightly jittery, shifting his weight from foot to foot, but he wasn't displaying the level of panic that was currently consuming the other boys.
"Alright," Rafe said, turning around with a confident smirk, hands in his pockets as he tossed reading the room out the window. "Let's go to the movies."
TWO long couches faced a massive projector screen. You and the girls sat on the left couch while the boys took their seats on the right.
“Is it bad that I’m getting scared?” Sarah, who was on your right, whispered. Your eyebrows pinched at her words, turning to face her.
“Why?”
She just shrugged, shifting in her seat. “I don’t know…” She huffed. “ I think I just don’t want to see him kissing Delaney.”
You planted a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I get it. But at least he told you,” you comforted. “I’m shaking, hoping Rafe was telling the truth about everything…”
Sarah sends you a soft smile then. “I have faith in him.”
At her words, you return the smile when the projector screen decides to come to life, all heads turning as a graphic appeared, displaying a series of seven numbered digital doors
Just then, the sound of a phone went off, Justin fishing his from his pocket and reading the text aloud.
“Islanders, welcome to Movie Night. To get started, you will flip a coin. Boys versus Girls. The winning side will choose a numbered door to reveal what is behind it. You will do this for every door."
“That’s makes this even more nerve-wrecking,” You throw out as Justin takes it upon himself to stand, picking up the big plastic ‘coin’ labeled ‘Boys’ on one side, ‘Girls’ on the other, flipping it in the air, watching it hit the ground, landing firmly on Boys.
The boys huddled up briefly, before Pope looked to the girls side. "We feel like we should just start from the beginning.” He tells you all as the boys lean back. “One." Pope called out.
The door on the screen slowly creaked open, zooming in as a bold, neon title materialized across the screen—IN LOVING MEMORY OF CASA AMOR.
The title faded before a scene graced the screen—the day all of your exes entered the villa. The day Casa started.
The clip started with you and the girls', showing the moment the Casa Boys walked into the villa before it shows a confessional of Sarah—"When we were together, Thomas had this super short buzzcut... but with the longer hair? Yeah, he looks good."
John B scoffs, eyes narrowing as he glares over at Sarah. Sarah ignores him, keeping her eyes locked on the screen.
The clip continues, showing Kiara looking unamused, Cleo looking indifferent, and Rima smiling broadly, admitting she was genuinely happy to see Justin because they had remained great friends after their breakup.
Then, your face appeared on the screen, hands moving wildly as you spoke in a confessional—"I am pissed…I don’t want Mattheo here. Why would I?...He put me through absolute hell, cheated on me multiple times, and he made me feel like I was absolutely nothing. I spent a long, painful time building myself back up from the mental suffering and the emotional dents that he left on my soul...I hate that he’s here. I really do."
And on the boys' side, a smirk broke across Rafe’s face. He let out a low chuckle, thrilled to see how deeply you despised your ex, but more importantly, he absolutely loved when you got feisty—well, as long as that fire wasn't aimed at him.
The screen instantly transitioned to the boys' side over at Casa Amor, showing the exact moment Sofia and the other ex-girlfriends walked through the villa gates. The camera locked onto Rafe’s face, looking ready to punch a hole into anything. The screen then cut to his confessional from that day—"Sofia?" Rafe seethed to the camera. "Out of every. single. girl on the planet, you bring her here?...I’m pissed. I know exactly why she’s here, and it’s for all the wrong reasons—reasons I, quite frankly, don’t give a single fuck about." He threw his hands up in the air, reeling back in his seat. "And I know she is going to try her absolute hardest to throw a fucking wrench into everything…I didn’t even want to come here. I was happy where I was. But I already know this is gonna stir some shit up regardless..."
Cleo let out a sudden laugh from the middle of the couch, turning her head to look at you. “Y’all are literally the same person,” she said, shaking her head.
Sofia let out a loud scoff, crossing her arms tightly, mumbling under her breath. You looked over at Rafe, your chest swelling. He really hadn't wanted her there.
The clip continued, showing JJ acting relatively unbothered about Delaney’s arrival. Then, John B appeared on screen, playing it cool as he talked about Kaitlyn’s arrival: "There’s no real hard feelings between us…but I know for a fact she would never date me again…and I’m focused on Sarah anyway.”
In the audience, Sarah leaned over, whispering skeptically to Cleo, "But it doesn't mean he would never date her though," John B winced, watching the interaction.
The clip briefly showed Miles looking not-too-happy about Haja’s arrival, and Pope looking mildly weirded out by Winnie’s presence.
The screen then shifted to the day of the Casa Amor recoupling, showing the girls' side first.
It replayed Sarah choosing Thomas, her post-recoupling confessional flashing—"I just think we left the past in the past, and I’m okay with that."
Then came Cleo choosing Justin, showing Cleo smiling bigger than she had in weeks—"I’m excited. I think he’s sexy, obviously. And I think we made some great conversation yesterday, so I’m happy."
On the boy’s couch, Pope’s posture slouched, a deeply sad, dejected expression crossing his face. He hadn't realized Cleo actually liked Justin that much, truly, and shamefully, assuming she only brought him back as a safe option, not fully trusting him.
The clip switches to Kiara choosing Mattheo with a clearly dissatisfied expression, while Mattheo looked visibly disappointed right before Rima was shown smiling and genuinely happy with Brandon.
Then, your recoupling moment appeared, the screen showing Theo standing next to you, a smirk plastered across his face—"I’ve had my eye on her since we walked in, so I’m hoping I can leave a lasting impression, maybe get her to take me home with her.”
The camera cut to you ducking your head, smiling as Ariana called your name. You looked up, opening your mouth to speak—"It could be worse, but yeah, I’m excited to get to know Theodore. He’s been nothing but sweet to me."
In the audience, Rafe aggressively rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and groaning audibly at the sight of you smiling at Theo, damn near pouting as one of the guys nudged his shoulder.
The clip then transitioned to the boys' recoupling—John B seemed happy to be coupled up with Delaney, making an incredibly stupid joke to the camera about how she slightly resembled Sarah, a comment that was received with absolute silence and glares from the girls'. JJ was shown happy to be with Haja, stating he felt confident exploring a new connection since his chemistry with Kiara had faded. Pope was casual with Kaitlyn, Miles and Sofia seemed pleased, noting they found each other attractive, and Rafe was almost overly casual about his coupling with Winnie, indifferently stating she "seemed nice."
Next, it showed the Rodeo challenge, starting with the scene of Sarah roping in Brandon, planting a kiss on his lips, before giggling—"Sorry, Rima, he’s just too hot!"
John B let out a scoff in the audience, muttering under his breath. Sarah’s eyes darted towards her partner, dramatically rolling her eyes before muttering, “why the hell is he acting like he didn’t literally kiss someone?”
You all just shrugged, eyes glued to the screen as it now showed Kiara kissing Thomas, her confessional playing right after—"Kissing him was way better than I thought,"
At this, JJ threw a hand out, face twisting as he leaned over to John B, whispering. "The girls were ready to fuckin’ crucify me, but look at her."
The clip continued—showing Cleo kissing Justin, then you kissing Theo.
Rafe chewed the inside of his cheek, looking down at his shoes, unable to watch your lips on anyone else’s.
But the clip wasn't done. It showed Mattheo marching up to you during his turn, wrapping the rope around your wrists before winding them behind his own neck, forcing you into a kiss just before you effortlessly slipped right out of his poorly tied knot, holding your hands up, letting the loose rope fall to the ground. "You were never very good at that," your quipped sassily, pushing him off you and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.
That clip made Rafe feel a bit better, pride bubbling in his chest as he let out a loud whistle. You rolled your eyes at him, but a small smile tugged at your lips.
The video quickly switched to the boys' turns at the Casa Amor Rodeo—showing John B kissing Delaney with an extremely questionable amount of passion.
Sarah’s face went stone-cold, eyes narrowing as the clip continued rolling, showing JJ kissing Haja, Miles kissing Sofia, and Pope kissing Kaitlyn. Then came Rafe’s turn—he was shown kissing Haja quickly, keeping brief. However, during the Casa girls' turns, the clip revealed that both Winnie and Sofia had thrown themselves at Rafe, kissing him while he stood there looking entirely uncomfortable, his arms hovering at his sides.
You narrowed your eyes, muttering, "Damn, everyone wanted a piece of him, huh?"
Sarah leaned over, laughing at your jealousy, reassuring you, "Babe, he looks like a cardboard cutout standing there. Take a breath." You rolled your eyes, sighing.
The clips behind the door ended with the scenes revealing that you and Brandon had won the villa date, while John B and Delaney had won the Casa date.
And as the screen faded to black, the tension hadn't broken yet. The coin was tossed again, landing on Girls.
You all huddled for a moment, before deciding on a random door.
"Let's do Door Three," Sarah called out, a brief second of pause before the door swung open and the screen zoomed into the abyss before the title came across the screen—THE BOY WHO CRIED 'JUST ONCE'.
The clip opened with a scene of Sarah during Casa, pouting as she whined to the girls—"Guyssss, Thomas?! He looks so good, you guys, I hate it! But John B is literally with his ex right now. I’m losing my mind. Ugh." Then it cut to Sarah talking in the confessional booth—"Yeah, Thomas is a great guy. Really, I was the problem in our past relationship…kind of regret it now, though. Ugh, he’s hot!"
In the audience, John B let out a loud sigh, turning to the guys, but before he could even open his mouth to complain once more, the screen cut to Sarah again—"...It just came out that John B was in communication with his ex right before he came on the show?...I don’t know if there’s, like, some unresolved shit there."
Right after, almost as if to answer her worries, the movie shows a clip of John B and Kaitlyn having a private conversation on the Casa daybeds. John B was leaning in close, asking weird, loaded questions. "Do you... ever miss what we had? Like, do you miss our relationship? Would you ever be willing to try again?" Kaitlyn let out a loud laugh, waving her hand. "God, no. That ship has sailed." John B was shown letting out an incredibly nervous, high-pitched laugh, scratching his neck as he tried to play it off. "Yeah, yeah, totally. Me neither."
John B’s heart dropped into his hands, stiffening in his seat.
Sarah whipped her head around to the girls on the couch, eyes flashing with angry confusion. "...Am I crazy, or was he trying to shoot his shot at his ex-girlfriend on day one?"
"He definitely was," Cleo agreed, her jaw dropped.
You nodded. "One hundred percent."
Sarah then whipped around, folding herself to glare at John B across the lawn. “Are you serious?” She criticizes, but John B makes no attempt to defend himself, scratching his forehead as the clips kept going.
It cut to John B and Delaney on their date after the Rodeo challenge. They were clearly flirting, all touchy-feely, and John B was clearly leading her on, holding her hand across the table and whispering compliments.
The video then transitioned back to the main villa, showing Sarah firmly telling the girls—"I don’t feel drawn to any of these Casa guys. None of them are doing it for me."
"Really? Not even a little bit?" your voice echoed from the screen.
"No, my head is completely with John B. I’m just playing the waiting game.” She shrugs, the screen showing another very brief clip of her saying, “I have trust in John B."
And almost as if to mock her, the video instantly cut back to Casa Amor, showing John B with Delaney on the daybeds, calling her sweet nicknames while she sat giggling like a schoolgirl before it flipped to the moment you and the girls received the video, Sarah’s face crumbling as she watched, whispering, "That’s fucking crazy." But then it showed Sarah the next day, sitting on the beanbags, sheepishly admitting to the girls—"I’m still holding out a bit of hope. I mean, I don’t know what happened during their full conversation, and it looked like they only shared kisses during challenges... I don’t want to completely throw away what we have over something I’m not even sure is anything bad."
It was sad to see Sarah be so loyal to her partner while he was clearly pillow talking to another girl just across the island. But Sarah, as well as the rest of the girls, figured that there was nothing to truly be upset with John be about, considering, as far as you all knew, he'd been completely transparent with Sarah about what he done over at Casa.
So, it was safe to say that the next clip had all of your jaws on the fucking floor.
The screen displayed the bathroom at Casa and, through the frosted glass of the shower, steaming pillowing above, you could see the distinct silhouettes of John B and Delaney. Gasps ran over the group. They were showering together. Their bodies pressed flush against each other, the sound of splashing water mixing with low, muffled giggles.
Sarah’s breath hitched. A tear instantly spilled over her eyelashes, her face turning an angry, volatile shade of crimson.
Immediately, outraged voices erupted from the left couch as the girls crowded around Sarah, rubbing her back.
“That’s crazy,” Cleo spat, glaring daggers across the lawn. “And he’s sitting over there scoffing and making faces when he showered with another girl?!”
You leaned in close, your jaw dropping. “Sarah, did he tell you about that?”
Sarah shook her head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “No! He didn't fucking tell me!”
The clip continued, showing the Temperatures Rising challenge, replaying Sarah doing the ‘suck’ task on Thomas, going crazy to get his heart rate up. But then it cut to John B's turn with Delaney where he was shown burying his face in Delaney's cleavage, aggressively sucking on the exposed skin, before sliding down to his knees and pressing his mouth tightly against the inside of her thighs, his hands gripping her hips tightly.
The video then showed with their most recent conversation that acted as the biggest blow to it all as, in the clip, John B and Sarah sat talking, him telling her, "But it wasn’t anything serious—" John B's voice echoing as Sarah seethes.
"I knew it."
"She was just... there, and—"
"Did you kiss her?" Sarah’s voice cut him off sharply from the screen. "Outside of a challenge. Did you?"
John B was shown hesitating for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away guiltily before locking back onto hers. "...Yeah," he admitted on screen. "But only once. I swear, Sarah—"
You and the girls remained huddled around Sarah, who was breaking down, her shoulders shaking as she sat there sobbing. “He is such a liar,” Rima mumbled under her breath, her own face twisted in pure disgust.
You sighed heavily, shaking your head. “I’m...actually so disappointed in him.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the lawn, a low murmur broke out among the guys. The boys were leaning in close, whispering, and JJ and Pope nudged John B hard, “You should have jus' fuckin’ told her, man.”
The screen flashes to John B talking to the guys in the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. "Is it bad that I regret telling Sarah the truth? I feel like now she’s just trying to punish me for doing what we came here to do, which was exploring options."
Hearing his words, Sarah snapped. She whipped her head around, shouting across the lawn directly at John B, “You didn't even tell me the fucking truth, so what the hell are you talking about?!” Before she could jump up though, you and Cleo grabbed her arms, pulling her back and murmuring soft words to calm her down.
On the boys' couch, the guys quickly muttered to John B, telling him not to say a word back, warning him that it was in his best interest to just be quiet and ’let this shit play out’.
The bathroom scene continued playing. "I don’t understand why it matters so much anyway, because at the end of the day, I still came back to her. I chose her."
“That’s shallow as hell, and that is so not the point,” Cleo whispered harshly, her jaw clenched as she watched the screen.
The final blow came when the screen showed footage from the third night of Casa, revealing that John B didn't sleep outside. He was shown tucked under the covers, Delaney wrapped in his arms. They were cuddling, sharing multiple kisses in the pitch-black of the room. The audio even picked up John B pillow-talking her, his voice a low whisper—"I’m not gonna lie, there's a really good chance I might bring you back."
And then the screen faded to black.
And Sarah didn’t waste a second before jumping up from the couch, breaking free of the multiple arms that were comforting her, ears of rage and heartbreak streaming down her face. She turned on John B, her voice a piercing shriek, cracking.
"You’re a pathetic fucking liar, John B!" she screamed. "You slept in the bed with her?! You showered with her?! You were kissing her under the covers and telling her you were gonna bring her back, and you sat in front of me yesterday and swore you only kissed her once?!"
John B stood up, his hands shaking as he reached out. "It didn't matter! I didn't bring her back! I chose you—"
"And that’s supposed to make it better?!" Sarah yelled before she turned her fury onto the rest of the boys' couch, glare landing on JJ, Pope, and Rafe. "And all of you! You all sat there and watched him do it! Nobody said a fucking word to me! You let me sit here looking like a complete idiot!"
Almost immediately, the guys she singled out got offended. JJ, Pope, and Rafe all leaned forward, defending themselves.
“Whoa, wait a minute, it wasn't our place!” JJ yelled back.
Pope threw his hands up, shouting, “You think we didn't want to tell you?! Like, how do you think we felt? We didn't know what to do!”
Rafe threw his hands up as well, muttering something that didn’t travel far enough to hear.
Of course, the girls weren't about to let them slide, immediately arguing back in Sarah’s defense. “If it was any one of you, we would have told you!” you yelled across the gap, Cleo and Rima shouting in agreement.
The guys scoffed and shook their heads, disagreeing, with JJ muttering that he didn't think that was true at all.
The two couches went back and forth for a minute, voices overlapping, before everyone realized there was absolutely no point in the entire villa arguing when the main issue was strictly between Sarah and John B. Everyone gradually piped down, settling back into a tense silence to let Sarah and John B continue to hash things out.
She turned back to John B, wiping her eyes fiercely. "He keeps saying none of it matters because he didn't bring her back... well, you fucking should have because me and you are done!"
“Sarah—”
“Fucking done.” She spat one last time before plopping down into her seat, huffing and wiping at her eyes. “Someone flip the fucking coin so we can get this shit over with…” Kaitlyn stood from her seat, flipping the plastic coin, watching as it landed on Boys, them picking Door Number Four.
The door opened and the title faded in—KISS AND (DON’T) TELL. The clip opened on Rima talking, the rest of you gathered around—"And honestly, if not for the fact that we’re currently in a couple, I think Pope would stay well-behaved just because he wants to prove himself to Cleo.”
Cleo sat up straighter then, assuming this was her turn under the spotlight.
The screen then cut to Pope over at Casa, sitting on the daybeds with John B, looking incredibly troubled. "Man, I don’t know if it’s crazy to say but…I miss Cleo. Like, none of these Casa girls are doing anything for me. I’m just constantly worrying about her making a connection back at the villa. I’m just wondering if she’s keeping our talk in the back of her mind like I am."
The video transitioned back to the villa, showing Cleo expressing how she felt to Justin—"Pope is still just kind of there in the back of my mind. I’m trying to get him out, I really am, but we had this big conversation right before he left for Casa where he told me his feelings were with me. But... I just don’t know if he’ll actually stand on it.”
Next, it swipes to their post-Casa conversation on the daybeds, where Cleo and Justin were discussing where they stood.
"But... what about Pope?" Justin asked.
"I’m not gonna deny that a piece of me has always been with Pope because of our initial connection during the first couple weeks. I do... still have feelings there. But... I’m just not sure if I want to go forward with exploring them anymore after everything that happened…I just want to focus on us.”
Then it shows the glam room after the Boss Bitch challenge. You were leaning against the vanity, looking at Cleo. "What about you and Pope? I didn’t expect you to kiss him, to be honest."
"I only kissed him to see if the spark was still there... and unfortunately, it is." She groaned loudly. "And now I feel like I’ve just made things ten times harder for myself with Justin..."
In the audience, Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, face hardening as he muttered, playing with his hands. "What the fuck, bro..."
Immediately after, the screen showed Pope talking to the guys in the bathroom later that afternoon—"I was so worried after the recoupling that bringing Kaitlyn back was the wrong choice and that I’d ruined all my chances with Cleo. But honestly? The kiss today during the challenge... it gave me hope, man. I still felt that same spark we had when we first met. Just the simple fact that she chose to kiss me gives me hope that I can fix what I broke with her.”
After, the screen shows Pope pulling Cleo for a chat, them walking into Say Less, the cameras tracking them sitting incredibly close on the couch. The conversation faded out, replaced by footage of Justin back in the yard, pacing around, looking around as he muttered, "How long does it take to talk?..."
It then clips to Cleo returning as Justin walked up to her. "Y'all were gone for a minute," Justin noted, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her face. "...Your lip gloss is smudged.” He blinks. “Did you guys kiss?"
On screen, Cleo looked him dead in the eye and shook her head, answering unnaturally quick. "No. We just talked."
Unfortunately, the next scene cut back to the footage inside Say Less—showing Pope leaning in, his hands cupping Cleo’s face, before the two of them end up in a full-blown, clearly deeply passionate make-out session. And to make matters worse, between heavy breaths, they could clearly be heard whispering against each other’s lips, "I missed you."
Everyone gasped in unison as Pope resigned to burying his face into a pillow while Cleo dropped her head into her hands, looking upset and deeply ashamed of herself.
Justin broke the silence, turning to her, hurt. "You lied to my face.” He criticizes, voice trembling. “I gave you the opportunity to just be honest with me, and you looked me in the eye and lied."
Cleo pulled her hands away, her eyes tearing up. "Justin, I'm so sorry. I was just... I was so scared of losing you, and I panicked—"
"Yeah, well, you clearly didn't want to keep me either," Justin shot back, his voice bitter as he whipped his head toward Pope. "And you? That shit is crazy, bro—"
Pope didn't back down. Actually, he sat up, showing absolutely zero remorse. "I'm not going to apologize to you for going after what I want.” He says casually, though he is clearly slightly embarrassed. “I had a connection with Cleo long before you were even thought of. I broke it, and I've been trying to fix it."
"Okay, and I understand that, but it's about respect, man!" Justin shouted across the gap.
"Look, no offense, but my connection with Cleo means a hell of a lot more to me than your feelings." Pope snapped, eyes low.
But before the argument could spiral any further, Rafe intervened, standing up to flip the coin, watching it land on Girls. After a brief huddle, you all picked Door Number Five.
The transitions followed as usual, the title flashing in bold letters—EX-FACTOR.
The video started immediately after the previous series of clips, showing the exact moment Cleo returned from her chat with Pope and lied to Justin. It showed Justin nodding before excusing himself and walking away, face twisted. Realizing Cleo had lied, Justin’s expression turned vindictive as he walked straight over to Rima. "Hey, can I pull you? I just need somebody to talk to.” He asks, and Rima nods as he leads her to the Speakeasy. The clip showed them entering the lounge and, at first, the conversation was perfectly normal. Justin was venting about Cleo, and Rima was listening.
But then, the body language shifted. Justin slid closer to Rima on the couch, voice dropping. "I just... I miss when things were easy, Rima," Justin murmured, looking down at her lips. "Like what we had... it was real..." And you all watch with wide eyes as Justin leans in, pressing his lips against hers. And your jaws drop when Rima doesn't pull away. In fact, she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the exchange. It feels like the clip goes on for hours, watching them grope and grab at each other, tongues sliding against one another.
Cleo let out a loud, gasp, her jaw dropping as she whipped her head around to look at Rima, but Rima couldn't bring herself to look at Cleo, staring at her own lap.
The clip cuts to the end of their make-out, showing Rima cursing herself before sprinting out to find Rafe where he was sitting with you. That’s why she looked like that. The scene showed Rafe and Rima sitting on the pool chairs.
"Rafe, I fucked up so bad," Rima panicked on screen, burying her face in her hands. "And I'm sorry, I know you're getting things back on track with Y/N and I pulled you away from her but I literally cannot pull any of the girls, like they won't understand—”
“Rima, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about—
“I made out with Justin, just now, in the Speakeasy.” She cuts in with a harsh whisper, chewing on her nails. “And I feel so terrible because of Cleo, but... I think I might still be in love with him."
And then it was over.
Cleo turned on Justin, face stone. "Are you fucking kidding me?! You sat there and lectured me for about respect and honesty, and you literally walked straight into the Speakeasy and made out with your ex-girlfriend?!"
Justin, trying to justify his actions, raised his voice against hers. "Cleo, I only kissed Rima because of what you did! I knew you were lying to me!"
“Excuse me—” Rima reels back, but her voice gets lost to the wind.
"You didn't even know for sure!" Cleo screamed back, her chest heaving. "If I hadn't kissed him, if I had been telling the truth, how the hell would you feel right now? You assumed I did something, and you immediately ran to your ex in spite!" She gestured wildly between them. "And for the record, we are not closed off! And I have been completely transparent with you about the fact that I still have feelings for Pope!"
"But in our last conversation, you told me you wanted to focus on us!" Justin countered aggressively, swinging a hand between himself and Cleo to emphasize his words.
"I did want to focus on us!" Cleo argued. "But it didn't mean I was throwing Pope completely out the window!" She suddenly stopped, her eyes landing on Rima, who was sitting on the edge of the couch. Cleo’s voice dropped into a deeply hurt whisper. "And you... Rima, why didn't you say anything to me? You've been one of my closest friends in here. You were the one pushing me to explore things with Justin, telling me what a great guy he was... and the first chance you get, you're having a full-blown make-out session with him behind my back?"
Rima looked up, her eyes filled with tears, her voice defensive despite her apology. "Cleo, I am sorry. I really am.” She offers. “...But I don't think you have that much of a right to be upset right now. You kissed Pope right before that happened—"
"I've been honest about my feelings for Pope, you guys have been acting like you're completely over each other and you're ‘just friends’." Cleo counters, her voice echoing.
Pope immediately jumped into the argument, pointing a hand out at Justin. “Cleo has been upfront about us the entire time.”
“Yeah, up until tonight! What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?” Justin argued back.
“Me and Cleo never tried to play the ‘just friends’ card!”
“Neither did we!” Rima shook her head, tears welling as she tried to apologize again, though she stood firm on her stance. “I am sorry, Cleo, but it’s the truth!”
Justin then interrupted, his face flushed and voice cracking because he was hurt, projecting a massive amount of that anger onto Pope rather than Cleo. “You need to stay out of this, Pope! You’re the one who disrespected what we had going on!”
Before the clash between the two guys could spin out of control, the other guys rushed in, telling them all to chill out and just move on to the next video.
The screen flashes, forcing everyone to look back up as the next title showed—THE KING, THE QUEEN, AND THE PAWN.
The clip opened on JJ and Pope's private conversation the afternoon before Casa Amor. JJ was rubbing the back of his neck, looking troubled. "...I’m starting to feel kinda weird about Kie."
"Really? I thought you guys were, like, finally happy to test things out."
"That’s the thing, before we actually got coupled up, it felt like me and Kie had an insane amount of tension, bro…But now that we’re actually in a couple... it’s like all of our chemistry just faded into thin air…The spark is completely gone, and it just feels forced now.”
Your own face twisted as several girls muttered to each other, "If he had enough time to tell Pope how he felt about Kiara, why didn't he have the decency to tell Kiara?"
JJ overheard, turning to defend himself. "I had literally just realized it in that clip. What the hell are you guys talking about?"
"That’s not an excuse, JJ," you piped up from the couch. "You had more than enough time to speak to her. You were just scared. I’m sure she would’ve much rather you had been honest and her be hurt by the entire situation than you not telling her and her getting, I don't know, dumped from the fucking island because of it."
JJ tensed, shutting his mouth, unable to argue with you.
You scoffed, sitting back as the screen cut to a clip of Kiara talking to the camera in a confessional—"Honestly speaking, I felt like my best conversation was definitely with Thomas…I really do think I have a little bit of a crush on him. But... I don’t know if it’s actually worth risking my connection with JJ. Like, JJ and I have a vibe, I think anyway, but Thomas just feels... more into me…JJ is all charm and flirty, which is exciting, but it’s also terrifying because you never know if he’s going to burn you. Thomas looks at me like he actually wants to know my soul or something..."
JJ instantly interrupted , throwing his hands up, snapping before pointing at the screen. "See?! Why are all of you jumping on me when it's clear as day Kiara was already making another connection anyway?"
Before any of you girls could answer, the next clip rolled, showing Kiara on screen saying—"I want to have faith in JJ, I really do. But his track record is terrifying.” The screen then jump-cuts to Casa, showing JJ sweet-talking Haja on the daybeds before pulling her into a deep kiss.
All at once, the girls turned to JJ pointing at the screen. "That's why."
The clip continued, showing Kiara on screen again—"I just... I don’t know. JJ and I have a connection. But I’m just so terrified that the moment my back is turned, he’s going to revert right back to his old ways.” And, like a slap in the face, the video showed the Casa Amor bedroom in night-vision. JJ and Haja were in bed, the audio picking up unmistakable soft moans, heavy breathing, and the violent movement of the duvet covers. JJ’s voice could clearly be heard whispering raspy compliments as the sheet shifted, subtitles at the bottom of the screen only making matters worse— “you feel so good”, “don’t wake anyone up”, “fuck, i’m close”—making it abundantly clear to the entire villa what had happened.
The girls' jaws dropped in shock, a collective gasp echoing through the lawn.
"...Oh my god," you muttered, eyes wide. The boys looked down, they had been in the room, they knew, so they weren't surprised, but seeing the raw footage on the giant screen made it much more real.
The clip quickly switched to showing Kiara's reaction to receiving the video from Casa, her eyes tearing up as she watched JJ make out with Haja, followed by a brief clip of Kiara sharing a sad, comforting kiss with Thomas.
The screen showed JJ talking to the guys recently—"And I don’t know if Haja is actually here for me, man. I think she’s super sexy and confident, and I love that about her. But I’m starting to think she’s just using me as some kind of piece in her game to make Miles mad..."
Haja immediately got offended by the comment, snapping her head toward JJ. “How the fuck can you even say that when a clip of us literally fucking was just shown?!” she yelled, her eyes flashing.
The screen then cut to Haja sitting with you all out on the beanbags as she spoke directly to you—"And when I say that man is manipulative? I mean, you experienced it first hand from what I saw. When Miles said that stuff to you? About Rafe? He used to do shit like that all the time to me. It’s the same move he pulled to get me away from the boyfriend I had before him.”
What followed was a heart-stopping montage that completely exposed Haja and Miles, revealing that from the literal first day of Casa Amor, they had been secretly sneaking around behind everyone's backs. It showed them pulling each other into hidden corners of the Casa villa, making out until they ran themselves breathless. Their confessionals played back-to-back, with both of them admitting how desperately they missed each other.
It cut to a clip showing Haja looking furious during the Raunchy Races challenge, when Sofia and Miles completed a task together, revealing that her bitterness was what ignited their toxic cycle all over again. Even though they were actively pretending to be rivals in front of the other Islanders, the footage exposed the reality. It showed them kissing passionately in dark corners, it showed them secretly showering together and exiting the bathroom and just nearly getting caught by everyone, and it showed multiple clips of Miles passing Haja in the kitchen, casually giving her butt a firm squeeze when nobody was looking before the screen faded out.
And almost everyone was furious. Not only were the girls still furious at JJ for doing Kiara dirty, but it was now abundantly clear that he had done it for absolutely no reason, seeing as Haja had seemingly used him as a golden ticket into the villa just to continue whatever weird thrill-ship she had with Miles.
"Are you serious, JJ?" Sarah yelled. "Look where your dick got you! You couldn't wait to get your dick wet, and you got played!"
John B jumped in to defend JJ, throwing his hands out. “It’s not his fault he made another connection! He didn't do anything wrong!”
Sarah immediately whipped her head around, her eyes practically shooting fire as she pointed at him. “John B, you shut up!” she screamed, still furious with him. “Of course you would sit over there and defend him!”
But in the midst of the fire, some of you turned your fury onto Haja. Despite your own grudges against JJ at the moment, you still cared about him and you knew he wouldn't have brought Haja back if he didn't actually like her. So, to know that she was playing in his face the entire time? It kind of enraged you a little bit. "Haja, what the hell?" you hissed. "I mean, you make it seem like you hate Miles’ guts but you're letting him grab your ass in the kitchen and y'all are showering together? What happened to all that stuff you said about him being manipulative?”
Haja scoffed, snarling. "I don't have to explain shit to any of you,” She defends herself. “This is Love Island. I’m allowed to explore whoever I want!"
"Oh please, you knew you were wrong!" Sarah yelled. "Otherwise, why the hell were you sneaking around?"
"We weren't sneaking around on anyone!" Haja screamed back, her voice pitchy. "Me and JJ aren't closed off! And Miles and Sofia don't even actually like each other, so it doesn't even matter!"
You snapped, pointing a finger at Haja. "If that was how you actually felt, Haja, then you should have had the fucking decency to be upfront about it! JJ had actual feelings for you! If you wanted to keep messing with your ex, you should have stayed outside the villa!"
Haja scoffed, her eyes flashing. "Why do you even care so much?! Weren't all of you just screaming at him five minutes ago for getting your friend dumped?"
"Yeah, we were!" Rima yelled right back, matching her volume entirely. "But the only reason Kiara got dumped was because JJ brought you back here thinking he had a real connection, and you’re using him! We’re not justifying anything JJ did, but you and Miles are far from being in the right either!"
Haja went wild, gesturing wildly. "Okay, then if you're gonna get on my case, you need to get on Miles', too!"
"We already knew Miles was a piece of shit, we're not concerned about him!" You threw out from the couch.
Miles leaned forward on the couch, tossing his hands up lazily as a smirk spread across his face. “Whoa, back up. I don’t know why you’re opening your mouth to call me a piece of shit when the only reason me and you have an issue is because I told you the truth but your guard dog didn’t like it,” he said smoothly, throwing immediate shade your way.
Rafe went rigid, his eyes flaring as he surged forward in his seat. “Don’t talk to her like that,”
"Exactly! Mind your own goddamn business and shut up, Y/N!" Haja hissed directly at you.
Instantly, JJ stood up for you, yelling at Haja, and Rafe’s face twisted in anger as he continued defending you to Miles. "Don't fuckin’ tell her to shut up!"
The lawn devolved into a zoo of screaming, chest-puffing, and volatile insults.
“She can speak whenever she wants!” JJ barked across the lawn at Haja, his veins popping from his neck.
Cleo and Sarah were screaming over them, pointing fingers, while Miles and Rafe were still going at it. The shouting match escalated into complete bedlam, with both couches on their feet, yelling over one another until the volume was deafening.
The hostility hung in the air, a mess of overlapping threats and defensive cries that only began to settle when a blinding flash from the screen pulled everyone's attention backward.
The screen flashed, forcing the next door open, the title showing up in massive letters—MISDIAGNOSED MAIN CHARACTER SYNDROME.
The clip opened on Sofia’s very first confessional from the day she entered Casa Amor, smirking arrogantly— "I really, really miss what Rafe and I had… and I know for a fact that deep down, he still cares about me. I know he thinks he’s building this new connection with... uh, I completely forgot her name.But I know him. He just needs a little... reminder of what we used to be.”
You let out a dramatic roll of your eyes, turning to Cleo and Rima. "She’s so childish, my god. Was that supposed to be a diss?" You taunt, voice rising loud enough to be heard as Sofia remains silent, rolling her eyes.
"That bitch knew your name," Cleo scoffed loudly. "She’s obsessed with you, there’s no way she didn't."
The clip goes on, revealing a conversation between Miles and Sofia on the last day of Casa—"Why don't I just bring you back to the villa? It'll completely torture Haja, considering she thinks she's doing something by running around with JJ, and honestly, me and Rafe aren't friends by any means, so any chance to fuck with him is a chance I'll take. I say fuck it. Let's stir some shit up."
From his seat, Rafe whipped his head toward Miles, his blue eyes filled with irritation. "You’re actually a bitch," Rafe spat, his voice dropping into a harsh growl. Miles just smirked, looking away.
The clip continued, showing a montage of Miles and Sofia sitting around the villa over the past two days, actively making fun of you—whispering and pointing while you were minding your business, plotting ways to intentionally piss off you, Rafe, and Haja, saying mean, spiteful things before laughing hysterically together like the pair of villains they clearly are.
The girls moved closer to you on the couch, Cleo and Sarah reaching over to rub your shoulders and squeeze your arm comfortingly. “You alright?" She asked softly, trying to catch your gaze, but you had this thousnad-yard-stare going on. "...Don’t even think about it, they’re just bored and miserable,” Sarah murmured softly, her eyes full of concern.
Cleo glared at the screen, adding, “They’re so weird for that.”
You just weakly shrugged their hands off, looking away as you muttered, “I’m fine, seriously.” But they could all clearly see the truth—your foot was hammering against the grass, your jaw tight, irritated and angry to the point of tears.
The rest of the Islanders looked visibly disgusted. The girls were glaring at Sofia, and JJ muttered, "That’s fucked. Y/N was going through so much at the time, and they’re just fuckin’ laughin’ at her..."
Rafe’s hands were shaking with rage, jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to break as he watched them mock you. He had so much he wanted to say, so many people he wanted to punch, but he was simmering so deeply in his own rage that he got caught up in his own violent thoughts, jaw ticking as his leg bounced relentlessly.
The video then replayed the scene on the daybeds, Sofia and Miles talking casually when, Rafe walked past them from one direction and Haja walked past from the other, quickly glancing at them both before jumping on each other, Miles wrapping his arm tightly around her waist as Sofia leaned in, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips, their immediate whispering right after they pulled apart…
"Did he see?" Sofia whispered eagerly.
"Yeah, he saw," Miles laughed maliciously, lying through his teeth just to feed his own ego and hers. "Haja looked pissed too."
The screen then transitioned to the dressing room from last night, showing the confrontation between you and Sofia, her venomous tone echoing.
“...I know we don’t talk much, but I just want to get something out there before you start making a fool of yourself. I think that going after Rafe is a complete waste of your time. I don’t know what kind of little romantic fairytale he’s trying to sell you, or what lies he’s whispering in your ear... but that’s all it is. Lies…The only reason you and Rafe even have a ‘relationship’ right now is because of this show. But outside of this? Trust me, you wouldn’t last a single second with the real Rafe. You don’t know him like I do…”
The screen showed you completely unmoved by her words. You let a slow, unamused smile pull at the corners of your lips as you stood up from your vanity chair, glaring over at her. “Are you done?”
“...Wh—”
“I hear what you’re saying about being ’first’, but from where I’m standing? Being first clearly doesn’t mean anything. If it did, you wouldn’t be here. You can call me temporary all you want, you can keep glaring at me every chance you get, you can keep trying to embarrass me, but at least I’m not desperate, going through all of this trouble for a man who won’t even look at me twice. You’re the only one fighting his feelings for me, thinking it’ll change his feelings for you, I’m assuming. It won’t.”
Rafe instantly sat up straight, his eyes wide as he looked over at you. "Y/N, when did she say that to you?"
Before you could answer, Sofia jumped in snappily, "Why do you even care, Rafe?"
“I’m not talkin’ to you.” Rafe dismissed, a snarl on his lips as he dismissed the girl.
You also bypassed Sofia, looking directly at Rafe. "Last night, right after we got back from our date." Rafe’s eyes flared with pure anger as he glared at Sofia, shaking his head. He’d wait until this was over to really speak his mind.
The clip continued, showing Sofia pulling Kaitlyn and Haja for a private chat earlier today, pouring her heart out about how she didn't understand why Rafe was so different with you, crying about how she spent her entire relationship cleaning up his messes— “I just don't get it, like I was there for everything, and he put me through hell. I was the one who stood by him whenever he crashed his fucking car and took him home. I was the one who bailed him out of jail every fucking time. I was the one who drove him home when he was drunk off his ass and probably fucking high, but apparently none of that fucking matters to him, all because of this random bitch.”
But apparently the girls weren't fond of the first time Sofia pulling them and attempting to have a conversation being when she needs someone to vent to, and Kaitlyn is the first to put her foot down — “I'm sorry, I just find it very odd that you don't make any attempt to speak to us…but all of a sudden when you need a shoulder to cry on, you pull us aside like we're friends. To be honest, I don't give a shit about anything you just said. I've been here for two days and those girls have made me feel more welcome than you have in the week that I've known you. I think Y/N is a good person and you're just bitter that your ex has…what? Evolved as a person? I'm sorry, but that's crazy to me…”
Then came the final morning clip.
It showed Sofia pulling Theo for as he entered the kitchen, pulling out pans and tools—"I just thought you should know, I overheard Y/N in the dressing room last night after her date with Rafe. She was telling the girls that, at the end of the day, she was using you as a safe option, and she would choose Rafe over you in a heartbeat without a second thought. And she basically said that, like, during her date with Rafe, she realized how much she regrets bringing you back here and she said that she should have never chosen you. I don't know what you know about the whole situation that's going on, but I'm just coming to you as a person. I don't think anyone deserves to be used."
Then, that was the end of it.
And you had officially reached your absolute breaking point. A scarily calm air settled over you as you, turned your gaze onto Sofia.
“...I have tried my best to just ignore you and your bullshit. At first, I kept telling myself that I had absolutely no reason to have an issue with you, that it was Rafe’s fault and not yours. But it's clear that your entire existence revolves around me, so here, I'm giving you the attention you want so bad, because it seems, at this point, that you might want my attention more than you want Rafe’s.” You throw out, clasping your hands together, tone biting. “So, please, tell me what the fuck your purpose was in telling Theo that load of bullshit?"
Sofia tried to play innocent, shrugging her shoulders. "I felt like he deserved to know the truth, considering you're coupled up with him and lying—"
You put a hand up. “I’m gonna stop you right there.” You pointed a finger at your chest. “I'm coupled up with Theo. Exactly. Not you." you hissed, your composure snapping. "You went out of your way to tell him something, and you made it seem ten times worse than what it actually was! Half of that shit you told him, I never even fucking said!" You leaned closer, your eyes burning. "And then to make matters worse, you're doing all of this over a guy who doesn't even like you anymore—"
“That's what he told you!” Sofia snapped. "He still loves me! I know him a million times better than you do! You think after three weeks of knowing this man that you know who he really is?! You think he's actually going to pick a girl like you over me?!"
“A girl like me?” Your neck reeled back. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Sofia let out a sharp, nasty laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared directly at you. “Please, let’s be real here. A girl who literally used to flaunt half-naked for money isn't exactly the type a guy like Rafe brings home long-term. Let’s not forget where you came from...”
At her words, your vision tunneled with rage. “Bitch—” you hissed, throwing your weight forward as you tried to fly off the couch to tear into her, but Sarah, Cleo, and Rima threw their arms around your waist and shoulders, tugging you back down into your seat before you could make a mistake.
Rafe groaned from his spot on the couch, his voice was terrifying, echoing. "I already did!" Rafe screamed at Sofia, his face flushed. "I already did pick her over you! I keep picking her over you every single fucking day, and it doesn't seem to get through your head!" He seethes, two fingers jamming into his temple
Rafe went off on her, reading her for filth. "I wish you had never come here. I wish we had never met, and I really wish we had never fucking dated! I have spent the last year of my life trying to build myself up, and I just want to leave that version of myself and our relationship in the past, but you refuse to let it go!"
He threw his hands down. "I was a terrible person when we were together, Sofia! We had fifty times more bad days than we ever had good ones! So why the fuck do you crave being with me so bad?! I don't want that relationship anymore, and I don't want you!"
Sofia was sobbing violently now, shaking her head in denial. "You don't mean that—"
"I do," Rafe huffed, his voice cold. "You can't stand the fact that I was the one who ended it, Sofia. That’s all this is—"
"What does she have that I don't?!" Sofia shrieked, pointing a shaking finger directly at you as tears streamed down her face.
Rafe sighed. “You don’t want me to answer that—”
"Why are you so willing to be a good person for her, Rafe?! Why not for me?!"
Rafe stopped, looking back at you for a fraction of a second, his expression softening before he turned back to Sofia. "...I just know that she’s different. She makes me want to be better."
"You're so obsessed with this whole ‘trying to be a better person’, Rafe, but you never will be!" Sofia spat venomously through her tears. "I know who you really are! She doesn't! That's love, not whatever fake shit you have with her!"
In the midst of their argument, completely done arguing with Sofia’s delusion, you turned your anger directly onto Theo, who was still sitting silently on the couch.
"And you," you hissed, walking up to him. "Is this why you've been acting like an asshole to me all day? Because of something a girl who literally hates my guts said to you this morning?"
Theo shrugged casually, his expression cold and indifferent. "I mean, clearly it was true, so it doesn't really matter, does it?"
"It’s not true.” You deadpan. “That is not what I said!"
"So you didn't say you would choose Rafe at the end of the day?" Theo cut you off sharply, standing up.
"I did!" you argued fiercely. "But all of that extra stuff she added, I never said it! All they asked me was ‘Theo or Rafe’, and I just said ‘Rafe’. And I fully planned on pulling you today to be open and honest with you about exactly where my head was at, just like I have been the entire time, but when I asked you to talk, you literally looked me in the eye and said no—"
"I don't care about the extra stuff, Y/N!" Theo shouted back, his voice rising in aggression as he stepped up. "I care about the fact that you sat there and said you'd choose him over me!"
“You knew there was a chance of that happening!”
Rafe, noticing how close Theo was to you and the lack of intervention, turned away from Sofia mid argument and shoved his way between you and Theo, his face twisted. "Why are you in her face?"
"Tell your boyfriend to fuck off," Theo snapped aggressively, ducking around Rafe’s head to glare at you.
“Oh, fuck you,” you mused, throwing a hand out. “Maybe you need to argue with a man.”
“Step back,” Rafe growled, his chest pressing against Theo's as the two of them locked eyes.
Theo sneered, stepping up even closer. “You think you scare me? How blind are you to not see that she played both of us, and you're over here acting like a lapdog!”
You threw your hands up between them. “Theo, you knew from day one where my head was, so don't act dumb now!”
In the background, Sofia was sobbing, shaking her fists and screaming, “Fuck you, Rafe! Screw you!” but nobody was paying her a single ounce of attention.
Before the tension between Rafe and Theo could erupt, all of the boys rushed forward, shoving themselves between the two guys, while the rest of the Islanders crowded around to break it all up.
JJ clapped Rafe on the shoulder, pulling him back. “Chill out, man, c’mon. We still have other clips to get to. We’ll have more than enough time to talk through all this shit after it's done.”
Muttering curses under their breaths, everyone reluctantly backed away, sitting back down to watch the final door open.
The final title illuminated the screen—LOVE SQUARED.
The clip opened on the morning the guys were whisked away to Casa Amor, showing you fast asleep in the bed. Rafe was shown quietly leaning over you, gently pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your cheek before whispering softly into your ear—"I’ll miss you, angel. Sleep well."
In your seat, your heart completely melted, the residual anger dying out. You hadn't known he did that. Your eyes locked with Rafe’s across the lawn as he shot you a soft, boyish grin, ducking his head as his cheeks grew red.
The screen cut to a conversation between you and Theo on day one of Casa.
“How’s the relationship with...” Theo asked.
“Rafe,” you nodded on screen.
“Yes, Rafe,”.
“Good,” you smiled widely. “Better. I think we were getting back to normal, to something solid, before...”
“Solid can crack. And I like a challenge, piccola.”
In the audience, Rafe proudly smirked at your loyalty, but he threw a dangerous side-eye directly at Theo for his comment.
Then, it cuts to Casa, showing Winnie coming onto Rafe strong by the daybeds, asking about his connection with you. Rafe was sitting back as he spoke —"I miss Y/N already. I don’t mind talking to you, on some like cool shit, but I really don't want you talking about her or our connection."
Your cheeks flushed warm, flattered and proud of him for keeping his composure and defending your connection so calmly. Sarah leaned over, nudging your shoulder. "At least your man was over there holding it down and defending you, babe."
The screen moves to you in the bedroom before bed, flipping over onto your back as you clutched Rafe’s pillow tightly to your chest, whining to the girls—“My shaylaaaa... I can still smell his cologne on the sheets. Seriously though... do you think he’s sleeping alone tonight? Like... what do you think is happening at Casa?”
“Girl, please. They couldn’t tear you two apart if they tried. You and Rafe are completely inseparable. He’s probably losing his mind right now wishing he was here with you.”
“Seriously, Rafe looks at you like you’re the only woman left on earth. Have some faith, babe.”
Rafe’s face lit up with a genuinely adorable smile, his heart swelling at the sight of you missing him so much.
Next, it showed Rafe at Casa Amor before bed, a pillow tucked under his arm as he prepared to walk out to the daybeds. He was talking to the guys, looking miserable—"I can’t wait for this shit to be over. I keep getting phantom whiffs of her perfume…and I miss the smell of her body wash when we cuddle." JJ was shown clapping him on the back. "You don’t got shit to worry about, bro. If anyone is sailing smooth, it’s you two."
The video then shows a montage of Rafe’s absolute despair at Casa—the guys catching him staring blankly out at the water for hours, catching him tracing his fingers over the last hickey you had given him before he left, stressing out over what might be happening back at the villa.
Then, the video switched to Theo, showing him talking to Brandon and Thomas in the Casa kitchen—"Yeah, I had interest in Sarah and Y/N at first. But since Sarah shot me down, I’m just focusing all my energy on Y/N." The wording made it seem that he had settled for you. And you didn’t like that at all.
The girls on the couch exchanged fast, suspicious looks, whispering loudly. "That’s crazy," Sarah muttered.
You nodded, your jaw tensed. "Yeah."
The next clip to be replayed was you telling Theo,“I want to be completely honest with you. I am not entirely open. Rafe and I aren’t closed off, but... he means a lot to me.”
Then came the aftermath of the Rodeo challenge where Theo was shown talking to the Casa guys, admitting he wasn't worried about you and Brandon going on a date, before making a shady, offhand comment—"Honestly, she’s still completely hung up on Rafe, so I’m used to it. A date is nothing compared to hearing her talk about a guy that isn’t even in this villa all day. Worst case scenario, there are other options."
The girls gasped as you bounced your foot, tongue prodding the inside of your cheek as you scoffed, shooting a sharp look Theo’s way.
Just then, the screen showed your date with Brandon—”I won’t lie and say I’m feeling one hundred percent relaxed right now... But I want to try with Rafe. He’s the only one I want, and I’m just praying he’s holding it down over there.” Brandon then asked about Theo, and you shrugged lazily. “I mean, I can’t deny that he’s a pretty good-looking guy, but he seems kind of closed off and quiet. I’ve already spent weeks breaking down the walls of one closed-off guy, so even if I was open, I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want to do that all over again. I don’t plan to.”
The video showed a fast montage of you repeatedly telling the girls you were completely loyal to Rafe, that you were willing to withstand the mosquitoes on the daybeds just to respect him, and that you were praying he was doing the same.
Then came Sofia’s Casa clip, scoffing to the girls as she patted her makeup into her skin—"I don’t care about Y/N. She's just Rafe's little temporary plaything."
“Bitch.” You snarl, clenching your fists, furious.
The screen then cuts to Theo asking you for a kiss, and you turning him down gently—“Theo... you are an incredible guy, truly you are, but... I just can’t. My head is still so wrapped up in Rafe, and I need to respect that connection. I’m sorry.”
Then it finally played your breakdown after receiving the video from Casa, and here you were silently hoping you wouldn’t have to relive that—the movie showing you crying and storming around the villa, tears streaming down your face as you shouted violently at Mattheo when he tried to slide in and comfort you, and then—“AND FUCK RAFE, TOO!” It replayed Rafe hearing your scream all the way across the island at Casa, bolting upright, face paling then flushing red. “Was that her?”
Unfortunately, awkwardly, the clip showed Theo comforting you in the Say Less lounge right after, followed by your tearful confessional—“I’m just so tired of being the girl that guys get away with hurting... Like they tell me all this bullshit, smile in my face, just to show me their true colors when I’ve already... fallen in...”
Even worse, it showed that, after that specific incident, was the first time you shared a bed with Theo.
In the audience, Theo let out a bitter, low mumble in Justin’s direction. "See? She didn’t want anything to do with me until she got that video, and then she was all over me. But I’m supposed to believe she didn’t bring me back in spite…”
"Can you like stop?" you shot at him, voice loud enough. "I didn’t bring you back out of spite, I did like you, and at the time, I was convinced that the person I was with was disrespecting me. So yeah, I got more open after the video confirmed it." You scoffed, shaking your head and leaning back.
“He’s just pissed, don’t pay attention to him.” Kaitlyn comforted from where she was sat as the screen projected the thing you’d been dreading yet also anticipating— the full context of the kiss between Rafe and Sofia.
It started showing the part of the conversation you’d already seen, Rafe aggressively chewing Sofia out for continuously using challenges as opportunities to kiss him, despite his repeated rejection, before it continued, causing you to sit up straighter, unaware of Rafe’s hopeful gaze glued to the side of your face.
“You know you miss me,” Sofia whispered on screen.
Rafe let out an exhausted sigh. “I do miss you, Sofia…I miss who I thought you were.” He seethed. “But I know for a fact now that that person isn't real, and she never was. I don’t miss you. And I don’t want you—”
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re mad,” Sofia cut him off, throwing his words to the wind. “I still love you, Rafe—”
“I don’t love you.” Rafe gritted out. “I don’t know if I ever even did. You need to let what we had go, Sofia. I can’t make myself any more clear—” She cut off his refusal by launching herself at him for a kiss, Rafe instantly shoving her back and away from him with the deepest scowl you’d ever seen, before glaring at her for three long seconds and walking straight away to find the guys, gnawing the inside of his cheek.
Watching the full clip play out, realization hit you, overtaking you with guilt. He hadn't done a single thing. He had rejected her.
“Oh my god... I'm the worst person ever,” you mumbled to yourself, voice trembling as your eyes locked with Rafe's across the lawn. Rafe could tell by the look on your face that you were about to break down. He softly caught your gaze, gently mouthing across the gap, “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m not mad.”
The girls crowded around you, trying to rub your back and offer comfort, but it wasn't working at all. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you started crying anyway, completely hiding your face in your hands.
Seeing you like that, Rafe walked right over to the girls' couch, pulling you tightly into his chest as the girls made space for him, hiding your face against his shirt from everyone else as the two of you sat closely together on the far end of the couch. While he held you, your girls—Rima, Cleo, and Sarah—turned their fury onto Sofia, who was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “Do you not feel embarrassed watching that back?’ Sarah barked across the line of people.
Sofia didn’t seem to care at all, tossing her head back and standing on exactly what she had said. “Why would I?” She scoffed.
Cleo pointed at where Rafe was holding you. “Even as he’s literally sitting right here comforting someone who isn’t you?” She throws out judgmentally. “You look delusional.”
The clip then showed Rima asking you the next day—“Does what you saw make you a bit more open to exploring Theo?” and you responding, “Hell yeah, it makes me more open.”
Theo, on the boy’s couch, continued mumbling under his breath, slouched in his seat now.
The clip then transitioned to the Temperatures Rising challenge, with you during your turn with Theo, snapping his underwear waistband with your teeth. Then it showed Rafe’s turn at Casa, the man getting so visibly upset and distracted watching the girl’s meter skyrocket that he checked out of the game, causing the boys to lose the round.
It showed you and Theo kissing on the daybeds, for the first time outside a challenge, then kissing in bed that night. And though Rafe’s jaw tensed at the sight, his hold on you never faltered. Then it cut to you crying on the beanbags with Sarah, expressing your confusion about Rafe and fear of dragging Theo along if you were just gonna run back to him.
It was just clip after clip, the next one showing Rafe back at Casa. He was sleeping outside on the daybeds, entirely alone, holding his phone, scrolling through pictures of you and him from the first two weeks, and he groaned, clicking the phone off, and throwing the blanket over his head, the sound of him crying silently under the covers traveling lightly through the speakers.
Your heart broke into a million pieces as you looked up at Rafe, your eyes flooding with tears.
The next clip was much more recent, showing Theo pressing you after your date with Rafe—“I’m worried that if he’s telling the truth, you’ll choose him over me.”
Then it was Rafe crying to the guys in the bathroom—“Seeing her kiss Theo up close? Fuck that, I could’ve hurled. I still haven't eaten... I don't give a fuck about Sofia, man. I miss Y/N so fucking much, shit's driving me completely out of my mind.” JJ was shown then telling him, "For our own sanity, we gotta get you two back together."
It showed your hushed argument and near-kiss in the kitchen, Sofia interrupting, and Rafe immediately chewing Sofia out right after, telling her he hadn't thought about her in months and to stop trying to ruin his life. “Well, now that she’s finally gone,” Sofia started on screen, shifting her weight from side to side with a smug, arrogant grin plastered on her lips. “We can actually finish what we started.” Rafe’s expression completely shifted into something dark as he turned on her. He stepped directly into her personal space, his tone blunt and harsh, delivering what seemed to be his final warning. “Sofia, I need you to hear me when I say this. I haven't thought about you in months, and I need you to get it through your thick fucking skull that you mean nothing to me now. Stay the fuck away from me. From us.” He didn't even wait for a response before walking away, leaving her standing there, shocked.
It showed you and Rima talking, you mumbling, “Theo is exactly the kind of guy a girl should want…”, and Rima telling you”But he’s not the guy you want.”
Then came the beach date from yesterday, showing Rafe kneeling in front of you, crying into your lap, and you telling him,“...What I have with Theo... it is nowhere near touching what you and I had. He’s great, and he’s sweet, but... he’s not you. And I feel like such a bitch for putting him in the middle of all this.”
Finally, the clips concluded with the dressing room conversation from last night.
“If it turns out Rafe is telling the truth—who are you choosing?” Rima asked on screen. “Rafe or Theo? Don’t think, just answer—”
“Rafe.” you answered instantly. “...I would choose Rafe.”
And then the screen went black.
You were the first to speak, of course, turning in Rafe’s arm to glare at Theo, voice still a bit shaky from crying as you threw a hand out towards the now blank screen. "I just want to point out that, as you can see, I didn't say any of that extra shit this bitch told you.”
“Excuse me—” Sofia tried to cut in, but you kept talking.
“All I said was that at the end of the day, I would choose Rafe."
"And you didn't have the fucking decency to tell me that." Theo criticized, his face red.
“How could I? She got to you first—”
"We share a bed, so don’t try that.” Theo stopped you. “You didn't think to mention to me that you'd already chosen him?!"
"I didn't think that was the best fucking time to bring it up!” Your own voice raised. “And what about you?! What did you mean by saying "she’s still completely hung up on Rafe, so I’m used to it. A date is nothing compared to hearing her talk about a guy that isn’t even in this villa all day. Worst case scenario, there are other options"?” You mocked, tilting your head. “You basically admitted I was just an option after Sarah shut you down! Like you settled for me!"
"You want to talk about settling?!" Theo roared, leaning forward where he was sitting, eyes wide. "You've been stringing me along for days, telling all your friends that you'd choose Rafe over me, when I came to you and told you how terrified I was of you doing exactly that!"
"I understand that, and I’m sorry!" you argued, your voice cracking as tears of frustration spilled over. "I tried my best to comfort you in that moment, but you were far from oblivious, Theo! You knew that I was stuck between you and him! You're trying to play the victim right now, as if we haven't had multiple conversations where I have been entirely transparent with you about the fact that I was confused!" You gestured back toward Rafe. "During our date, I told Rafe the exact same thing!"
"Yeah, but you knew who you liked more, Y/N! That’s the fucking issue!" Theo screamed over, standing up now. Rafe didn’t like that.
Rafe gently let his arms unwind from around you, standing up, his frame blocking Theo from you. "What are you standing up for?"
"Rafe—" you sighed, tugging on his arm but he barely moved, him and Theo glaring each other down.
“What’re you, her fucking bodyguard?” Theo hissed. “What the fuck’re you gonna do?”
And Rafe just smirked, huffing as he laughed under his breath while the girls jumped off the couch, crowding around in front of you as well, screaming at Theo.
"She was honest the whole time!" Sarah yelled at Theo through her own tears, still upset. "And it’s so unfair for you to act like you had absolutely no idea she had stronger feelings for Rafe!"
You stood then, too many people in your way. "And she’s right because you literally fucking said that!” You reprimand, hands moving wildly. "Or are you gonna act like you don't remember saying that, too?!”
“So what?!”
Your face twisted at his words, neck reeling back. “What the hell do you mean ‘so what’—”
“You still fucking lied!”
The original boys—JJ, Pope, and John B—then shot up as well, backing Rafe up as he opened his mouth to speak before they beat him to it, trying to also calm everyone down. "Okay, look, we’ve watched these two for weeks, man," JJ pointed at Theo. "We knew that, for her to switch up, something crazy bad had to have happened. So, don't sit here and paint her as a villain—"
Suddenly, Sofia inserted herself into the circle, scoffing loudly as she also stood up from her place. "Oh, please!” She threw her arms up. “Why are you all treating her like some kind of princess or little baby?! She’s a grown woman! She needs to be able to make her own decisions, speak for herself, and settle for one guy instead of crying about everything!"
You whipped your head around, your eyes flashing with uncontainable anger now. "Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” You took a step in her direction. “You shouldn’t even be talking, bitch!"
That comment struck a nerve as she and you started going at it violently, screaming insults back and forth, getting closer by the second, each insult seeming to come with two steps forward, while the girls and the guys were getting in each other's faces around you, trying to keep Rafe and Theo apart as they also seemed to start gaining on each other.
Movie Night had spiraled out of control, much worse than the first. People were pushing against each other, voices cracking, chests puffing, and for the first time in this experience with you all, the production crew suddenly rushed out from the villa walls, stepping between everyone, specifically grabbing Rafe and Theo by the shoulders, pulling you and Sofia apart, and forcing everyone into separate corners of the yard.
YOU stormed away, angry tears streaming violently down your face. You hated drama, you hated feeling like shit, and you absolutely loathed how Theo had just tried to paint you as some kind of malicious, deceptive villain in front of the entire villa when you had spent the last week losing sleep, trying to be as honest and transparent as possible.
You swiftly walked away from the garden, heading toward the terrace as Sarah, Cleo, and Rima immediately followed you, crowding around you.
"Babe, it's okay," Sarah soothed, wiping her own eyes. "Screw him. Screw all of them.”
Rima rubbed a hand up and down your back as the four of you walked up the stairs. “He’s just pissed because he thought you were gonna pick him at the end, and now it's not going his way."
"Exactly," Cleo added. "He was just filling your head up with lies, pretending to be this understanding guy so you would feel safe with him and choose him, and the minute you weren’t going to, his real colors started to show." She scoffs as you all sit down on the terrace furniture.
But you don’t think they understood that you weren't sad-crying. You were furious. "He really tried to blame me... and then that bitch Sofia... I can't..." Your words got tangled together as you tried to express yourself but there was just too much flooding your mind at once.
The girls let you breathe, giving you a minute to yourself while Sarah eventually broke down after holding it in the entire time—tears streaming down her cheeks as she ranted about how hurt she was to not only see that John B had lied, but to actually witness the things he’d done.
Suddenly, footsteps rang out as a figure came up the steps, Rafe walking up, looked focused as his blue eyes locked onto your puffy ones as you dried the wetness under them. He walked straight past the girls, reaching down and gently grabbing your wrist, pulling you up as he eyed Sarah’s sobbing frame.
"...Sarah, I’m sorry." Rafe said as he tucked you under his arm. The girl sniffed, turning her angry, tearful gaze to Rafe.
“Why did none of you tell me?” She hissed, hiccuping halfway through the sentence.
Rafe shakes his head then, a hand rubbing circles into your lower back as you tried to stop your own tears. “I didn’t know.” He throws one hand up, eyes wide. “I swear I didn’t.”
“And Pope and JJ? I'm supposed to believe neither of them knew, either?”
“...I can’t speak for them.” Rafe says, swallowing as he lowers his hand. “But for what it’s worth, I think he really does regret it.”
Sarah scoffed then, the tears only coming faster. “Didn’t seem that way.”
All Rafe can do is nod, resigning to not trying to defend the boy’s actions. “I’m gonna steal her for a minute,” He says cautiously as Rima and Cleo comfort Sarah, avoiding each other’s eyes awkwardly. “Feel better.” He throws out carefully, not very used to comforting anyone.
Rafe, with a tight-lipped smile, pulled you away from them, leading you down the steps and toward Say Less. Halfway there, he reached up with his thumbs, tenderly wiping the tears away from your cheeks. "Don't cry. Not over that shit," he whispered. "None of them matter. Let it go."
When you reached the secluded lounge, Rafe sat down with you, wrapping his long arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, just holding you.
You looked up at him, your angry tears morphing into ones of profound sadness. You stared into his beautiful blue eyes, a massive wave of guilt washing over you. He hadn't lied once.
"Rafe..." your voice cracked, a sob escaping your throat. "I am so, so sorry. I feel like such a piece of shit."
Rafe frowned, leaning closer. "Why are you apologizing to me?"
"Because you were telling the truth," you pouted, covering your face. "About everything. And I just feel like if the roles had been reversed... if a video had come out of me, you probably would have had so much more faith in me than I had in you.” Your voice shook. “I didn't even give you a chance to explain. I shut you out for days, slept in bed with someone else, and it took you going through literally half the villa and crying on your knees just to get me to listen to you. I never wanted that..."
Rafe’s expression softened as he reached out, gently pulling your hands away from your face and intertwining his fingers with yours. "Hey, look at me. Look at me," You looked up, sniffing.
"I'm not gonna lie and say seeing those clips didn’t hurt me... ‘cause yeah, it hurt. It hurt like hell," Rafe admitted softly, his voice cracking. "But at the end of the day, I meant what I told you—if Theo was the one who was genuinely gonna make you happy, then that was all I ever wanted.” He admits. “Of course, I want to be with you. I want to be the guy who makes you smile every day. But your happiness is the most important thing to me, and I’m willing to make that happen no matter what…even if it means me not being in the picture."
You shook your head, more tears falling. "But it should’ve never come to that,” your face twists in sadness. “You didn't do anything wrong."
Rafe smiled warmly then, leaning in and letting his forehead fall gently against yours. "I would do it all over again, angel.” He whispered to you, absolutely certain. “From that first day, you’ve been patient with me. You've been so understanding, and you've been there for me through all my shit. I’m not gonna hold this one thing against you when you’ve never done that to me. I’ve been on the other side of feeling guilty in this relationship, so trust me... we're even." He laughs, voice low.
Hearing his reassurance, a small, soft, sad smile graced your lips as he wiped one last stray tear. You looked at him through your lashes, forehead still pressed to his, a genuine laugh escaping your lips through your tears.
Rafe smirked, reaching out to gently pinch your cheek. "There she is.” He teased. “...You're so pretty, you know that? Even when you're crying."
"Shut up," you giggled, swatting his hand away playfully as you leaned back.
But Rafe leaned in closer, pulling you back toward him as his eyes dropped to your lips. His fingers trailed up your neck, thumb caressing your jawline, before he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against yours.
The kiss was deep, warm, and filled with over a week's worth of built-up longing. You melted into it, hands wrapping around his shoulders as you kissed him back. The moment his mouth parted over yours, your tongues mingled, desperate to remember the taste of each other, a low groan vibrating deep in Rafe’s chest as he grabbed your waist, hauling you onto his lap.
Your fingers flew to his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you held him close, your heavy breathing filling the space between you. Rafe’s hands were everywhere, gripping your hips and tracing up your spine, pulling you flush against him until you could feel the pounding of his heart. You broke apart for a second, both of you gasping for air, eyes locked, before he let out something between a moan and a groan, the words ‘I missed you’ coming out in one single breath before he slammed his lips back onto yours, deepening the exchange with an urgency that left you breathless, grabbing at each other until you couldn’t even breathe.
When he pulled away, he kept his arms wrapped around your waist, both of you sitting cozier than ever.
You looked up at his face, a soft pout on your lips. "I don't like seeing you cry, Rafe."
Rafe let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "I think you do, honestly.” He squinted playfully. “I think you get off on it. Freak."
You laughed at his words, hitting his chest playfully. "I do think you look pretty when you cry, but it doesn't mean I like to see it. And I especially don't ever want to be the reason you're crying..."
Rafe smirked, his voice dropping as he leaned in to whisper against your ear. "It's okay, angel. Hopefully, you can make up for it to me soon."
Suddenly, the sound of heels clicking down the path made you both turn, faces hardening immediately.
Sofia walked in, stopping at the archway with her arms crossed tightly. She didn't look at Rafe. Instead, she locked her eyes on you. "...Can I talk to you?” She asks, looking uncomfortable. “Alone."
Rafe’s face instantly twisted. "Fuck no.” He answered for you, placing a protective hand on your thigh. “What the hell do you two have to talk about?"
You reached over, gently grabbing Rafe’s hand. "Rafe, it's fine."
Rafe whipped his head around, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head, trying to pull you back down. "No. You don't—"
"I'll be fine, Rafe. Trust me," you smiled reassuringly. You stood up, letting his hand fall from yours ans walking toward the door, but before you left, you turned back, leaned down, and wrapped your arms around Rafe’s neck, planting a passionate, lingering kiss on his lips. Sofia’s jaw tensed with rage, huffing through her nose as she muttered something under her breath as you pulled away slowly. “I’ll be right back.”
Confessional : Rafe
“Oh my fucking God. Can she just go away?” His eyes narrowed, dragging both his hands down his face, groaning loudly. “Seriously, fuck the viewers at this point. Just let me decide who goes home next, I promise on my life, I will make it worth your while.”
YOU and Sofia walked out toward the open expanse of the yard. As you walked by, the rest of the Islanders were scattered around—John B and Sarah waving wildly at each other up in Soul Ties, Cleo and Rima talking on the daybeds—and absolutely everybody stopped talking, staring at the two of you in hushed shock, wondering what the hell was going on, or about to happen.
You decided to sit down on the beanbags, in the open. You felt more comfortable having the conversation where people could see you, considering the last time you and Sofia had a private conversation in the dressing room, she had said some pretty unhinged things to you.
She sat opposite you, letting out a sharp breath, adjusting her dress before speaking, her tone clipped.
"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," Sofia said, a fleeting, empty apology before she switched to her real agenda. "But... you need to realize that what you saw on that screen wasn't what really went down at Casa."
You sat back, an unbothered smile pulling at your lips.
"Rafe isn’t who you think he is. He was all over me over there," Sofia lied smoothly. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so annoyed. "He was telling me how much he missed me, how he wanted to get back together—he’s lying to you."
Days ago, this might have destroyed you, sent you into a spiral. But now? You knew exactly who Sofia was—a deeply manipulative, desperate liar. And, this time, you didn't entertain her. You didn't get angry, and you didn't get loud. You just sat there, nodding along calmly, humming indifferently, and refusing to give her anything to work with.
Sofia frowned, her irritation growing at your lack of reaction. You two sat in tense silence as she grew angry at your composure, tongue prodding the inside of her cheek before she seemed to snap, scoffing and throwing herself back against the beanbag. "Why don't you give a shit?” She hissed, on the border of a tantrum. “I am literally telling you that Rafe is a liar!"
"Because I know exactly who you are at this point, Sofia," you said, voice deadpan. "And I know that you’re lying through your teeth. You’ve made it pretty clear that you’ll do whatever it takes to break me and Rafe apart, hoping that by some miracle, he’ll run back to you."
Sofia’s face twisted as she let out a harsh, cynical laugh, staring at you. "You think you have him figured out?” She shook her head, looking like she was on the edge of trying harder to upset you before her face just fell, her shoulders slumping. “I knew it.” She pouts, though her eyes remained angry as you turned confused. “I knew there was something different about you. I knew it from that night."
You frowned, your brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Sofia leaned back, her nostrils flared as she seemed to regress into her own silent rage, seeming like she was cursing herself more than actually talking to you. "For all the bad things me and Rafe did to each other in our relationship... neither of us ever cheated. But... there was one night…he came close. He always denied it, but…I knew." Sofia’s eyes locked onto yours, a bitter smirk on her face. "...You don't remember me, do you?” She asked, tilting her head. “You don't remember him either."
Your heart stopped, lip curling. "What?"
"I saw how Rafe explained our breakup to you, before Casa, I watched it.” She shrugged. “But he didn’t tell you how things were.” She hissed, leaning forward. “Rafe was drinking, heavy, back then, he was high out of his mind constantly. We were arguing, back-to-back every day. But there was one argument that just…never faded for me. When I caught him at a strip club in Vegas after he told me he was there on business."
Sofia leaned even further in, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "I had a gut feeling, so I followed him there. And instead of finding him doing business, he was with all his friends—high, throwing ones at strippers, flirting with bartenders. I walked in, ready to confront him, but before I reached him... I spotted him at the bar. He was talking to a girl.” She swallowed, sucking in a deep breath. “And even from all the way across the club, through the crowd, under the lights… I could see the look he was giving her. He was drunk, probably high too, his hands wrapped around her thighs, and he was looking up at her like she was the most beautiful, captivating thing he had ever seen in his entire life." She laughed bitterly to herself.
“I tried to so hard to forget that night, to forget her. I almost did…until I saw you.” Sofia stared directly into your eyes, voice trembling. "Because it was you."
“...What the hell are you talking about?”
Sofia pursed her lips at your words, eyes low. “You’re telling me you really don’t remember?”
Your eyes were narrowed, lips slightly parted as you wracked your brain, thinking harder than you had since you got here. Then, the sound of Sofia's voice faded away as a memory came slamming into your brain…
You were back in that suffocating Las Vegas club, the air clouded with the scent of expensive perfume, musky cologne, liquor, and smoke. The vibe was sensual—low neon purple and pink lights bathed the room in an ethereal glow. Women were dancing slowly on the illuminated stages, and the rumbling chatter of men and the bass of the music vibrated through the floor.
You were working your shift, only a bottle girl by then, wearing a tight, revealing black outfit, carrying a tray of drinks across the crowded room. You bounced around from table to table, typically seeing the same nameless, wealthy men passing through a couple times a week. Faces usually blurred together. But that night, you walked up to the bar, and your eyes landed on a guy sitting alone. He looked a lot younger than the usual crowd.
You don’t know why you approached him. You just felt like you should, your feet carrying you to him.
Rafe was younger then, his hair longer and messier, blue eyes glassy and wild. He was sitting at the bar, high and drunk, distant from his friends who were admiring the strippers and throwing money away nearby.
You walked up to him, a flirtatious smile on your lips. It was your job to flirt, it was how you made your living. "Hi," you said, your voice smooth over the loud music as you shifted your weight. "You look lonely. Can I get you another drink?"
Rafe slowly turned his head, prepared to coldly dismiss you when his glassy eyes locked onto your face. His words died in his throat as he stared at you, starstruck, as if the rest of the club had completely vanished around him. He let out a low, raspy chuckle, his words slightly slurred.
"Yeah," Rafe murmured, his eyes tracking the movement of your lips as they curved upwards, satisfied. "Get me whatever you're having."
You giggled, leaning against the bar. "I'm on the clock, handsome.” You pouted cutely. “I can't drink. But you can definitely throw another one back for me."
Rafe licked his lips slowly, his gaze charged as he looked up at you. "You're trying to drain my wallet, I see. In more ways than one."
You arched an eyebrow, leaning closer. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"
Rafe slurred a low laugh, his voice a raspy whisper. "I mean... another drink and I’ll probably be stumbling to the back with you."
You let out a soft, sultry laugh, looking down at him as one of your hands reached out, tracing the lines of his arm. "Hm. You’re too handsome to be a drunk one-nighter. I’d much prefer you sober."
At that, Rafe hummed, reaching out. His large, warm hands wrapped around the sides of your thighs, fingers trailing slowly up the fabric of your outfit, what little of it there was. His touch burned, goosebumps raising on your skin immediately, a blinding bolt of electricity shooting straight through your skin, making your breath hitch. He didn't move his hands, keeping his grip tight on your thighs as he stared up at your face, looking at you like you were a literal goddess.
Your thoughts in that moment rushed back to you—you remembered thinking how gentle this guy was despite clearly being out of his mind, how pretty his blue eyes looked under the neon lights, and how he was making your entire shift.
"You're beautiful," Rafe whispered, his voice serious as his hands ran up and down your frame. "Way too fucking beautiful to be working in a place like this."
You laughed it off softly, though your heart was hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. "I think me being beautiful is exactly why I'm here."
"No," Rafe muttered, shaking his head slightly before his eyes locked onto yours. "Y’know what I mean..."
You hummed then, teasing. “I’m not sure I do,” you taunted, eyes narrowing as his hands squeezed you briefly in warning. “Enlighten me.”
He continued flirting with you, his eyes never once leaving yours as the two of you threw comments back and forth, inching closer until you were standing in between his open thighs. But suddenly, mid-laugh, you looked up past his shoulder, spotting a dark-haired girl standing across the crowded club near the entrance, glaring directly at the two of you, her face twisted in pure rage.
Your smile died then, your head lowering. You knew how this went. Gently tapping Rafe’s shoulder and nodding toward the girl, "Uh, I... think someone is here for you."
Rafe slowly turned his head through the crowd, eyebrows pinched before spotting Sofia standing there, face tightening. "Shit," he muttered, pouting as you stepped out of his reach.
You didn't take offense. Working in clubs, you had seen your fair share of angry girlfriends and wives storming in to drag their men out by their ears. You offered him one final, soft smile, turning around and walking away into the shadows.
After that night, you hadn't thought about it too much. You saw thousands of men, and faces easily faded. But the exact way that he had made you feel—that intense pull—had stuck in the back of your mind for months. You remembered looking around the club for his face for weeks afterward, hoping he'd become a regular, shamefully hoping his girlfriend, you’d assumed, had rightfully called it quits and maybe that’d make him come back. But he never returned. Just as you realistically figured he wouldn’t when you recalled seeing his North Carolina ID on the bar counter…
Snapping you back to the present, you blinked rapidly, staring across at Sofia, your jaw slightly parted as the realization settled in.
It was him. It had always been him.
"...If that's the case, Sofia," you said, your voice dropping into a serious tone. "Why do you want him back so bad?"
Sofia’s face shifted from sad to serious, eyes hardening with an ugly ambition. "Because I love Rafe.” She quips. “He is the only guy who has ever taken care of me in my life. I dealt with the ugliest side of him, thinking it meant I could have the life I wanted in the end, the life I knew Rafe could provide...Just for him to break up with me and give the best version of himself to you."
You shook your head, looking at her with genuine pity. "Sofia... that isn't love—"
"I beg to differ," Sofia snapped, glaring at you. "I see the way he looks at you, sure.” She shrugs, bitter. “But I’m not going to allow you to just take him. I want him to look at me like that, and I won’t stop until he does.” She admits, like anything she’s saying makes any logical sense. “I’ll do whatever I have to."
Without waiting for a response, Sofia got up, turned, and walked away, leaving you sitting there, head spinning.
YOUR heart raced as you walked back toward Say Less, finding Rafe still sitting anxiously. The moment he saw you, his eyes lit up as he opened his arms for you.
"What happened?” Rafe asked instantly. “What did she say to you?"
You looked deep into his eyes as you walked to him slowly, sitting down, face still blank. "Rafe... did you remember me?"
Rafe froze, hands on your arms as confusion flashed across his face for a moment, fully prepared to ask what you meant. Then a hint of knowingness, a quiet anticipation flashed through his eyes—as if he had been waiting for this exact question since the day you met. He didn't try to play dumb, and he didn't ask what you meant. He took a deep breath, looking down at his shoes.
"...Not at first I didn't, no," Rafe admitted quietly.
You weren't upset at all, though it was clear he though you were. Truthfully, you were just confused.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Rafe looked back up, his blue eyes vulnerable, surprised that you weren’t yelling at him. "At first, I wasn’t even sure.” He tells you, pulling you closer. “That night… I was high out of my mind, seeing literal stars, and everything was a blur.” He sighs. “...But the more time we spent together in here, the more I got to know you, I realized I would never mistake you for anyone else. Because I never really forgot you to begin with."
He shifted closer, his hands gently resting on your waist. "After we met that night, it was like you left a permanent mark on me. I had never felt that type of…pull toward someone in my life. I felt like I was going crazy. I would sometimes see your face in my dreams. It’d be blurry, but...I could still make it out. Other times, when I…got high, all I would remember was that night at the club with you. Your voice, your eyes, the way you smiled..."
Tears stung the corners of your eyes as you pouted at him. "Why didn't you tell me then? When you finally did realize it?"
"I didn't want to ruin it," Rafe whispered softly, his thumb caressing your hip. "I thought…saying something might scare you off, or make you think I was creepy. Plus, it just felt like it would’ve brought up bad memories for both of us about who we were at the time. Even when you were explaining your past to me, even though I had already figured it out by then, I just didn't want to break the moment.” He shrugs softly. “I figured it would come back to you naturally one day. I was kind of hoping it would.” He smiles, small, to himself. “Because I was praying to God that I had left the impression on you that you left on me." He looked at you. "Did I?"
You gave him a lopsided smile, leaning forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as you nodded, Rafe smiling in response. "I didn't have dreams about you or anything,” you teased. “...but you were the best experience I had working in those clubs. For months, I would replay our conversation, the feeling I got when your fingers brushed against my skin... it never left my mind. I was moving from city to city, so many faces passed through, so your face didn't stick, but that night did. I used to look around that club for you every shift, waiting for you to come back."
Rafe let out a laugh, pulling you flush against his body and into his lap with a playful groan. You both realized that this wasn't just a reality show connection or something born out of proximity.
You let out a soft sigh, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. “I’m not gonna lie... I feel kind of bad for Sofia now,” you murmured.
Rafe’s eyebrows pinched, looking down at you. “For what?”
“I don’t know, I would’ve hated to be her in that situation. It makes me feel kind of guilty,” you admitted, tracing a pattern on his chest. “She didn’t even see what you did that night as cheating.”
Rafe squinted down at you, a half-smirk on his lips. “Do you see it as cheating?”
You let out a disbelieving scoff, rolling your eyes. “Hell yeah. Are you out of your mind? You were holding another girl's thighs...at a bar...in a strip club.” Rafe chuckled softly, squeezing you tight.
“They were your thighs,” He tries to flirt, but you fix him with a disapproving look. “I’m not that person anymore, angel. You got nothing to worry about with me.”
You softened, leaning your head back down into his chest. “I know. I trust you.” You paused, a small smirk playing on your lips as you teased, "But just as a warning, if you ever cheat on me, I will castrate you and destroy quite literally everything you own.“
Rafe nodded at your words, serious but also slightly amused. "Noted."
"That's all you gotta say?" You taunted, quirking one singular brow.
Rafe just shrugged lazily. "It'll never happen, so neither of us have anything to worry about."
You rolled your eyes at him playfully, leaning further into him. "Good answer," you sighed. "But I definitely see why she hates my guts so much now.”
Rafe rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s been so long since that night happened, and it wasn’t your fault. She can’t be mad at you and want me back at the same time—it doesn't make any sense.” He sighed, kissing the top of your head before sighing heavily. “I don’t want to talk about Sofia anymore.”
As you cuddled on the couch, Rafe tracing his fingers on the surface of your skin, his voice dropping into a tender tone. "I am never going to do anything to hurt you, angel.” He says softly. "All I want is you."
“You have me,” you returned, muttering sweetly.
But, consciously deciding to work on communication right then and there, Rafe transitioned to a heavy topic. "...I don’t really like how Theo spoke to you tonight."
You sighed, lips flapping as you let air escape them. "I didn't either," you admitted.
Rafe shifted to be able to look at you. "Where do you stand with that, though? Do you... do you still want to explore things with him?" He asked cautiously, trying to be fair and not sway your decision.
"No," you said, not an ounce of hesitation. "Although it probably makes me look like a bad person, I guess it’s only right to admit that…I only brought him back because of that video. I did genuinely like him, the connection wasn’t fake, but deep down… I didn't want to look stupid if you walked through the doors with Sofia.” You say, guilt-ridden. “But tonight, I saw a completely different, ugly side of him. And the girls even said that it doesn't add up that he was this super understanding, patient guy up until tonight. The second I head in your direction, all his patience goes out the window and he turns into an asshole." You scoff. "But none of that matters anyway,” you shrug, resettling into him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it was never gonna be him.” You sighed, peering up at Rafe as he strokes the skin of your cheek. “I’ll talk to him tonight, cut things off."
"Don’t get me wrong when I say this, angel, but…” Rafe hesitates. “Are you sure that's fair? You've given me a hell of a lot of chances in here."
You rolled your eyes, a warmth hitting your cheeks. "Yeah, well... that's you."
Rafe leaned in closer, teasing. "Well, what's the difference between me and him, huh?"
You smirked, teasing him right back. "You'll find out eventually, Cameron. I'm not quite ready to say those words. Especially not after a shitty night like this.” You scoff, though lighthearted, as you slid out of Rafe’s hold to stand, smoothing out your dress as he helps you. “I’m gonna go find Theo, let him know it's over, and then after that…” You egged on, hands on Rafe’s thigh as you leaned down, your nose tapping his as you both smiled softly. “I am back to being all yours."
Rafe laughed, craning his neck up to kiss your forehead.
TAKING a deep breath, you spotted Theo sitting by the fire pit. You walked over, shoulders square, heels clicking against the deck.
"Theo," you called. Theo looked up, his expression significantly calmer than it had been during the screaming match. “We should talk.”
He nodded slowly, shifting to the side even though there was enough room for you to sit. "Yeah..."
You sat opposite him, wasting no time in taking control of the conversation, hands clasped in your lap. "I want to start by saying that I don’t appreciate the way you came at me tonight, or the way you've been treating me all day." Theo went to speak, but you held up a hand. "Let me finish, please.” You stop him. “I understand you're hurt, but everything I said earlier still stands. I have been completely transparent with you since day one. I have never lied to you, I have never gone behind your back, and I tried my absolute best to give you a fair shot in here.” You explained.
“I know I probably haven't done the best job of that because of my feelings for Rafe, but I don’t like the way you painted things. More than once, you acknowledged that you knew my feelings for Rafe were stronger, and you repeatedly told me that even if I chose him, you would be okay. But the second you felt the walls closing in, I’m sorry but, you turned into a complete asshole."
Theo let out a heavy breath, looking down at his hands as he wrung them. "I do want to apologize," Theo started quietly, looking into your eyes. "I am sorry for speaking to you that way earlier. I let my emotions take over. And I also want you to know I wasn't using you just to get into the villa. I do genuinely like you. But... I guess I have to admit that my patience and understanding wasn't entirely genuine."
He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Truthfully, I have been frustrated with you not knowing what you wanted. I should have come forward and been honest about it, instead of pretending to be this perfect, understanding guy, and then completely blowing up on you when things didn't go my way. I take full accountability for that.” He emphasizes with his hands. “I think... I think I was just completely stuck on the idea that I could be the guy to change your mind. And when I realized tonight that I couldn't... I got upset, I won't lie. And I’m not naive. I know that after tonight, you probably aren't willing to explore us anymore. I don't blame you."
You let out a soft breath, appreciating his honesty. "Thank you, Theo. And, you're right, I am ending things between us tonight. But I want to clarify that it doesn't have everything to do with how you spoke to me earlier. I won't sit here and say I'm dumping you just because you got aggressive, because when Rafe did the exact same thing, I gave him another chance. So that would be hypocritical of me." You looked at him gently. "I'm ending it because, clearly, what happened between me and Rafe was a huge misunderstanding. And, to end things honestly with you, Theo... had that misunderstanding not happened, you probably wouldn't even be here right now."
Theo let out a faint, sad smirk, nodding. "Yeah. I figured."
"But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t great getting to know you, Theo," you concluded respectfully. "But my connection with Rafe is easily the strongest thing I have ever felt in my entire life, and if I were to continue trying with you, I would never be able to give you 100% of myself. Rafe is what I want.” You told him. “I hope we can still be at least cordial while we're both here, but I understand if that’s not something you want, and I wish you nothing but the best."
Theo nodded, a look of acceptance settling over him. "I saw it coming, honestly, and I chose to pursue you anyway. I put myself in this situation.” He takes the blame. “I apologize, again, for not fully being myself. That perfect, patient guy... that's just not who I am in the real world. It was who I was trying to be for you, but clearly, it didn't work. I'll keep working on myself. But yeah,” He shrugs. “I want to be cool, I want to be cordial, and I have nothing against you, Y/N. You are beautiful, amazing, and Rafe is a lucky guy.” He offers genuinely. “Hopefully, I can clear the air with him later too."
You offered him a warm smile, and the two of you stood up, hugging it out before parting ways.
THE girls were gathered in the glam room, getting ready for bed, the tension thicker than ever.
Sarah was pacing in her silk pajamas, her eyes red and puffy as she continued her rant about John B, still distraught. "I’m just really hurt," Sarah cried, throwing her hands in the air. "The part that’s killing me is the fact that he reached a stage with her in less than a week that me and him haven't even fucking reached yet!” Fresh tears flowed from her eyes as she braided her hair up in the full body mirror, sniffing. “And when I confronted him about it, he was literally just talking in circles!"
She wiped a stray tear away snappily. "I told him that he was moving as if he had the potential to fall in love with her, and he didn't even deny it!” Her hands drop from her hair as she cries into her palms, still standing. You pout then, rounding the table to hug her as she sobbed. “He lied straight to my face. Why the fuck did he sit me down and pull me for a chat just to lie to my face about all of it?! He keeps saying over and over that, in the end, he chose me, but it doesn't fucking matter! He embarrassed me!" She sobbed, so hard her shoulders shook.
"We're so sorry, Sar," you murmured, rubbing a hand up and down her back. She continued to cry into your shoulder as the other girls offered their words of comfort. You stood with her for a long minute until she calmed down, gently removing herself from your hold and shooting you a sad smile. “Are you sleeping in the room tonight?”
She immediately shook her head. “No, hell no. I don’t want to be near him.” She wiped her eyes.
“Fuck that,” you scoffed. “He’s giving you the bed.”
Sarah laughed at that, always grateful for you. “It’s fine—”
“No, it’s not.” You shot her a pointed look as you applied moisturizer to your lips. “He doesn’t get to lie to your face and shower with another girl then sleep peacefully while you sleep outside. Plus, you know you’re scared of the owl.” At that, all of the girls let out light laughs, the mood elevating slightly.
“What? I just go up to him and tell him to get out of the bed?” Sarah asked, voice still strained. “I don’t even want to look at him…”
“I’ll do it,” You shrugged. “Just give me a minute and I got you.”
Sarah nodded gratefully, running to kiss your cheek before she left the room. But as you continued to get ready, it became apparent that there was also a wall of tension between Rima and Cleo. They were refusing to acknowledge each other's existence in the room while the other girls chatted mindlessly.
So, when Cleo walked into the adjoining bathroom, you decided to follow her. You pushed the door open, sliding it closed behind you, finding Cleo in front of the marble sink, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush.
"Hey," you said softly. "You okay? Did you and Rima talk?"
Cleo let out a frustrated breath, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "We tried to have a conversation, but we just see the situation in two different ways.” She shrugged, sticking the toothbrush in her mouth, talking and brushing. “Rima doesn't think she's in the wrong at all. She keeps saying that me and Pope kissed first, and that had we not kissed, Justin would have never kissed her. She doesn’t think I have a right to be upset with her because I kissed Pope."
Cleo covered her mouth to spit in the sink, wiping her face, voice dropping into a hurt whisper. "But I still think I deserve the right to be upset!” She pouts. “I'm not even really mad that she and Justin kissed. I'm upset because it feels like they’re maybe not over each other as much as they claimed to be. And I hate the fact that I had to find out through Movie Night, when Rima had all day to tell me the truth. But when I said that, she said I had all day to tell Justin about Pope, and that when Justin asked me, I lied to his face."
You looked at Cleo. In terms of taking sides, you knew it best to remain neutral and give her the more objective truth.
"Cleo... I'm not taking sides here," you said gently, leaning against the sink. "But, I understand you've been open with Justin about still having feelings for Pope... but when it came down to it, you did lie to Justin's face when he asked you if you kissed him.” You told her honestly. “So, I don't think it's necessarily fair for you to be mad at Rima for the kiss, especially when Justin was the one who came onto her."
Cleo rolled her eyes, groaning, knowing you were right.
"However," you continued firmly, "I also don't think it's fair for Rima to think she shouldn't have told you. We’re supposed to be girls, and she should have had your back and been upfront the second it happened. But, from the look on her face when she pulled Rafe, she did look really upset.” You threw out in her defense. “And I know I’m the last person to be saying this but, you need to make up your mind between Pope and Justin, babe. And after that, you and Rima need to have a real conversation about both of your feelings. If Rima still has feelings for Justin, she needs to say it, but if she doesn’t, then that’s enough to put this behind you."
You reached for Cleo’s arm, squeezing it. "This villa moves crazy fast. People get dumped constantly, and we never know who could be next. It is not worth falling out over a guy. All four of you need to just sit down together and hash it out."
Cleo looked at you, a sigh escaping her lips as she nodded. "You're right.” She nodded. “I think I needed to hear that."
“Anytime,” you smiled, hugging her lightly. "I’ll see you in the morning."
Cleo nodded and you smiled, kissing her cheek before walking out of the bathroom.
YOU walked out onto the lower deck, the night air brushing your skin as you began setting up the blankets and pillows on the outdoor daybeds. It was a bittersweet feeling, but for the first time in a long, grueling week, you and Rafe were finally back to sharing a bed. Even if it was the daybed again.
As you smoothed out the sheets, Rafe finally walked out to join you, wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants. He glanced up toward the upper deck, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I heard you kicked John B out of the room,” he murmured.
Looking up, you both could see John B miserably setting up his own blanket and pillow over in Soul Ties. You let out a proud scoff, shaking out a pillow. “Yep. He doesn’t get to sleep comfortably after what he did.”
Rafe let out a low chuckle, stepping close to help you set up the covers. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
You turned your head, a teasing smirk pulling at your lips. “I’m sure you know that all too well by now.”
Looking down at you standing there in your short sleep shorts and oversized tee of his, his blue eyes lit up, thinking you looked absolutely adorable. You both slid under the covers together, and you turned to him with a teasing smirk.
Rafe let out a chuckle as he peered down at your face, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. "Sleeping on these things feels one-hundred times better with you. I’m not even joking."
"Yeah," you whispered, turning your body around so you were facing him. "I definitely agree."
Rafe stared down at your face. Before you could even open your mouth to ask why he was staring, Rafe leaned down and captured your lips in a hungry kiss. His lips were warm and soft, his tongue smoothly sliding into your mouth as you groaned softly against his lips, lifting your legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist under the blanket.
He groaned at the movement, gently biting your lower lip as his hand slithered down your back, sliding underneath your sleep shorts, squeezing your ass hard before his fingers pressed firmly against the skin between your legs, a breathy moan leaving your lips.
“Rafe…” you whine softly as he began rubbing you through your underwear, the fabric growing damp, sticking to you in a way that only made his touch feel that much better as he caught your lips again to silence your light moans while you arched into his touch.
In the heat of it all, you had half a mind to reach down, your hand sliding into his sweatpants, fingers palming his length over his briefs, rubbing him firmly with an occasional squeeze. Rafe let out a ragged gasp into your mouth, dick jumping as he began bucking his hips up into your hand, losing control under your touch.
His hand then slid out of your underwear just to slid in from the front, his lips moving down to your neck, sucking on your skin as his fingers found your clit, rubbing circles into you. You were stroking him faster, squeezing him through his pants, and Rafe let out a rough, breathless groan against your neck.
"Fuck..." Rafe gasped, his breathing shallow, hips twitching. "If you... if you keep doing that, I’m gonna—"
And like a slap to the face, when Rafe let out a low whine and let lust take over, a large finger dipping into you that made you gasp loudly, you suddenly realized exactly where you were. You let out a breathless giggle, slowly pulling your hand out of his pants as he removed his fingers from your underwear.
"We should probably calm down," you whispered, burying your face in his chest. "Production, John B, and the owl are gonna kill us."
Rafe let out a raspy laugh, amused as he looked down at you, his eyes still slightly clouded over as he took the same fingers that had just been inside you and casually popped them into his own mouth, licking them clean.
"Rafe, stop!" you whined, hitting his chest playfully as you covered your face.
Rafe chuckled, pulling your hands from your face and kissing your lips hard one last time before reaching into his sweatpants to readjust himself with a low, longing sigh. He pulled you against his chest, tucking your head underneath his chin as you both stared up at the star-filled night sky.
The silence of the night settled over you, peaceful. You played with the strings of his sweatpants, looking up at him. "...What do you think people think about us? Like out there? The people watching…"
Rafe let out a soft laugh, his chest rising and falling beneath you. "They probably think we’re a fuckin’ mess."
You laughed along softly, but a tiny pang of sadness crossed your features. You sighed, looking down. "Yeah... that's probably my fault. They probably fucking hate me for how I treated you this week."
Rafe stopped laughing then. He reached down, cupping your chin firmly and forcing you to look directly into his eyes.
"I don't think a single person in this entire world could ever look at you and hate you.”
next chapter>
this is like 50% proofread so im sorry if it's like LITTERED with errors
I cannot even begin to tell you how happy I am right now. We were in the trenches for a while but it’s official. WE BACK UP!!!!! Their reconciliation made all of the angst from the past few chapters worth it. All of that anger and heartache was worth seeing my babies finally reconnect and end up right back where they started, sleeping on the daybeds together and looking up at the stars. They gave me EVERYTHING throughout this chapter. Rafe bringing Angel a smoothie, him letting her vent about Theo and trying to get him to talk to her, defending her against any and everybody, getting in Theo’s face when he was yelling and disrespecting Angel, HIM HOLDING HER AS SHE CRIED AFTER SHE SAW THAT HE WAS TELLING THE TRUTH, him not wanting her to feel guilty, THEIR KISS!!!!!! That was soldier coming home from war kiss. And don’t even get me started on the daybed scene. That was so sexy ❤️🔥🥵. Angel and Rafe DESPERATELY need some alone time. And them having met each other one night in Vegas??? That flashback was so good. Angel was drawn to Rafe immediately. And Rafe was completely captivated by Angel. They are NEVER beating the soulmate allegations!!!!! They were destined to be together. I am incredibly proud of Rafe and Angel. They worked hard for this reconciliation. It took a lot of strength for Angel to admit to her trauma and how it was affecting her judgement and hindering her from seeing logic. She also was 100% honest with Rafe and Theo about her confusion and turmoil where they were concerned. And Rafe setting aside his own feelings just so Angel could have someone to vent to shows how much he cares for her and wants to be a better person for her. Even after their kiss he was still letting her know that everything was on her time, whether she wanted to be with him or Theo. It took a lot of self reflection and growth, and of course the video footage showing the full truth helped a ton 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾!!!!!!
The drama in this chapter was so delicious. And Movie Night was a beautifully written disaster. The title names of the clip montages were ICONIC 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾. And the way all the OGs were arguing with each other and then for each other was hilarious. They’re a family, your honor. My heart broke for Sarah and I need John B to pull a Houdini. Someone get his dad to ring the bell, he needs to go home now. I hope that Cleo and Rima can reconcile. CHICKS BEFORE DICKS!!!!! But seriously, Angel was right when she told Cleo that while Rima should’ve told her about kissing Justin, Cleo still lied to his face when he asked about her kissing Pope. And I hate that Justin kissed Rima out of spite while she realized she still has feelings for him. But Pope and Cleo recoupling when??? Pope is serious about her and he don’t give a fuck who doesn’t like it 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾. Like Rafe said, Miles is a bitch. He needs to go home and Haja can go with him. I know I said JJ deserves what they were doing to him but I take it back. I hate how he handled Kie but he didn’t have malicious intentions. Miles and Haja are just fucking snakes, and don’t ever tell Angel to shut up again. Kaitlyn is still a sweetheart, thank you for sticking up for our queen. Theo can kiss my ass. Yes he apologized and admitted he wasn’t being totally genuine but the way he talked about Angel behind her back was grimy as fuck. And that tantrum he threw because he foolishly believed the words of a girl that hates Angel was extremely unattractive. And Hoefia 😒🤬😡🖕🏾🖕🏾🖕🏾 you delusional, dusty, dingy, basic ass, trifling, bottom of the barrel, gold-digging bitch! GO THE FUCK HOME!!!!!! He doesn’t want you. Get over it. You weren’t in this relationship for the right reasons so I don’t feel bad that you caught Rafe enraptured by Angel at the club. Sucks to suck bitch!!!!!! I’m ready for her to go home.
summary: your roommate will has something incriminating on you and makes you a deal | Will x fem!reader
notes: I don't know what came over me when writing this, but... I kinda like it. this is for @lenneyswhore hope you enjoy ellie :) I borrowed perv roommate!will from her for this! it’s been a while since i’ve written some smut so enjoy!
Will had been your roommate for eight months now, and for seven of those months, things had been perfectly normal. Platonic. Easy. You’d split the chores, argue over whose turn it was to buy toilet paper, and occasionally shared takeout while watching terrible reality TV. He’d seen you in your ratty pyjamas; you’d seen him hungover and gross. It was comfortable.
Then something changed.
It happened three weeks ago.
You’d come home from the gym in those tight leggings and a sports bra, skin still flushed and glistening with sweat. You’d grabbed a water from the fridge, tipped your head back to drink, and when you’d lowered the bottle, you’d caught him staring. Not just looking – staring. At the curve of your throat, the rise and fall of your chest, the way a bead of sweat traced down between your tits.
He’d looked away quickly, muttered something about needing to finish his work, and disappeared into his room. But the image had burned itself into his brain.
After that, he couldn’t unsee it. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. How you’d pad around the flat in just an oversized t-shirt and your underwear on a lazy Sunday morning, your bare legs on full display. The little sounds you made when you stretched. Every innocent little thing you did suddenly felt charged with something he couldn’t ignore.
He’d tried to push it down, told himself he was being an idiot.
You were his roommate. His friend. This was a terrible idea. But the thoughts kept coming, especially late at night when he could hear you moving around in the room next to his, wondering what you wore to bed, what you looked like when you touched yourself, what sounds you’d make if-
God he needed to get a grip.
A shiver ran through you. “Will?” you called to your roommate in the kitchen.
A minute later, he poked his head into the living room. “Yeah?”
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, still feeling the chill seeping through. “Could you get me my jumper from my room? I’m cold.”
His eyebrows raised, and you could see the protest forming on his face before he even spoke. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t you get it yourself? I’m busy.”
You gave him your best pleading look, sinking deeper into the sofa cushions to emphasise just how comfortable you were.
“Pleaseeee you’re already up and closer, I’m comfy here.”
He stood there for a moment, jaw working like he was considering making you get up anyway. Then he sighed, that long-suffering sigh he always did when you won these little battles.
“Fine, whatever. Where is it?”
A small victorious smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you! It’s in my drawer in my room.”
You turned your attention back to your phone as his footsteps retreated down the hallway, already forgetting about the interaction as you scrolled through your feed.
Will muttered to himself as he entered your room, his voice barely audible but laced with annoyance, “too lazy to get it herself, fucks sake.”
Your room smelled like you – that mix of your shampoo and the vanilla candle you always had burning. He tried not to notice, tried not to let his eyes linger on your unmade bed, the indent still visible where you’d slept last night. Focus. Jumper. Get it and get out.
He spotted the dresser next to your bed and opened the first drawer he saw. His hand froze mid-reach.
There nestled among what looked like pyjama shorts and tank tops was a hot pink glittery dildo. His brain short-circuited for a second, just staring at it. The image of you using it flashed through his mind – your head thrown back, lips parted, the toy disappearing inside you while you moaned.
A slow smirk spread across his face. Oh, this was too good.
He picked it up, the silicone warm from being in the drawer, and turned it over in his hands. The glitter caught the light. Of course you’d have one that looked like this. He could feel his cock stirring in his jeans just from holding it, imagining it.
Forgetting the jumper entirely, he walked back to the living room, his footsteps deliberately quiet. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, just watching you for a moment. You were completely absorbed in your phone, oblivious, one leg tucked under you on the sofa. So innocent. If only you knew what he was holding.
He waited, letting the silence stretch, but you didn’t look up. Finally he broke it.
“What’s this?”
His voice made you jump slightly. You looked up at him, and he watched in real-time as your eyes focused on what he was holding. The colour drained from your face, then rushed back twice as red. Your mouth fell open in horror.
“Oh my god, what the hell. Where did you find that?” Your voice came out higher than normal, panicked.
He pushed off the doorframe and took a few steps into the room, tossing the toy casually from one hand to the other like it was a football. The movement made you flinch.
“In your drawer. Why do you have one?”
You sat up straighter, the blanket falling away, your whole body tense with embarrassment. “Oh my god, I told you to get my jumper, not to snoop through my stuff.”
“I wasn’t snooping. It was just there.” He moved closer, enjoying the way you were shrinking back into the couch even as your eyes flashed with indignation. “Now, why do you have one?”
“What do you want me to say?” You threw your hands up, your voice cracking slightly with mortification. “Sometimes my fingers aren’t enough to get me off, so I need it to cum? Now put it back!”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The image of you touching yourself, frustrated, reaching for this toy because you needed more- fuck. His cock was definitely interested now, pressing hard against his zipper. He could feel his smirk turning more predatory.
“Aw, honey, if you were so desperate for some dick, I was always right across the hall.” The condescension dripped from his voice as he looked down at you, watching you squirm.
Your face was burning now, and you pulled a pillow into your lap like a shield. “Oh my god, shut up. Now go put it back!”
He turned the dildo over in his hands again, deliberately slow, letting you watch him handle it. His mind was racing with possibilities, with images of you he’d been trying to suppress for weeks. This was finally his chance. His heart was pounding, but he kept his voice steady, casual.
“I wanna see you use it.”
The words hung in the air between you. You blinked at him, like you couldn’t have possibly heard him right.
“What?”
He met your eyes, his expression serious now despite the smirk still playing at his lips. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“What the fuck? No! Why would I do that?” You clutched the pillow tighter, your knuckles white, but he could see something else flickering in your eyes. Not just shock. Something darker.
He’d come this far. Might as well go all in. “Well, I have something that might convince you pet.”
The nickname rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, testing it out. He liked the way it sounded. Possessive.
Your brow furrowed, confusion mixing with your embarrassment.
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
Will pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb already knowing exactly where to go. He’d looked at this photo more times than he cared to admit over the past few days, always in private, always feeling guilty afterwards. But now? Now it was useful.
He scrolled to it and turned the screen toward you.
He watched your face as you registered what you were seeing.
The way your eyes went wide, your lips parting in a silent gasp.
It was from a few days ago – you in your room, completely naked, arched in front of your mirror, trying to get the perfect angle. The lighting had been dim, but he could still see everything. The curve of your breasts, your hand between your thighs, the concentration on your face. You’d been so focused on your phone, on getting the shot right, that you hadn’t noticed him passing by your half-open door.
He’d stopped, frozen, unable to look away. And he’d taken the picture before his brain could tell him what a terrible idea it was.
Your eyes went wide with horror, a deep red colour flooding in, spreading from your cheeks down to your neck. “Oh my god,” you breathed, the words barely audible. Your hand shot out instinctively, reaching for his phone. “Delete that right now!”
You lunged forward, trying to grab it from him, but he was faster. He pulled his arm back, holding the phone just out of your reach, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips as you scrambled off the sofa.
“Ah ah ah.” He held it higher, watching you with dark amusement. “I’ll delete it once you do what I want.”
You stopped, chest heaving, staring at him with a mixture of fury and mortification. Your mind was racing – how long had he had that photo? Had he shown anyone? The thought made your stomach drop. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re such a perv!”
He stepped closer, and you could see the hunger in his eyes now, no longer hidden behind casual roommate friendliness. The air between you felt charged, dangerous. “Come on, pet,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “I’ll delete it if you do it.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. You looked at the dildo still in his other hand, then back at his face, trying to find any sign that he was joking. But his expression was serious, expectant. Waiting.
You bit your lip, your mind spinning through your options. You could refuse, but then what? That photo could end up anywhere. Your family could see it. Your friends. The thought made you feel sick. But the alternative - letting him watch you, exposing yourself like this - the humiliation burned through you.
And yet, underneath the embarrassment, there was something else. A flutter of heat low in your belly that you didn’t want to acknowledge. The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you, made your thighs clench involuntarily.
“You swear you’ll delete it and won’t tell anyone?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended, almost pleading.
His smirk widened, victory already written across his face. “Pinky promise.” The words were mocking and condescending, and they made your face burn hotter.
You took a shaky breath, weighing your options one more time. Then, before you could change your mind:
“Fine, give it.”
You snatched the dildo from him, your fingers trembling slightly as they closed around the silicone. The weight of it felt different now, heavier with the knowledge of what you were about to do. You turned away from him, settling back onto the sofa, your whole body tense with nervous energy.
Your hands shook as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your lounge shorts. You couldn’t look at him. If you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to do this. You pulled them down along with your underwear in one quick motion, as if speed would somehow make this less mortifying.
The cool air hit your exposed skin, and you fought the urge to cover yourself. You were already embarrassingly wet- you could feel it, the slickness between your thighs, and you knew he could see it too. The thought made you want to die.
“Excited, aren’t we?”
His voice cut through your thoughts, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to disappear. Of course he’d noticed. Of course he’d comment on it.
“Shut up,” you grit through your teeth, trying to inject some venom into the words, but they came out weak, breathless.
You heard him move, the sound of him settling into the loveseat opposite you. When you finally dared to glance up, his eyes were already locked between your legs, his gaze so intense it felt physical. You could see the obvious bulge forming in his trousers, straining against the fabric, and something about seeing his arousal made your pussy clench around nothing.
“You’re such a perv for wanting this,” you muttered, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as your body betrayed you.
“Go on, pet, chop chop.” He leaned back, getting comfortable, like he was settling in to watch his favourite show. The casual dominance in his posture made your breath catch.
You rolled your eyes weakly, but your cheeks were still flaming. Your hand trembled as you brought the toy between your legs, the tip pressing against your entrance. You were so wet it slid in easily, but the stretch still made you gasp. Your eyes squeezed shut as you pushed it in slowly, inch by inch, feeling yourself open around it. The fullness was intense, almost too much, and you had to pause halfway, panting.
“That’s it,” he murmured, and you could hear the strain in his voice, the barely controlled desire. “Keep going.”
You pushed further, whimpering at the sensation, until it was buried to the hilt inside you. Your walls clenched around it, adjusting to the intrusion. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable, sitting there with your legs spread and this toy inside you while he watched.
“Happy?” you managed to gasp out, hoping that would be enough, that he’d be satisfied and you could pull it out and end this humiliation.
“Uh, uh, go on fuck yourself with it.” Will’s voice was rougher now, thick with arousal.
“You're such a creep.” You muttered, but your hand was already moving, pulling it out slowly before pushing it back in, the drag of it against your gummy walls made you bite back a moan. You tried to keep your movements slow and controlled, trying to maintain some dignity even in this degrading situation.
But your body had other ideas. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through you, and despite your best efforts, small whines started escaping your lips. Your free hand gripped the edge of the sofa cushion, knuckles white, as you tried to ground yourself against building sensation.
“Look at you,” he breathed, and you could hear him shifting, adjusting himself. “So fucking wet. Does it feel good, pet? Being watched like this?”
You couldn’t answer, couldn’t admit that yes, god yes, it did feel good. Better than it should. The humiliation was mixing with the pleasure in a way that made your head spin.
He sighed, a sound of frustration that made your eyes snap open. “You’re not doing it properly.”
Before you could register what was happening, he was up and moving toward you. Your heart jumped into your throat as he crossed the space between you in two strides. He dropped to his knees beside the couch, and suddenly his hand was there, wrapping around the base of the dildo, pushing your hand away.
“Wait-” you started, but then he pulled it out harshly and slammed it back in, and your head fell back with a cry.
“See, doesn’t it feel better this way?” His voice was right next to your ear now, hot breath against your neck as he started to brutally fuck you with the toy.
Your back arched off the couch, your tits bouncing with every harsh thrust. It was so much more intense than when you’d been doing it yourself – he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t being gentle. He was fucking you with it like he was trying to ruin you-
and god it was working.
Your hands scrambled for purchase on the sofa, fingers digging into the cushions as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming pleasure building in your core. You couldn’t control the sounds coming out of you anymore – high, desperate whines and moans that filled the room.
“That’s it,” he growled, his eyes fixed on where the toy was disappearing inside, watching your pussy stretch around it with each thrust. “Look how well you take it. Such a good girl”
The praise mixed with the degradation made your head spin. You could feel your orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. Your thighs were trembling, your whole body tensing as you approached the edge.
“Please, I- I’m gonna-” you whimpered, barely able to form words, your mind going hazy with need.
And then, suddenly, cruelly, he removed the dildo completely.
The emptiness was devastating. You whined at the loss, your poor hole clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again. Tears pricked at your eyes from the need for release, from being brought so close and then denied. “What- please I-”
He was looking at you with dark satisfaction, taking in your desperate state- your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the way your hips were still moving, seeking friction that wasn’t there.
“You’ve been such a good girl, you deserve to cum around a real cock, don’t you?”
Your brain short circuited. Before you could process his words, he was standing, his hands moving to his belt. The sound of the buckle, the zip, seemed impossibly loud in the room. He shoved his trousers and boxers down in one motion, and then his cock sprang free, thick and hard and so much bigger than your toy.
Your mouth went dry. You could see how hard he was, the tip already red and glistening with precum, and your pussy clenched in anticipation.
He positioned himself between your legs, one hand gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you both groaned at the contact.
Then he was pushing in, slowly letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open. He was thicker than the toy, and the warm, real sensation you always craved from a real cock made you feel a thousand times better. This was what you’d been missing, what your body had been crying out for.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping forward onto your shoulder as you clenched around him. “So fucking tight.”
You were reduced to a pile of moans and whimpers, only managing to muster little ‘uh uh uh’s’ as he bottomed out inside you. The fullness was almost too much, bordering on pain, but it felt so good you could cry.
He started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that had you seeing stars. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he fucked into you.
“You only had to ask, pet,” he panted above you, his voice strained with pleasure. “You could have felt this good all along instead of relying on that pathetic little toy. Don’t you feel silly now?
You couldn’t even answer him, couldn’t form coherent thoughts. You were only focused on chasing your orgasm, on the feeling of him inside you, hitting spots you never could by yourself. Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as pleasure overwhelmed you.
He chuckled at your dumbed-out state, delivering another harsh thrust that made you cry out again. “Your head is just so empty, isn’t it, baby? Only thoughts of my cock floating around, huh?”
It was true. Your mind was blank except for the sensation of him filling you, stretching you, claiming you. You were his in this moment, completely at his mercy, and some part of you loved it.
“Please, Will- I- I’m gonna cum please I need-” you begged, tears streaming down your face now, scared he was gonna rip away another orgasm from you. Your body was shaking, right on the edge, needing just a little more.
“Yeah baby, that’s right, go on cum. Cum on my dick.” His hand moved between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that made your vision go white.
You sobbed as your orgasm finally crashed over you, more intense than anything you’d ever felt. Your pussy clenched around him rhythmically, your back arching off the sofa as waves of pleasure rolled through you. The feeling fuzzed out your brain, leaving you floating, boneless.
“Good girl.” He grunted, his rhythm faltering as you squeezed him again. Will was close behind, giving another shallow roll of his hips into you, and he shuddered as he spilt into you, warmth flooding your insides. He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, sweaty and completely spent.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Will’s weight pressed you into the couch cushions, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. He could feel your chest heaving beneath him, could hear the little whimpers still escaping your lips as aftershocks rolled through you.
Perfect.
You were absolutely perfect like this – fucked out, pliant, completely his.
He lifted his head slightly to look at you. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused, staring at nothing as you floated somewhere far away. Your lips were parted, swollen from biting them, and tear tracks still glistened on your flushed cheeks.
He’d done this to you. Reduced you to this beautiful, mindless state. The power of it thrilled through him, already making him think about next time. Because there would definitely be a next time. Now that he knew how easily you bent for him, how desperately you responded to his touch, how that defiant attitude melted away the moment he took control – he wasn’t going to let this be a one-time thing.
His phone sat forgotten on the coffee table, screen dark. He glanced at it, then back at your blissed-out face, and smirked. You hadn’t even mentioned it.
The photo that started all this, the leverage he’d used to get you to submit – it had completely slipped from your mind. You were too fucked out to remember, too lost in the aftermath to care.
And that told him everything he needed to know.
You’d wanted this just as much as he had, maybe more. The blackmail had just given you permission to stop fighting it.
He pressed a kiss to your temple, deceptively gentle, before slowly pulling out of you. You whimpered at the loss, your body still sensitive, and he watched with dark satisfaction as his cum started to leak out of you.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, running a possessive hand down your side. “We should definitely do this again sometime, don’t you think?”
You could only manage a weak nod, still too far gone to form words, and his smirk widened. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
summary: you challenge chef will at every turn, what happens when the line between professionalism and want finally disappears? | Will x fem!reader
notes: HE'S HERE!!! finally posting the first part of after service, hope you enjoy the sneak peeks of the other guys :) who do you want next?
content: 4.2k wc, waitress!reader, some fluff, workplace tension, power imbalance, jealousy, swearing, sexual content, slight angst, unprotected sex (dont do this!!!), oral f!receiving, slight dom will
That was the rule he lived by. The one that kept Side Table running the way it did. Precision, discipline, control. The kitchen was his domain, and every service was a performance that demanded everything he had.
Which was why you were a problem.
He heard you before he saw you. Laughter drifted through the pass, light and deliberate, pitched just right for the table you were working. Will’s jaw tightened as he plated, fingers moving automatically as his attention flicked toward the dining room.
You were flirting again.
Not recklessly. Never sloppy. You knew exactly what you were doing - the easy smile, the lean-in, the laugh at something that wasn’t that funny.
You played the role beautifully, and guests loved you for it. Tips reflected that fact.
Will hated it.
“Will.”
He didn’t look up. “What?”
Chris leaned against the pass, arms crossed, watching the floor like it was live theatre, but still keeping an eye on the running of things. “Your waitress is at it again.”
“She’s not my waitress.” Will snapped, sharper than intended.
But Chris wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part.
You’d been here six months – long enough to become part of the rhythm of the place, long enough that Will could remember exactly when it started. The first time you’d argued over a table modification. The first time you’d rolled your eyes at him and still done it his way. The first time you’d smiled like you knew something and he didn’t.
The cat-and-mouse game had been an accident at first. A clash of personalities. Control versus confidence. You’d pushed back when he snapped. He doubled down when you didn’t fold. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the food and started being about you.
Will had noticed long before he’d admitted it to himself. The way you lingered at the pass. The way you always found a reason to be in the kitchen during the rush. The way you flirted just enough to make him think it was for him – and then made sure he saw you do it for everyone else, too.
You’d noticed even earlier.
He knew that now. Knew it in the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking. In the way you smiled when he lost his patience with you. In the way you never once stopped pushing, no matter how sharp his tone got, no matter how often he told himself you were just another waitress who liked pushing buttons.
This wasn’t new.
This was delayed.
Six months of glances held too long, of eyes catching at the pass and staying there half a second longer than they should. Of arguments that ended in silence, the kind that followed him for hours, replaying in his head while he chopped, stirred and plated. Of tension that lived in the space between your hands when plates were passed, close enough that he could feel your warmth, close enough that pulling away felt like losing.
Six months of him wanting you and refusing to say it.
Six months of you knowing and waiting.
So when Chris raised an eyebrow, smirked and said, “Could’ve fooled me,” Will had no defence.
Instead, he ignored him, focusing on the dish in front of him. The kitchen hummed around him - pans sizzling, orders being called, the constant motion that grounded him. It was easier when he kept his eyes down.
But then you laughed again.
Something in his chest twisted, hot and unpleasant. He told himself it was embarrassment. That was the word he used. Professional concern. Image. A high-end restaurant didn’t need theatrics.
You breezed through the swing doors, moments later, order pad in hand, still glowing from whatever charm you’d just deployed on an unsuspecting customer.
“Table twelve needs another round,” you said brightly. “But they wanted to say the food is incredible.”
Will didn’t look at you. “They would.”
You lingered anyway. You always did. Leaned against the counter like you belonged there.
“Everything alright, Chef?” you asked, voice innocent.
He glanced up then, meeting your eyes. There was a glint there - knowing, amused - like you could see straight through him.
“It’s embarrassing,” he said flatly.
Your smile didn’t falter. “What is?”
“The way you carry on out there,” he continued, plating with more force than necessary. “Practically whoring yourself out for a couple extra quid.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Even the pans seemed to stop sizzling. Someone dropped a spoon. Will became acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the kitchen, of the way his words hung in the air, ugly and impossible to take back – and still, embarrassingly, true.
Arthur Hill let out a low “Jesus” before Arthur Frederick elbowed him hard.
You didn’t react the way he expected. No anger. No defensiveness. No tears. Just a slow tilt of your head, eyes never leaving his.
“You don’t look very embarrassed.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” you replied. “And last time I checked, my job is to make customers happy.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear.
“And anyway, you watch every time.”
His hands stilled, fingers locking around the edge of the counter like if he let go, he’d reach for you instead.
For a moment, the kitchen faded away in his mind. All he could see was you - confident, infuriating, entirely too aware of the effect you had on him.
His hands were gripping the counter so hard that the edge was digging into his hands. “Get back on the floor,” he said tightly.
You straightened, unbothered and said sweetly, “Yes, chef.”
And just like that, you were gone.
Service dragged after that.
Will threw himself into the work, barking orders sharper than usual, correcting things that didn’t need correcting. He hated the way his focus fractured every time you passed the doors, the way his eyes followed you despite himself.
He hated that Chris noticed when he was in the kitchen.
“Mate,” Chris said later, quieter now. “You’re glaring holes through the pass.”
Will wiped his hands aggressively. “She’s unprofessional.”
“She’s good at her job,” Chris countered. “And you’re jealous.”
Will shot him a look. “I’m not jealous.”
Chris smirked. “Sure.”
By the time last orders were called, Will was wound tight. You hadn’t come back into the kitchen once since your argument, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.
When service finally slowed, he found you leaning against the bar, counting tips with a satisfied little smile.
George caught his eye and wisely disappeared.
Will approached, voice low. “We need to talk.”
You glanced up. “About what?”
“About earlier.”
You hummed. “Didn’t seem like you wanted a discussion.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I wanted you to stop.”
You stood, tucking your money away. “And I wanted you to be honest.”
He scoffed. “I was.”
“No,” you said calmly. “You were jealous.”
The words landed between you, heavy.
Will stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You like winding me up.”
“I like that you pretend you don’t like it,” you replied.
The bar was empty now. Chairs stacked. Lights dimmed. But he knew Chris and Harry were still hanging around somewhere before lock-up.
“Come with me,” Will said abruptly.
Your eyebrows lifted. “Where?”
“The walk-in,” he replied. “Now.”
You didn’t hesitate.
The door shut behind you with a solid, unmistakable click.
The sound was final. Private. The kind of noise that made Will’s spine straighten instinctively, every rule he lived by flaring like a warning in his head.
Cold rushed in immediately, sharp and clean, biting through his jacket. The walk-in hummed around them, shelves stacked high, metal and plastic and the faint scent of herbs and citrus. It should have grounded him.
It didn’t.
You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the low light, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to look. No pass to hide behind. No tickets to focus on. Just you, standing too close already, like you knew exactly how little space he had left.
“You think this is a game,” he said, and it came out rougher than he meant.
You tilted your head, studying him. “I think you don’t like sharing my attention.”
That hit somewhere low in his chest. Ugly. Honest.
He laughed once, breathless, the sound sharp in the cold air. “You flirt with half the restaurant.”
“And you hate it,” you said softly.
“Yes,” he snapped. Then quieter, “because I want it.”
The words hung between you, raw and undeniable.
You stepped closer.
Not touching. Not yet.
Close enough that he could feel your heat against the chill, close enough that every inch of restraint he had left went tight and screaming. He didn’t move. He couldn’t trust himself to.
“Then stop pretending you don’t.”
His hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers brushing your waist like it was instinct. His thumb flexed, barely, as if it was testing whether this was real.
“Say the word,” he murmured, voice low and uneven. “And I’ll walk away.”
You didn’t say it.
Instead, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against skin that was already on fire. “You’re not very good at letting go of control, are you, chef?”
His grip tightened, the shelves digging into his back behind him like he needed something solid to keep him upright.
“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no weight to it. No authority. Just want.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Or what?”
That was it.
Will kissed you like he’s been holding his breath for six months and finally let himself exhale.
Controlled at first, but it broke almost instantly, turning desperate and messy and full of everything he hadn’t let himself say. His hands found you like they had been waiting, sliding to your waist, your back, pulling you closer until the cold disappeared entirely.
You made a soft sound into his mouth, and he almost lost it right there.
When he pulled back, it was only because he had to breathe. Foreheads touching. Breath uneven. Hands still gripping you like letting go might undo everything.
“We shouldn’t,” he said, the lie weak even to his own ears.
You smiled. “You don’t sound convinced.”
The door rattled faintly as someone passed outside. Reality crept in, unwelcome and sharp.
Will closed his eyes for a second. Then he forced himself to step back.
“Go home,” he said hoarsely. “Before I do something I can’t undo.”
You nodded, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Tomorrow night?”
His smile was dangerous now. Unrestrained.
“Tomorrow night.”
He watched you leave, heart pounding, already knowing that next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
The next day is unbearable.
Will knows it the second you step onto the floor.
You’re already in character – smile bright, posture open, voice pitched just right as you greet your first table. You move like you’re performing, like you know you’re being watched. Like you want him to watch.
And he does.
Every time you lean closer to a guest.
Every time you laugh and touch someone’s arm.
Every time you tilt your head and play sweet and charming, entirely too aware of the effect you have.
It’s worse than before.
Because now he knows exactly how you taste. His hands have memorised the shape of your waist, and he knows what you feel like pressed against him.
“Will,” Arthur Frederick says, scrubbing furiously at a pot. “You good?”
“Yes,” Will snaps, sharper than intended.
Arthur Hill glances between Will and the pass, then toward the floor. “Really? Cause your eyes doing that twitchy thing again, and you look like you’re gonna crack your teeth with how hard you’re clenching your jaw.”
Arthur looks away from his pot and stares at him like he’s crazy. “Dude!?”
“What?” He says incredulously, like he genuinely thought he was helping.
Will exhales through his nose and focuses on the plates in front of him. He tells himself it’s fine. That this is exactly what he complained about before. That he practically asked for this.
Then you appear in the kitchen.
“You’re smashing it tonight, Chef,” you say brightly, eyes flicking over him in a way that is anything but innocent. “Table six wants to personally thank you.”
“They can thank the food,” he replies.
You lean closer, lowering your voice. “They want to thank you.”
His grip tightens on the tongs.
You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight back out, hips swaying just enough that it can’t be accidental.
Chris watches you go, then looks at Will.
“She’s doing that on purpose,” he says.
Will doesn’t deny it.
The rest of the shift becomes a test of endurance.
You flirt shamelessly. With regulars. With new guests. With people Will knows don’t stand a chance. You play it up, laugh louder, lean further, let your hand linger just a second longer than necessary when you take menus back.
Every time you pass the kitchen doors, you look at him.
Not too obviously. Just enough.
The looks say you see this?
They say you remember last night?
They say you’re going to pay for that comment.
By the time last orders are called, Will is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
You float into the kitchen at the end of your shift to drop off your apron, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Good service,” you say airily. “You seemed… distracted.”
He glares at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
You smile. Slow. Satisfied. “Maybe.”
“Get changed,” he says, voice low. “Go home.”
You step closer instead. “Last I checked, you’re not my boss. I report to Chris, not you.”
The kitchen and restaurant begin to empty. George heads out first. The Arthurs trail behind, arguing about something stupid and trivial as they go. Chris follows not long after, calling a casual goodnight.
Harry leaves the keys on his way out, trusting Will to finish closing.
The restaurant exhales.
The last of the noise drains away – the hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of glass – leaving behind a silence that feels heavy and charged. Will stands still, very aware of you in his space.
Just the two of you.
“You pushed all night,” he says quietly, finally turning to face you.
You untie your apron, unhurried, folding it with deliberate care. “You told me to stop before. You didn’t today.”
“That’s because”, he says, stepping closer, “I was trying not to drag you into the walk-in halfway through service.”
Your eyes darken. “Trying?”
The words feel like a challenge.
He’s right in front of you now – close enough to see the faint flush on your cheeks, close enough that your perfume cuts through the lingering smell of disinfectant and metal in the kitchen. There’s no one left to pretend for. No one left to stop him.
“You wanted to wind me up,” he says, voice low. “Congratulations. You did.”
“And now?” you ask, soft but steady.
He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist – not rough, but firm. Anchoring. Claiming. His thumb presses into your pulse, and he feels how fast it’s racing.
“Now,” he says, releasing you slowly. “Everyone’s gone.”
Your breath catches. Just once. That’s all he needs.
He steps back, forcing space between you like it’s the last good decision he’ll make tonight.
“This is your last chance,” he says. “If you walk out that door, we forget this ever happened.”
You look at him for a long moment.
Then you turn.
Not to leave – but to the door.
You reach up, fingers wrapping around the lock Harry left half-turned, and twist.
The click is loud in the empty restaurant. Final. A choice made out loud.
Will laughs under his breath, something dark and unrestrained finally snapping loose in his chest.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
You step back into his space, close enough that he can feel the heat of you again, voice low and sure.
“Neither do you.”
His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your lip, slow and deliberate now, like he’s taking his time on purpose.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been waiting all night.”
Will doesn’t kiss you this time – he claims you.
His mouth finds yours like it’s been denied too long, hands already moving, already sure, already done pretending this is anything other than inevitable. You barely have time to react before you’re pressed back against the counter, his body boxing you in, voice low and dangerous against your lips.
“Come on, be a good girl for me now?” he murmurs, like he knows you won’t listen – and like he’s counting on it.
You try to answer him, but when his fingers brush against your damp underwear under your skirt, it comes out in a broken noise, breath catching when his grip tightens on your arm just enough to remind you who’s in control.
“You’re soaking already, sweetheart.” He says teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this for you.”
He lifts you, so you’re sitting on the countertop, leaning back on your hands, and lowers himself so he’s level with your already aching core. You can feel his breath hot against you, making you squirm around and very close to begging for it.
Will drags your underwear down your legs torturously slow, then stuffs them in his back pocket, sending you a smirk.
Before you could respond to that, Will leaned in to lick your slit.
“Oh fuck,” you cried out, head thrown back, arms nearly giving out with the shock of pleasure.
He uses his long fingers to push through your folds and slips one into your embarrassingly wet hole, tongue attached to your clit. He takes his time in a way that almost feels cruel, making you feel every second of it, every inch of anticipation, making that string inside you stretch thin.
His hands hold your thighs in place around his head, steady and unyielding, while his mouth memorises the taste of you, nose nudging your sensitive clit as his tongue dips into you.
Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter without thinking, knuckles whitening. Whines and broken noises escape your lips. The faintest hint of satisfaction shows in the way his grip tightens, but his pace never changes.
“Look at you all, desperate.” He says, pulling his mouth away, but still pumping his fingers in and out. “If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done this ages ago.”
“Sh- shut up,” you say weakly. Gasping as he hit that spot deep inside you.
“That’s not very nice, honey is it?”
He returns his lips to your drooling pussy, and you let out a whine. You were practically humping his face, and when Will’s tongue moved even faster, you moved your hands to grip his hair and began to press his face deeper into your folds.
“Fuck, Will, yes, so close,” you groaned out, legs shaking as he moved his mouth to suck hard on your clit. After only a few more swipes and licks of his tongue, you could feel yourself on the edge.
When you try to speak, to warn him, to say his name, he hums softly instead, a quiet, controlled sound that tells you he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Go on, sweetheart, cum for me.” You finally let go, shaking as you do, and Will holds you as you fall apart.
When you finally stop shaking, Will stands from his place on the floor slowly, giving you a second to catch your breath.
But his hands don’t leave you. They slide up, steady and smooth, thumbs brushing reassurance into your skin even as his eyes stay dark and focused, watching you like he’s checking for something only he can see. For a moment, he just holds you there, breathing heavy, forehead resting briefly against yours like he needs the contact to steady himself too.
“Look at me,” he says quietly.
You do, and his grip tightens just a fraction, approval flickering across his face like he’s pleased with what he sees.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and certain.
Then his hands move again, guiding you to lean back on the counter.
He leans in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and rough with restraint. “Not done with you yet,” he says softly, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down.
You reach towards him, freeing his cock from his underwear.
“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss where you can taste yourself on his tongue, while he lines himself up at your entrance.
“Please, Will.” You finally beg, and he pushes into you, stealing your breath away.
“There you go, pretty girl.”
He starts slow at first. Deliberate. Dragging his cock in and out of your walls like a punishment for every time you teased him, every time you smiled at someone else just to make him lose his mind. His voice drops again, closer now, and when he says your name, it sounds like it’s been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting.
“Still want to play?” He asks teasingly, breath warm against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck.
Your breath stutters, and he notices, smiling like he’s been waiting for that reaction. He reaches up to fondle your tits, making more pathetic noises fall from your lips and echo in the empty kitchen.
The steel counter is cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat building everywhere else, and you squeeze around his cock hard.
The control he’s been holding onto slips, not completely but enough that his breath stutters, enough that the brutal rhythm changes. The sound you make pulls a groan out of him, low and rough, and he presses closer instinctively, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck”, he breathes out.
You feel him lose the careful pacing, the way he finally stops dragging it out, thrusts turning needier, and everything narrows down to sensation, pressure, and the way he keeps you close. His hands slide to your back, holding you through it.
You moan out again. “Will– fuck- I’m gonna-”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”
You finally cum for the second time that night, and Will follows soon after, hips stuttering as he releases into you.
Will rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed, your breath mingling, like he’s grounding himself before he moves at all.
When he does it’s careful. Unhurried. He guides you off the counter and down with him, hands warm and steady, until you’re both sitting on the floor.
The kitchen floor is cold.
Or it should be – but you barely notice, curled into Will’s side with his jacket half-draped over you both, the faint hum of the fridges filling the quiet. The lights are dimmed, the world reduced to his breathing and warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
One arm is wrapped around you, firm but easy now, thumb tracing absent-minded lines along your arm, the other hand is tangled in your hair, gentle in a way that feels new – careful, almost reverent.
You feel safe.
Not in a this changes everything way.
Just… steady. Warm.
It’s nice you think – the quiet after the storm. The way the tension has finally burned itself out into something softer, something easier to breathe in,
Will presses his lips to the top of your head without thinking about it.
You smile and let yourself melt a little more into his side.
For once, there’s nothing to prove.
The next few days at work feel… different.
Not dramatic. Just shifted. Like the air has settled into a new shape around the two of you.
Will’s calmer.
Not soft but less sharp around the edges, less quick to snap when things go slightly wrong. He still runs the kitchen like a drill sergeant, but there’s a looseness to him now, like he’s not carrying quite so much tension in his shoulders anymore.
And everyone notices.
You catch him looking for you without realising he’s doing it – eyes flicking to the floor when he thinks no one’s watching, hands stilling for half a second when you pass the doors. He doesn’t shout at you anymore, not once. Just meets your eyes, smiles slightly, lets you get on with work.
It’s almost worse than the arguing was.
Arthur Frederick is the first to say something.
“So,” he says one afternoon, scrubbing a pan that’s already clean, while you linger in the kitchen on your break, his eyes darting between the two of you. “You and Chef got, like… a truce or something? Because he smiled earlier, and it was terrifying.”
Will doesn’t even look up.
“Arthur.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and do your job.”
Arthur Hill snorts from the other side of the sink. “There he is.”
Will finally looks up, glare sharp and familiar. “Would you like to join him?”
Both Arthurs immediately shut up, returning to their work with exaggerated focus.
You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.
Later, when you pass the kitchen, Will catches your wrist briefly – quick enough that no one sees – just long enough to brush his thumb against your skin.
“Dinner tonight?” he murmurs.
You nod, and he smiles.
The cat-and-mouse game is over, and somewhere between service and silence, you found something worth keeping.
i was hoping to see if i could request one with Baku? (She fell first and he fell harder??)
In which case he overhears the reader about how she haves this huge crush on him but wouldn’t actually ask him out bc she’s like somewhat nervous around him but like goes back to being loud and confident when he’s not around. and then one day he bumps into her somewhere in public and then he remembers and then asks her if she would want to be friends, and then over time he slowly falls in love with her and then one day at school he just suddenly treats her like as if they were dating and so she just plays along bc she’s thinks it’s a joke but he actually confesses and right after they date😜
So sorry for this being long…
Crushing Loudly, Loving Quietly – Humin x Reader
this was made in third person btw so like dont be suprised
It wasn’t like Y/N wasn’t confident. She was loud, sharp, and could take on a group of idiots twice her size if she felt like it. But there was one boy who managed to make her feel like a deer caught in headlights every single time. One boy who could make her words stumble, her usual bravado disappear, and her stomach tie itself in knots without her realizing why.
That boy was Humin.
Y/N had been hopelessly aware of him for months, a fact she never dared to speak aloud. Her friends joked about it, teasing her whenever she got a little too distracted in class or had a ridiculous grin on her face for no reason. But Y/N, in her own way, carried it like a secret badge—loud and confident on the outside, internally screaming whenever Humin was near.
Except… one day, she didn’t realize someone was listening.
It was the day she had been venting to her best friend in the empty gym about crushes—stupid, ridiculous, heart-fluttering crushes.
“I swear, Humin’s… ugh, he’s… he’s impossible!” Y/N groaned, slumping against the wall. “I mean, he’s so annoying and loud sometimes, but, I actually like him! And I’d never—NEVER—ask him out because I’d probably die on the spot if he even looked at me funny. But seriously… he’s so hot and... Ugh!”
Her voice got louder as her feelings spilled, but the moment she turned, there he was. Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Y/N froze. Her mouth opened, then shut. Her usual confidence evaporated like mist. Humin’s gaze softened—not mocking, not judgmental, but… curious.
“You… like me?” he asked simply.
Y/N’s brain short-circuited. “I… uh… I—”
He chuckled, shaking his head, and disappeared before she could even try to explain herself.
And that was the moment Humin fell. Hard.
Weeks passed. Y/N returned to her loud, bold persona whenever he wasn’t around. Humin, on the other hand, quietly obsessed over the memory of that confession. He didn’t confront her immediately. He was patient. Careful. Curious.
Then one afternoon, they bumped into each other outside of school, at a small convenience store. Y/N nearly dropped her bag in surprise.
“Humin!” she exclaimed, putting on her usual swagger.
“Hey,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. His eyes lingered on her longer than necessary. “I was wondering… would you want to be friends?”
Y/N blinked. “Friends?”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Start… small. You know, hang out, talk.”
And just like that, a slow, careful friendship began. They texted, occasionally met up for coffee or snacks, laughed at dumb things, argued about the weirdest topics, like who would survive a zombie apocalypse faster. Y/N started to realize that Humin wasn’t just the guy she’d been crushing on. He was… soft. Protective in ways he didn’t announce. Funny when he wasn’t trying. And entirely captivating.
Humin? He was falling faster than she could even think. Every laugh, every subtle glance, every time she rolled her eyes at him—it all tightened the grip on his heart.
It happened one Monday at school.
Y/N was rushing to class, backpack slipping, hair everywhere, yelling at some junior for bumping into her. And then—he was there, leaning against the lockers, casually putting an arm around her shoulder like they’d been dating for years.
“Uh… what are you doing?” Y/N asked, blushing, unsure if this was some prank.
“You’re late,” he said simply, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “C’mon, girlfriend, let’s go.”
Y/N froze, staring. “Wait… WHAT?!”
Humin just shrugged, utterly calm. “You don’t mind, right? I mean, you do like me.”
Her brain short-circuited. Her voice cracked. “I—I thought this was a joke!”
“Not a joke,” he said, still smiling. His hand slid down to lightly hold hers as they walked. “You’ve been loud about liking me… I guess it’s my turn to be obvious. So… date me?”
Y/N’s knees nearly gave out. “Are… you serious?”
Humin’s smirk softened into something warm. “Dead serious.”
And that was it. The first day of the rest of them.
They laughed, they argued, they teased each other endlessly, because that was them. Loud, chaotic, and completely in love. Y/N finally realized she hadn’t been the only one falling. Humin had been falling harder, quietly, until he decided he wasn’t going to hide it anymore.
And honestly? Y/N couldn’t stop grinning.
Because sometimes, the loudest crushes were the ones worth hearing and the boy who fell the hardest was the one worth keeping.
Summary: Tucker doesn’t think he’s the kind of guy girls pick first. after closing at malone’s, you decide to prove him wrong.
--
John, Actually - John Tucker by @daydreamfiles
Summary: after a drunken confession gets misunderstood, tucker spends the next morning thinking he lost his chance before realizing you meant him all along.
--
The Sunrise by @andy-15-07
Summary: Tucker wants you both to watch the sunrise. (summary created by me).
--
Mama y Papa by @ahnaiee
Summary: Nicknames catch on really quick in your group of friends. And for you, you have been dubbed the Mama to Tucker’s Papa.
--
don’t cry over burnt turkey (but maybe over this) by @ahnaiee
Summary: You wanted to help Tucker. Instead, you ended up in the hospital.
--
Slippery Slope by @newobsessionweekly
Summary: You survived the chaotic Briar hockey house by keeping your massive, inconvenient crush on Tucker a total secret. But when Dean orchestrates a disastrous one-on-one skating session, Tucker takes the opportunity to prove the feeling is entirely mutual.
--
Mom And Dad Are Fighting by @newobsessionweekly
Summary: You and Tucker break up when the burnout of senior year leaves you both running on empty. But a coordinated trap set by his starving roommates forces you two to finally admit how much you need each other.
--
Steal my girl by @newobsessionweekly
Summary: You break up with Tucker because you are tired of being a secret, but when another guy hits on you at Malone's, he snaps and publicly claims you in front of his entire team.
SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.
NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo
DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE
mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.
The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.
“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”
Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”
“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”
He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”
“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”
“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.
Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”
“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.
Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”
“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.
The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.
When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.
“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.
“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.
“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.
The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.
You noticed his shoulders tense.
“What?” you asked.
He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”
“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”
“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”
You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”
Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”
You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”
He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.
And then you saw them.
Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.
“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”
Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.
-
By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.
“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”
“Clones?” you laughed.
“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”
Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”
Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”
The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.
-
You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.
Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.
You turned slowly.
“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”
He smiled.
It was one of the twins.
“I’m Aiden.”
You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”
He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.
You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.
“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”
Okay. Blush.
“Are you from here?”
“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”
“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.
He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”
You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.
“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”
You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.
-
The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.
Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.
You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”
You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”
He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.
You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.
“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.
You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”
Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”
“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.
Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.
Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”
He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”
NOSY
The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.
Training. Again.
You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.
Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”
“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.
“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.
You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?
“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.
“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”
“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.
The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”
Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.”
You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”
“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.
Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”
You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”
He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”
You opened your mouth to fire back, but—
Bzzz bzzz.
Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.
“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.
You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sage?”
Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”
“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”
Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.
“If that’s okay.”
You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.
“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”
“Yeah. Ten minutes?”
“Perfect. See you there.”
You hung up slowly, face warming.
Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.
“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”
“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”
You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”
Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.
“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.
“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”
His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.
And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.
Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.
“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.
YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!
The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.
You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”
You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”
“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”
You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”
He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"
You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”
He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”
Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.
Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—
The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Really?” came a sharp voice.
Your head snapped up.
Derek.
In full storm mode.
He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.
You gasped. “Derek?!”
Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”
“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—
His eyes flashed red.
Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”
You blinked. “Oh my god.”
Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.
“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.
Derek lunged.
But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.
“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”
He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.
Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.
You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”
His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”
You froze. “What?”
“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”
The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.
“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”
Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
“You lied to me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You told me it was a girl emergency.”
Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”
“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”
“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”
You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”
He didn’t answer, not right away.
So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”
He stiffened.
“Derek.”
Still nothing.
Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”
He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.
“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, it is the point!”
“You lied to me.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”
Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.
You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.
But he wasn’t following.
You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”
“We are.”
“…To Scott’s?”
“No.”
You frowned. “Then where?”
He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”
You blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”
You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.
You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.
And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.
And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.
PLAY PRETEND
You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.
That sensation along the back of your neck.
You glanced over your shoulder.
The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.
Still, you felt it.
Then the bell rang.
The crowd thinned.
And before you could even close your locker—
“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.
Aiden.
You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.
“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”
He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”
Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.
“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.
But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”
You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”
He smiled. “So you know now.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?
You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.
Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.
“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”
His smirk faltered for just a second.
“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”
You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.
Not even when you felt him still watching.
Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.
BANG.
Every head turned.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Derek.
Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.
His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.
“Is that Derek Hale?”
“Oh my god, why is he here?”
“Are they dating?”
“Holy shit, he’s hot.”
You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.
“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”
Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.
“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.
The entire class fell silent.
He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.
“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”
“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”
“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”
You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”
“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”
You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”
He cut you off with a kiss.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just fire.
His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.
The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.
“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.
Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”
You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”
“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”
“Definitely not.”
You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.
Your face flushed a deep red.
You didn’t argue.
The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.
Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”
He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”
Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.
And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—
“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.
You froze.
Derek didn’t.
“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.
Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”
“I was here first.”
“Peter.”
You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.
“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”
He vanished out the door.
Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
During a relaxed interview, a young journalism intern surprises Zlatan Ibrahimović with sincere questions and a gaze that sees beyond the fame. Between playful provocations, subtle flirting, and charged silences, they discover more than expected — perhaps the beginning of something far from the spotlight.
Words: Approximately 1,294 words
Warnings: No sensitive content. Subtle flirting, light emotional tension, and the early spark of a possible romance.
Author's Note: A light, engaging oneshot full of nuance, where Zlatan's charisma meets the quiet strength of a young reporter at the start of her career. Perfect for those who enjoy stories filled with chemistry, lingering glances, and unspoken emotion.
He hadn’t expected it to be her.
Not that he knew the name — SN, an intern from a media outlet he barely remembered ever giving an interview to. But that wasn’t it. It was the way she looked at him.
Like he wasn’t Zlatan Ibrahimović.
Like he was just a man… waiting to be understood.
“Shall we begin?” she asked, adjusting the recorder and notepad on her lap. Her hands were steady, but her eyes… oh, her eyes studied him with a quiet, almost anxious curiosity.
“I prefer writing things down. Helps me pay more attention,” she added with a small smile, trying to sound professional, even though her heart was racing.
He leaned forward in his chair, intrigued.
“That’s old school. Or is it charm?”
The tease came out lighter than usual, almost playful.
She looked away for a second, surprised, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. A brief smile slipped.
“Maybe both,” she replied, trying to sound casual, though the way she gripped the pen a bit tighter gave her away.
That made him smile.
She didn’t speak loudly. Didn’t gesture much. She was quiet — but not invisible. There was presence in her. The kind that didn’t ask for space but somehow filled it.
And that… intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
“So, SN… what do you want to know?” he asked, his voice lower, more intimate than he intended.
She hesitated for a moment, then looked up, determined.
“Who are you… when no one’s watching?”
That landed. He blinked, caught off guard, then let out a soft, almost proud laugh.
“You go in strong.”
“I like getting to the point,” she said with a small, sincere smile. “Promise I won’t ask how many goals you’ve scored.”
She chuckled nervously.
“What a relief. I’ve lost count.”
He laughed with her, more relaxed now than in any recent interview.
“But you… you’ve got guts? Asking what no one else dares?”
She bit her lip gently, almost unaware.
“I’m trying to seem braver than I feel. Is it working?” she asked, half-laughing, half-nervous.
He looked at her a second too long.
“It is,” he said with a slow smile, like he’d just found something rare.
He wasn’t sure if he was admiring her beauty, or the spark in her eyes — the way she seemed to see past the public image.
The conversation flowed. Natural, intense.
She asked about fear, solitude, legacy.
And he answered. No filters. No masks.
As if she’d created a safe space — even if her heart was racing.
With every honest answer from him, SN felt more exposed too.
As if they weren’t just exchanging questions, but revealing themselves, little by little.
He was showing a side of himself the media never touched.
And she… was seeing more than she probably should.
In a brief pause, she flipped through her notebook, avoiding his gaze.
Zlatan watched in silence, noticing how carefully she tried to stay in control — even though her cheeks were still tinged with pink.
“How old are you?” he asked suddenly.
He didn’t even know why.
He knew you weren’t supposed to ask that.
But the curiosity slipped through.
She looked up, surprised.
“Twenty-four,” she replied cautiously. “Why?”
He nodded, thoughtful.
“That… explains a lot.”
He smiled, enigmatic, like something had just clicked into place.
“You have the eyes of someone who’s seen the world differently.”
She raised an eyebrow, suspicious.
“Was that… a pickup line?”
There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Only if you want it to be,” he replied, winking.
She laughed softly, lowering her gaze, just a little shy.
“Do you always flirt during interviews?”
“I only show who I am to those who deserve it. And you…”
He paused, holding her gaze.
“You’ve already seen more of me than most people have in years.”
“And do I deserve it?” she dared to ask, her voice lower now, heavy with tension.
He leaned in slightly, like he was accepting a challenge.
“You don’t owe me anything. And that… that’s what I like most about you.”
She stayed quiet for a few seconds, trying to control her breathing, then closed the notebook gently.
“Thank you for letting me see that side of you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“You didn’t even have to force it. It just came out.”
His voice was lower now, almost hoarse, filled with something unspoken.
She felt a lump form in her throat but held her composure.
She smiled — composed on the outside, but inside, something was stirring hard.
She stood. So did he.
They didn’t shake hands.
Just exchanged a look.
One of those looks that say everything words cannot.
“SN…” he called, just as she was about to leave. She stopped at the door.
“If you ever want to continue this conversation… outside the interview…”
His voice was soft. Too intimate for a headline.
She hesitated. Smiled, a bit unsure.
“I’ll… think about it.”
“Think carefully. But not for too long. Retirement comes fast.”
And she walked away.
With her heart pounding.
With a notebook full of answers.
And with the strange feeling that this story… wasn’t over yet.
Note: I apologize for any mistakes in Portuguese or English. English is not my first language, but I’m doing my best to improve. Thank you for your understanding!
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