#though both sides have these kinds of people

[stormgardenscurse]

pillow stacks

Summary: Sleeping over with them! Ace’s is longer in honour of his birthday!

Characters: Ace, Vil, Azul, Charming Stranger (that new Gojo-guy in the next halloween event)

Ace

The idea begins when Ace realises how quiet Ramshackle Dorm is at night. Sure, you say that you’re used to it and it’s not a big deal, but a part of Ace feels bad for not realising that no matter how he and Deuce may try to liven up your daily life, you still are, first and foremost, a student displaced in another world.

And with that comes a certain sense of loneliness that Ace can’t stop thinking about. At this point, it’s less pity that he feels for you and more of a desire to hang out with you after your usual hours. He wants you to feel like you have a home in Twisted Wonderland, too. And, well… He’d like to include you in his, by letting you into his personal world, if he has the chance.

…Which is why you’re here now! Doing typical things like a movie marathon, nail painting, and snacking on cup noodles. Ace claims that everyone just needs some TLC once in a while (including him, though you can’t imagine what’s stressing him out), so he’ll even let you do his nails (if you do a bad job Ace will have his revenge by doing your makeup after).

But Ace has always been a best friend who involves you in everything, so the activities up until now haven’t really struck either of you with a sense of ‘something more’ yet. That is, until you guys were fighting over the makeup palette and it stains your shirt - you didn’t bring a spare, so it was left to Ace to give you one of his instead.

That was the moment Ace realised that not only was he dressing you up, but he was doing so in his clothes; just what kind of crazy scenario is that?!

Suffice to say, he couldn’t help but stare as he saw the way one of his baggier shirts looked on your frame. It had to be one of his sleepwears too, which most people wouldn’t see him in - which only makes his thoughts race even further, knowing that this was a side of you that only he would be privy to. And he’d very much keep it like that. 

(The next day, Ace just borrows you one of his uniform’s dress-shirts so that you can escape the dorm without looking too suspicious. You get caught regardless because he’d forgotten to retrieve one of his hair pins from you, in the design of a bright red cherry.)

Vil

It’s not often that you get to spend a quiet evening with Vil (or simply a quiet, extended amount of time at all, considering how busy the both of you are). So to summarise the sleepover as therapeutic wouldn’t be too far off.

Vil wastes no time in beginning an elaborate skincare routine, and the two of you watch movies while waiting for your face masks to dry. 

You even manage to convince Vil to try one of your favourite games. If it’s for two-players, you’ll quickly get engrossed and experience a bit of drama (just typical, childish arguments about how one of you keep falling off the platforms). If it’s a visual novel or otome type of thing, you finally have the chance to witness what Vil Schoenheit, real-life celebrity and crush of thousands, has to say about romancing a 2D fictional man who is pretty, by the game’s standards, and critique how the storyline goes. 

Spoiler: he thinks you just decided to torture him for your entertainment, specifically because you chose an otome where the male leads were all pigeons. 

In the case where you played a normal two-player game, Vil will ultimately try and fail to forget about it so that he doesn’t get addicted/distracted by the game in the next few days, but of course, you soon get asked when you’ll next be free to play. He needs to get the ending over with so that he can move on with his life.

Your main souvenir from the sleepover is a new phone wallpaper — which Vil swapped for you when you were still setting up the game on your laptop. It’s a selfie with the two of you together, a far-cry from the usual celebrity and prefect personas you wear in everyday life.

Azul

No one can fathom how you managed to convince Azul to do this. Even with the pretence of this being a study-sleepover, he was generally much too self conscious about how he’s presented to let people witness him unguarded — let alone sleepwear.

Azul’s stuck; he can’t wear anything too tight fitting or hugging his silhouette because he knows he’ll just be too busy stealing glances, checking to see your reaction and overthinking about whether it’s a good one or not. So, instead, Azul wears something baggier (very unlike him), which also covers all his skin.

His plan works pretty well, up until the point where you almost roll off the bed by accident, and while catching you, Azul realises - ears red and face following - that you were leaning your entire weight on him. And your hands are right on his abs.

It’s almost phantom-like how fast the two of you dart away, trying to salvage your dignities. You’re left flustered because his muscles felt unexpectedly defined, while Azul is considering if he should make a contract with you and try to confiscate your memories of the past minute.

The paper that you both were working on is submitted successfully the next day, but Professor Trein notices an embarrassing spelling error on your names.

Just what could’ve caused this kind of mistake anyways? Well… it may have to do with your innocent question of how your names would be written together if you had the same surname instead. 

Just yours ‘and Azul Ashengrotto’ together in one line, or separately as you ‘Ashengrotto and Azul Ashengrotto’? Wouldn’t that sound redundant?

Azul had quite enough of your questions after that, scribbling your names and shutting the folder like his life depended on it. He’d forgotten to include your surname, making it look like the former hypothetical above.

Charming Stranger (Pumpkin King, Gojo twst, etc)

For a second, you thought you’d woken up in yet another coffin like the one that brought you to Twisted Wonderland. But you were soon proven wrong as someone cleared their throat next to you, causing you to jump and hit your head against the coffin door in your alarm.

It’s more spacious than you realise, accommodating a man beside you without it feeling too crushed. But judging by the lack of panic on your part about how claustrophobic it is, you assume that this was some sort of odd dream.

An odd dream with a charming-looking stranger. Perhaps you wouldn’t want to wake up just yet.

The stranger welcomes you to his humble abode, mentioning that it’s the first time that anyone has entered here other than himself. That ought to make you quite special, seeing as he doesn’t even feel irritated by the lack of space. Are you perhaps a ghost seeking some warmth? He regrets to inform you that his vessel is equally as cold as the ‘bed’ around you.

He’s also quite enamoured by your nickname for him. ‘It makes it sound like we’re in a romantic tale~ If you do not mind dancing in a graveyard of wilted flowers, then I would be more than happy to share a never-ending waltz with you.’

You bat off his comments, saying you probably won’t meet again after this - only to be taken aback by his smile.

Confident, knowing, and stretched as wide as a jack-o-lantern’s mouth. For a second it finally hits you that he is a type of powerful being, and that if he wanted to, may gain a permanent hold on your soul.

Then, the alarm flees your veins as his expression relaxes, taking your hand to place a parting kiss on your knuckles. Until you meet again…

Like how most dreams evade memory, you’ve already forgotten about this encounter the next time you see this man. His eyes land on you within he crowd of students at the college, and seems delighted that you’re there.

A wink, a finger to his lips. Just wait a little longer, and you can share that waltz he promised you atop his bed.

[blimpintime]

cursed : azriel x reader

in which azriel has a crush on a witch, and thinks she cursed him.

warnings: none (unedited)

word count: 1.4k

“She’s quite the character huh?” Cassian says to Azriel, staring at you. He grunts in response wondering why you are currently in a handstand competition with a couple of kids in the middle of town. Kind of in awe how your little black dress didn't fall down to your face with you being upside down, but that's a perk of being a witch, he thinks. 

As if you heard them talking about you, your gaze finds theirs. You grin and then lose balance and gracefully fall out of the handstand. It being the last day of summer did make it a cool one but still having been outside with a summer camp of kids you were quite dewy with sweat. Your face was flushed and damp as you made your way towards the two men. 

“Hi Cassian!” You say with a grin, you turn and look at Azriel, your smile falling into a smaller one. “Spymaster.” You nod. Cassian lets a chuckle slip through at Az’s blank face. You were always like this with him. He never fully understood why. You kept him at a distance always but managed to be involved in every one else’s business. He often thought it was because you could not stand him. And then he thought you were terrified of him, because let’s face it, that was more believable.

You were making small talk with Cassian when Azriel started to get lost in his mind thinking of you and how it seemed you teased him on occasion. With your little quips here and there. Constantly smelling like those fresh baked chocolate-chip muffins that were his guilty pleasure to eat when he got back from long missions

He noticed eventually that Cassian had walked away from you two when a group of kids started playing tag with him. He turned to look at you where you decided to sit on the grass, he made a quick decision to sit next to you. Both of you were silent, but for once it was comfortable.

The path leading up to your small little house on the bank of the Sidra was always well lit at night. Glowing with purple and orange lanterns their reflection makes it seem brighter than it was that night. Your house was on the smaller side (still fairly large all considering.) But you loved to host seasonal parties due to them being in connection with your magic and since summer was ending and fall was starting, it was the perfect time to throw one of your celebrations. 

Currently the Inner Circle is in your living room drinking and eating food you have made for them. Your familiar, Silly the tabby cat, has made their home on Azriel’s lap. He doesn’t seem to mind though. Gently petting the cat's soft fur. You stare at them from the kitchen with a soft smile on your face. 

“You could just tell him you know.” Nesta says from behind you, scaring the absolute shit out of you. You place a hand over your chest and let out a deep breath. “Nesta, I’m going to put a bell on you.” She laughs lightly as you scrunch up your nose. 

“I am not joking though.” She says softly, and you look back at him now playing with Silly on the couch. “He can’t even stand to be in the same room as me for more than ten minutes. There is no way I could tell him how I feel.” She hums in response. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” And then she walks back out to sit with Cassian. You did deeply care about Azriel, borderline loved him. You felt connected to him in a way you couldn’t describe, just that your soul was at peace with him. Your magic proved that theory too. It sometimes appears to you in colorful hazes around people. 

Every color had a different meaning, the majority of the Inner Circle had a warm orange around them. Your magic had to be newer or just not have a written history because there is barely any research on what these colors mean.  However, you chalked it up to orange meaning some of the most important people in your life. Azriel though, he had a beautiful blue humming around him almost constantly for you, and you had no idea what that meant.

You must have been lost in thought for a while because the next person to scare you was Rhys with Nyx on his hip. He was building another plate for Feyre and Nyx to pick off of. 

“You okay?” He asked you softly. Nyx’s grubby hands reaching for the fresh food on the plate, you and Rhys both grin at that. You nod your head in response to his earlier question. 

“Maybe ask him to hang out with you?” He says, like it's that easy. You shake your head, “I don’t know about that.” 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to try.” You watch him leave the kitchen and decide it's time to do the same. 

You follow Rhys back into your living space, where it's warm of laughter and love. You sit down on the only open seat, which happens to be on the couch next to Azriel. Silly runs over to your lap and demands petting. You look down at the orange cat with love and when you look back up you meet Azriel’s puzzled stare.

“What?” You ask him softly, nudging the cat off your lap gently. You turn to fully face him when he abruptly stands up. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards the outside. 

“We will be back.” He says gruffly towards everybody, dragging you along.

“Please for the love of Mother, take your time.” Cassian says with a cheeky grin, “We have bets placed.” to which earns him a vulgar gesture from both you and Azriel.

When you go outside he drags you closer to the river and further from the house. Probably to avoid prying ears and eyes, but with everyone’s magic you go ahead and place a sound proofing spell over the two of you.

“Is everything alright Azriel?” You ask him after a moment of silence. He turns back around to look at you with something close to… fear?  

“So, what is it?” You look at him deadpanned and tilt your head in confusion.

“What spell did you place on me? Why, when I go to sleep I think about how I hope you had a good day. When I wake up I wonder if you actually ate breakfast and not forgetting after you have your morning coffee. And tonight, I wonder where you go when this party is mainly in celebration for you and I am busy playing with your cat and not with you.” He gets out in one breath. I stare at him for a moment and when I open my mouth he interrupts me again,

“Why is it when you are near my hands shake less and my worries ease but when you are gone I crave your scent. What curse? What spell?” Azriel genuinely looks shaken for a moment, and for a second so do you. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way too, Azriel.” You say and approach him with a soft smile. When you guys finally make eye contact though something inside you both, snaps. Your eyes widen and so do his. Mate.

You let out a little giggle that eventually turns into a full laugh. “You thought I cursed you?” You say through giggles, “I thought you hated me Az.” 

“Ah, well that goes both ways.” He responded with a smile. You look at him in confusion. “I could never hate you.”

“You couldn’t stand to be near me.” He quips back.

“No. You couldn’t stand to be near me.” You say and jokingly sniff at him. He shakes his head and grins. “We are both stupid.” You nod your head in agreement. 

“A couple of stupid mates, huh.” You look up at him, now leaning shoulder to shoulder. 

“Yeah something like that.” And then he kisses you. 

Warm lips slotting over yours softly, you both start getting a little more heated with each other. Hands finding their way into your hair while yours go around his neck. His lips softly biting yours and then pulling away. You arch and reach up on your tiptoes in a feat of chasing his lips. He grins at you, puts his hands on your cheeks and kisses your nose. 

“Let’s go back inside.” He whispers and leans back, as if he’s afraid that this will all be a dream if one of you speaks too loudly.

“I am kicking everyone out the minute we get back inside.” You whisper back and kiss his collar bone. 

“That sounds great to me.” he says and with that you both walk back to your house holding hands. 

a/n: so this was completely self indulgent, I wanted a cozy azriel fic!

please tell me what you think!

I don't own any characters that sarah j. mass created.

[luveline]

oh my god. steve harrington with a dreamy/luna lovegood like girlfriend would be so sweet! i feel like he would love how she’s always so kind and her head’s always in the clouds. he’d find her adorable, especially when she out of nowhere says something a little odd.

“What was that?” Steve asks. 

You aren’t talking to him, but he pretends you were. 

“I said, the sun doesn’t look very happy today.” 

Steve finds the sun, a white ache in his eyes behind a buffet of clouds. “I can’t tell.”

“Exactly.” 

Steve gets his arms under your armpits to drag you into his chest. You’re always content to be moved around, especially if it’s Steve doing the lifting. You slot yourself into his embrace unthinking. 

“I think you’d be much happier if you had a couch on the porch,” you say, “though maybe you’d suddenly like rock metal too. What do you think they have it for?” 

“Not sure. Afternoon people watching, maybe.” 

“Well, this is fun.” 

Eddie and Robin attempt to set up the sprinkler and water slide in the grass. Neither seems to have noticed that it’s too cold for this sort of play, both dedicated to the last day of summer. Usually you entertain either of them, partial to nonsense, but today you’ve stuck by Steve’s side. Probably because you’re cold. 

“I might get one, if you want one,” he says. 

“You know you can get a couch from the Salvation Army for ten bucks.” 

“And the bedbugs for free.” 

You laugh loudly, suddenly, before it chokes into a fizzy sort of giggle. “Most bugs are cute, but they give me the heebies.” 

“I don’t need any more strange creatures in bed with me, either way.” 

“You mean me.” You turn in his arms. He loves to feel it, your skin under his hands, the total ease you feel being smushed against him like two pieces of bread in the same pack. You jam yourself against him, your fingers working behind his neck. Cold. Rings tickling him, your fingernails scratching gently. “But I’m not a creature,” you murmur, “and I won’t be in your bed again, if that’s how you feel.” 

“Then who will help you fall asleep?” he asks. 

“I volunteer!” Eddie calls. 

“He looks like he gives a good back rub,” you say. 

Steve tips you away from him. “Idiot.” 

“Steve, doesn’t he?” you ask. “Eddie, come over here and rub our backs.” 

“Stay where you are,” Steve says to Eddie firmly. He pushes you away from him, trying his best not to laugh as you giggle and whine at being pushed. “Get lost.” 

“I’m going to take my shirt off now.” 

“For the back rub?” Steve asks, whiplashed. 

“No, doofus, for the water slide! Why would I take my shirt off for a back rub?” 

“I’ll show you why.” 

“I already know you’re good at them,” you say. 

“I’ll show you again.” 

You pause. A smile stretches over your lips. “Mm, okay.” 

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 3)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3147

(Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

Rhysand’s face hurts.

His hands do, too, but the scrapes and splits in the skin of his knuckles have nothing on the cut in his lip, which currently stings from the rush of alcohol that passes over his lips.

It’s cold, crisp, and free, so it’s the best beer he’s had all night.

Hell, his cheek is bruised too. It’s not a Picasso of mottled yellows, greens, and purples yet—curtesy of the time he spent poking and prodding the knotted bump in one of the locker room mirrors, post shower.

The only thing that isn’t bruised is his ego because he more than won that fight against the Penguin’s center, Kallias Winterborough. He fucking wiped the ice with him and then proceeded to use the rest of his team to clean house.

Somewhere in the Hockey House—aptly named for the number of players that reside in the five-bedroom, two-story craftsman—you and his cousin meander around, violet Solo Cups in hand because the red ones are so overrated. Plus, one of their biggest rivals—the Foxes—wear crimson, and no one at Velaris University would ever be caught repping that team at one of his parties.

It's a move he’s regretting a little too much right now, unable to revel in the Bat’s big win with his lip split in two. Fucker got him good, he can admit, but never aloud. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would shoot him a scathing glare at the mere mention of another school’s team under their roof.

Az takes his superstitions seriously.

“Rhys, dude.” Cassian stumbles in through the square arch connecting the spacious living room to the cozy kitchen. It’s the only thing Rhysand doesn’t like about the Hockey House: no open floorplan. That means, when he plays host as he so often does because he can’t afford a hangover from hell following most mornings, he can’t see what’s going on in the kitchen if he’s in the living room or vice versa.

He can’t see people sneaking up the stairs, and even though he keeps his room locked at all times following the Cassian Incident™ that included two leggy blondes and the Frozen Four first place trophy—announcing the next afternoon that blondes do, in fact, have more fun—he still doesn’t trust a horde of university students on a high from their win not to do anything stupid.

Speaking of stupid…Cassian slides to a halt beside him. He’s so eager to share whatever the hell with Rhys that he overshoots, slamming his hip into the counter. His friend howls, and much unto Rhys’ surprise, others join in, like it’s some kind of victory cry and not one that says ‘I just bashed my hip in, somebody help me, please.’

Rhysand is in no mood to help.

“What’s up, Cass?” Rhys sighs, frowning when he tips his bottle back to his mouth only to find it empty. He hadn’t realized how much he drank; thought he was nursing it with the way his lip burns.

Cassian’s face contorts from pain back to amused like a flick of a switch and the pain was long forgotten. His nose is permanently crooked from the number of times he’s broken it during fights both on and off the ice, and he’d be missing one of his pearly whites if he hadn’t just gotten it fixed earlier this week. Thankfully, his moustache has been shaved off for tonight, showing off his plump, pink lips. His brunet hair is the longest on the team, just brushing the tops of his massive shoulders, and thankfully. On one side, it’s tucked tightly behind his ear, showing off the gold ring he punched through it on a dare at their first party freshman year.

Cassian’s hazel eyes have a spark in them that 1: Rhys has seen too many times, and 2: never means anything good.

Rhysand narrows his own, breaking that eager contact to scour the kitchen for another beer because goddammit, he’s going to need it with the way his friend is all but shaking with excitement.

“Have you found your nurse yet?” Cassian asks, trailing him around the marble slab counter.

“My what?” Rhysand side-steps a couple making out so hard that they go crashing into the first thing that isn’t each other: the wall. The petite girl with bright blue hair whimpers loudly, and the noise is swallowed up by the guy that’s sticking his tongue straight down her windpipe.

It looks grosser than it seems, Rhys defends when a pang of want slaps him right in the chest.

“Your nurse, dude,” Cassian whines. He slips on a rogue wet patch on the obsidian floor tiles and now Rhysand has another thing to dislike in this house. All he needs is someone cracking their skull open on his kitchen floor or the couple to fall and have his teeth through her lips from the impact. “You know, cause you’re all injured.” He waves flippantly towards Rhysand’s wounds.

“I don’t need a nurse,” Rhys answers, confused. He pulls open the fridge and snags two beers off of the shelf Cassian and two of his other roommates have dedicated it to. He hands one to his friend, who pops the top off with his teeth, and Rhys raises an unimpressed brow. “I didn’t get that hurt.” Plus, he’s already been to see the team trainer for his shiners.

He busies himself with the beer opener that’s stuck to the side of the fridge, then grabs the roll of paper towels from their holder to wipe up the mess Cassian’s leaving footprints with. Well, he unrolls a few and tosses them onto the spill, anyway.

“No, I mean like a lady nurse.” Cassian waggles his brows. “Someone who can kiss you better, maybe even give you a hand—”

And, well, that might just help his mood.

“Hey.” Azriel breezes into the kitchen like he’s still on his skates. He has his own cup in hand, filled with water. Rhys know this because he’s never seen Azriel drink anything other than water and the occasional coffee. He takes his training more seriously than half of the team, which bodes well for Rhys because he always has a gym buddy, but sometimes, he wishes his friend would let loose, even if it meant seeing a girl. Or sleeping with one. “Heads up.”

The warning has Rhys standing straighter, ready to abandon his beer on the counter to play his role as captain and the one in charge of the party. His roommates naturally defer to him in house affairs because they’re used to it, but really, Rhys doesn’t have much more room in his packed schedule for warding off drunk students and stopping fights.

The last thing he needs tonight is to find himself in the middle of a fight.

“Rhys!” A perky blonde squeals, and his shoulders drop for a second only to tense right back up when his cousin throws herself into his arms.

He catches her with an oof, spitting out her wild locks that somehow always end up everywhere. He loves his cousin dearly, like a sister, but why is she here right now?

He doesn’t see you following your roommate into the kitchen, jaw slack like it’s been since you first saw the Hockey House lit up in all of its glory. The place is absolutely massive, it looks like it could rival one of the houses on Greek row.

The kitchen is moody yet warm. The dark tiles match the onyx-stained flat arch you just walked through. The lighter gray marble countertop brightens the room, and the deep blue cabinets paired with the soft lighting paints the room in perfect synchrony.

It’s absolutely stunning.

Neither of you see the other at first. Rhys because he’s still trying to blink Mor’s hair from his eyes and you because you’re entranced by the interior design of the home. There’s no way five boys could possibly live here, let alone five hockey players. It’s a bit of a mess with the party raging around you, yes, but you haven’t seen one hole in the drywall, not one forgotten dish nor a pair of boxers left of the bathroom floor—you checked.

Because you were using the restroom of course, you weren’t looking for that specific reason.

“Hey, Mor,” Rhys greets when she finally detaches herself from him. She doesn’t go far, only stepping back enough to introduce you to him. “What are you doing here?”

Violet eyes clash with yours, drawing your heart to a standstill. He looks just as good as he did when you were sprawled out on his chest: dark hair clean and mussed through, red lips parted as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

The only thing different about him now is that cut in his lip and the redness to his cheek from his fight on the ice that you bore witness to.

The memory replays in your mind again, awakening tingles in your body that shouldn’t be. And just how you’re praying for them not to, they converge right between your thighs, settling in nice and hot and begging for attention as the sight of him with burning violet eyes as he decks his opposition across the jaw replays.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he himself shouldn’t be as hot as he is, either.

You hold yourself still, focusing eighty percent on your attention on trying to calm your eager bits down and the other twenty percent on making sure you don’t look constipated while doing so.

Rhys blinks at you and you return his blank stare, watching, waiting to see if he recognizes you, too.

Oh, he does.

“We came to see your game tonight,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious from your attire. The attire that Rhys is currently dragging his eyes down, drinking in every inch—all four of them—of the jersey your roommate forced you into tonight. You watch his eyes flare as he reads the number across your chest. His number, you’re just now realizing.

Heat floods your cheeks but you’re unable to bolt like you so desperately want to. Your heart is beating three times as fast in your chest as he slowly, slowly, rakes his gaze up from your legs that are glued to the floor, all the way to your eyes, that are glued to his face.

“This is (Y/N),” Mor announces, gesturing to you with a flourish. When you make no move forward to greet them, her red nails curl around the hem of your jersey and yank.

You stumble forward, and the trance is broken. Unfortunately, so is your face, because you slip in something on the tiles and are plummeting face-first into the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, lips parted to scream or groan, whichever your mind catches up to first—

The impact never comes. Strong hands grip your arms, stopping you from eating tile. You’re too stunned to speak, even when you’re planted back on your feet and staring into the chest you were lying on only this afternoon.

Rhysand Cunningham.

Jesus, you’re really going to have to stop saying his full name like that. It’s creepy.

“Easy now,” Rhys says, making sure you’re steady. You somehow find the courage to look him in the eyes, hastily tamping down the mortification that threatens to consume you.

As soon as your eyes lock, it’s like magic.

There’s no other way to describe whatever is happening between the two of you right now. His light touch is searing, and so are his eyes as he scans your face, making sure you’re not hurt.

Rhys’ abandoned beer sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and Cassian accidentally knocks it off with his elbow when he dodges a playful swat Mor tosses his way. It goes crashing to the floor, startling you and Rhys from your trance.

You jump, gaze following the noise. Rhys’ hands slip from your body and you shiver at the cold that replaces him, even though it’s stifling in this house with the number of bodies packed into it. You manage one large step back that he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s already snatching the paper towels from where he put them last and barking at passerby to “be fucking careful.”

“I, uh,” you stutter, and holyfuckingshit, he’s leaning over to clean up the mess. You get a full view of that toned ass; despite the jeans he’s wearing. It’s perfect, round like an apple, juicy like one too, you bet. The sudden urge to lean over and sink your teeth into it hits you like a semi— “I need to use the bathroom.”

You scurry away from your roommate and her cousin like it’s your ass that’s just been bitten into.

Rhys grumbles the entire time he cleans up the spilt beer. Cassian tried to help, his chocolate eyes wide and sad, spouting off apologies like he did something much worse than break a fucking bottle, but hissed when he cut his thumb on a sharp edge. Rhys had pushed him away from the scene immediately after that.

He wonders if Cassian is going to bound off into the living room and find himself a nurse of his own, now.

“Hey, where did your friend go?” Rhys asks Mor who’s chewing on a cherry stem. He grimaces, not even knowing where those came from.

“Roommate,” Mor answers pointedly, serving him a harsh look that only confuses the hockey player.

“Okay…where did your roommate go?” He clarifies, eyes sweeping the room for you. Disappointment prickles at his skin just as much as the look his cousin is shooting him. He’d gotten his look at you alright, but he’s suddenly feeling like the single up-down he gave you was not nearly enough.

“To the bathroom,” she answers, rounding the counter, eyeing all of the opened bottles of liquor on top. She must not see anything she likes, because he doesn’t reach for anything. “Why?”

Why? Because you brought her here and I want to be nice? Rhys thinks. I want to get to know her, maybe somewhere private—

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself.” Is what he goes with.

Mor snorts, rolling her eyes because she is not falling for that one. “She’s off limits.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Rhys blurts, unable to stifle the words before they slip out. Damn beer.

“Because we wanted to see your game,” Mor replies, watching her cousin closely.

If you wanted to see my game, you shouldn’t have warned me against your roommate, he thinks, and then cringes.

“Well, thanks for coming, cuz,” he offers, because there’s no good rhyme or reason to start arguing with her. Especially when both of their parents are just phone calls away.

He’d rather be getting the third degree from Mor than his mother, anyway.

Rhys swiftly changes the subject. “Hope you enjoyed me kicking some ass.”

Mor’s tight face melts into amusement. She laughs, tossing her head back on her shoulders. “Yeah, I really did enjoy that, actually.”

It’s at that exact moment that Rhys catches sight of you again. You’re caught halfway in the archway of the kitchen, presumably on your way back from the bathroom. Your lips are pulled into a smile as you giggle, and he wishes he could hear it over the gods-awful music. Your eyes are bright and he watches you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks pinkening with a blush that makes him wonder just who’s putting that look on your face.

Rhys takes one step to the left and his entire body begins boiling with heat when he catches sight of one of his players speaking to you.

If she’s off limits to me, then my players are off limits to her.

And that’s exactly what they are, too, players. Mor’s right, he can’t end up letting one of his teammates fuck around with you, not when you’re so close to his cousin. She’d be devastated if you got hurt, and fuck it, he would too. He’d kill one of his guys if they broke your heart.

Rhys doesn’t talk sense into himself as he stalks your way, doesn’t think about the repercussions or his actions when he slides up to your side, all rigid muscles and sharp looks.

“What do we have here?” he asks, drawing you away from the friendly conversation you were having with the handsome hockey player about the types of tapes and casts that can be used when treating different injuries.

It’s James Attor, from your Athletic Training Techniques class. You’d recognized him, but didn’t know he played for the Velaris hockey team. He’s a sophomore like you, and more interested in the injuries part of his sport than the actual scoring.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” James greets, shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of his team leader. He knows that look, it’s the one Rhys gets before he’s about to lose his mind on the ice. “I was just talking to (Y/N) about—”

“About nothing,” Rhys finishes for him, and you frown. What the hell is his problem?

“James, wait,” you call, but it’s too late, he’s already slipped into the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the living room, and you don’t have supervision to see through them.

Whirling around on your heel, you glare up at Rhys. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rhys asks, striding back towards the kitchen. You decide that playing stupid doesn’t look good on him. And neither does that split lip.

You can’t believe you wanted to get closer. For a better look at his wounds, of course.

“That!” You exclaim, throwing your arm out and pointing where you were just standing. It serves no purpose because Rhys isn’t facing you, which only stokes your anger further. “I was talking to him!”

“Yeah,” he rounds on his feet so fast you don’t even see it coming and for the second time today, you run smack dab into the middle of his chest.

This time, you don’t tumble into a pile of limbs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“And I’d prefer it if you don’t,” Rhys finishes, chest tight. He feels on edge at the way your body pressed up against his, like lightning in his veins. He grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away.

“Yeah,” you scoff, tossing him your best glare. You cross your arms over your chest for effect, but all it does is make that skimpy shirt you’re wearing ride up more, and both Rhys’ eyes and throat catch at the sight of your creamy skin. Your word sounds like a threat when you say, “Unlikely.”

_________________________________________

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[lotusarchon]

you should know better than to ask a lady her age (nezha x reader)

content warnings: female reader, second pov (you/your), reader is a goddess and has tamayo vibes, nezha is nezha just more feral, mild age gap (both are adults on their first meeting + reader appears in her late twenties and nezha between 24-25 > author has no idea what counts as early/late twenties), all fluff and wholesome stuff, swooning nezha, nezha bullies mk once and wukong multiple times (biggest nezha opp), li jing is his own warning tbh

author's notes: demon slayer x lmk crossover when?

Meeting you was a dream Nezha could never want to forget. It was one of his life's greatest mistakes, and yet for once in his life, it was one he held no regrets for. Not one bit, when the feelings he held for you were so pure and filled with nothing but the utmost passion. To him, you meant the world, and perhaps more.

“Nezha, is it?” Soft hands run through his hair, undoing the messy braids he'd struggled to tie just this morning. “An interesting name for a god like him.”

“Does it matter?” Above him, his father crosses his arm. “Can you heal him, or not?”

The soft voice sighs melancholy. It reminds him of a lullaby, sung to him by a distant voice during a thunderstorm. The hands that thread through his hair still, and the warmth spreads through his body. Gentle fingers press into his scalp, massaging the tender skin.

Then, there is silence.

“That's it?” Li Jing's bitter voice breaks the silence. “That's all?”

“I must remind you, my lord, that this humble servant is not as powerful as her elders.” The hands in his hair gently rub a pattern. “And she has done her best for this lotus prince. All that remains now is for him to rest and allow his body to heal on its own.”

He feels fine, though. Whatever this stranger had done, his body has never felt more alive. It was opposite feeling he had felt before, when Taiyi had restored him.

His father ‘tsks’ angrily. “He'll be fine. He's not some child to rest at every interval.”

He anticipates whoever the stranger is to agree with him.

“Li Jing. You are correct that this is no child, but he is, theoretically, your son. And unless you imply your wife has made you wear a green hat, there is nothing in this world that can change the shared blood you two will have even until death. Have some sympathy, won't you?”

Ah. This was a strange feeling, having someone stand up to that prick of a father he had. Something warm fills his chest at the thought.

It's only when a door slams shut that Nezha dares to open his eyes. A kind woman is looking down at him, with nothing but a smile on her lips.

“Hello, Nezha.” You spoke his name so kindly, filled nothing but gentleness. “I'm glad you're awake. How are you feeling?”

A goddess. No, something else indeed.

Nezha had zero qualms dedicating his life's purpose to you. It's not like he had much to do anyway, and the Jade Emperor did not seem to mind his attachment to you so long as he did his duties. Li Jing complained often, and for all Nezha knew, most definitely still did, about this vulnerability he showed the goddess that healed him, but the Lotus Prince found that he did not give one fuck. Why should he care if his father had a stick up his ass about his relationship with the goddess that healed him? Lady (Name) held no complaints towards his presence, and thus, any other complaints from outsiders were ignored.

And you truly had nothing against Nezha's presence at your side. Since the day he had found himself lying on your lap, he seemed to hold some form of attachment and loyalty towards you. You put it off as his attempt at being grateful, even though you really didn't mind. Helping people was always one of the joys you held ever so dearly in your immortal life. Nezha really didn't need to express his gratefulness…

Though his company was nothing short of welcoming. The Lotus Prince, for all his grumpy attitude and sulky expressions, was a dear to be around, and you quite liked how his expression would always turn so adorably pink when you compliment his feats. One of your favorite pastimes with him was styling his hair, and tying colorful ribbons in them for the funs of it.

A few gods and immortals were surprised at the sight, but soon enough they learnt it was best not to ask. Less questions meant less injuries, since a certain prince did not like it when people swooned over your kindness.

You were pretty sure that was why so many patients senses a cold aura every visit, come to think of it. But maybe it was just your imagination and not the lotus prince glaring from the window.

Speaking of which, how did he managed to climb so high??

“Sun Wukong, is it?” You thanked Nezha for the tray that he offered you, your favorite blend of tea―a gift from Nezha's older brother, Jinzha―already made and poured into the fancy porcelain cups you favored so much. The tray was set down on the small table between yourself and your guests, and you offered a cup to each. “And your loyal protege, MK?”

The boy wearing the red bandanna nodded quickly, a noticeable blush on his cheeks. You put it off as excitement, since the moment he'd entered the celestial realm, he'd been gushing about the beauty of the place, top to bottom and back again. His mentor wasn't half as excited, grabbing him by the collar to stop him from running off to who knows where while he sipped on a cup. 

“I'm surprised you haven't heard of me,” Sun Wukong remarked, raising a brow at you. “You a new god or something?” When you nodded in confirmation, he blinked. “Ah, that explains it. Pretty sure I would've recognized a pretty face like yours.”

Next to you, Nezha's aura radiated annoyance. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you swore you could feel the god and monkey exchanging heated glares.

Weird.

“You flatter this servant too much,” you answered humbly and smiled. “But it is true that this is the first time I've even heard of you, Sun Wukong.”

“Ah? How old even are you?” MK questioned curiously.

“25 when she first achieved enlightenment. 457 years in mortal terms.” This time, Nezha was the one who spoke. You flashed him a grateful smile―because sadly, you truly kept no track of these things, not when it felt so pointless―but Wukong exchanged a weird look with his protege, especially when Nezha gave him a stink eye. “And you should know better than to ask a lady her age. It's disrespectful.”

“Don't be mean, he meant no harm―” You chided Nezha, gently patting his face. He leaned into your touch with a pleasant smile, and you shook your head at the sweet gesture. “And yes, I've lived long, but not as long as the Prince or Sun Wukong has. I'm afraid there are still many things I am duly unaware of.”

Sun Wukong snickered. “Some more than others, aye, Nezha?”

In response, a golden brick was thrown at the monkey's face. It hit him square on the face, and you gasped as Sun Wukong fell over, holding his face painfully. 

“Nezha!” You scolded the lotus prince and gather your robes to stand and examine the fallen Sage. Aside from the red spot on his forehead, he seemed fine, but still whined about the pain he was in. You glanced at Nezha's pouting expression. “That was not very polite! Don't do that again, understood?”

Nezha relented. “Yes, Lady (Name).” Even when angry she's still as beautiful as the morning sun.

Sun Wukong peeked an eye open. He caught the Lotus Prince's gaze from his position on your lap, and while you focused on soothing his pain, he winked.

Let's just say all hell broke loose after that, and Nezha and Sun Wukong owed you a new palace.

“Nyahaha.”

“Fuck you you stupid fucking cock slobbing whore!”

“Nezha!”

“Sorry, Lady (Name).”

“:3”

@lotusarchon , 23.09.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Azkaban

Words: 993

@wolfstarmicrofic

TW: suicidal ideation in a hyperbolic way

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

The first night that Sirius spent at Remus’ cottage after being ordered to ‘lie low’ there wasn’t ideal. Nobody wanted to wake up their ex-boyfriend with their night terrors. Nobody sane, anyway. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure which side of that line he fell on anymore, but when he woke up to Remus holding him to his chest and reminding him where he was, he hated himself.

By the time they moved to Grimmauld Place, it was established that Remus would tell Sirius a story about their time at Hogwarts as he fell asleep. This helped Sirius to remember, but it also helped with the night terrors, which they both suspected were some kind of lingering effect of the dementors.

Remus had his own room at Grimmauld Place, and he usually retreated to it once Sirius had fallen asleep, even though they’d shared a bed for months before that. It helped him to keep things separate. Telling Sirius stories about their teenage selves was hard at times. Remembering James and Lily, remembering Peter and remembering how in love they’d been. He didn’t know how much Sirius remembered of their relationship, but as most of his positive memories were taken, he probably remembered a lot of the last few months and not much else. He mostly stuck to stories about James and Sirius, or the four of them.

“Tell me about us.” Sirius had whispered after a few weeks, as Remus got comfortable next to him. “I know you’ve been avoiding those stories.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to hear them,” Remus said. “Or what you remember.”

“I remember shouting at you in the shack and there was blood, but I don’t remember why.” Sirius said, “That seems like an important one but I can’t get to most of it. Tell me that one?”

Remus chuckled, knowing the exact memory he meant. “Alright. So, this was about a month after Lily agreed to go out with James.”

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“Moony!” Sirius sounded frantic as Remus struggled to open his eyes. “Can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately.” Remus groaned. Sirius was shirtless, and covered in blood. He looked up at Sirius, panicked. “The fuck did I do? Are you ok?”

“I can’t stop your shoulder from bleeding. What do I do? James has gone to get Madam Pomfrey but you’re —”

“Oh, it’s mine? Just leave it.” Remus’ eyes shut again, “I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be alright.”

“You can’t sleep off blood loss you unbelievable prick. Wake up!” Sirius shook his uninjured shoulder slightly, pressing his shirt against the wound on the other.

“Sirius.” Remus growled, “Shake me again and you’ll wish you were dealing with the wolf.”

“Sit up!” Sirius ignored him. “You can’t go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine.” Remus’ eyes closed again.

Sirius snapped, “It’s not fucking fine, Remus! Sit up and open your eyes.” Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist and hauled him into a sitting position before reapplying pressure to his shoulder. He felt Remus smile against his shoulder.

“If you wanted to wrap your arms around me, all you had to do is ask, Padfoot.” He said, and Sirius swore that Remus’ teeth grazed his shoulder. “I think all you can do is apply pressure and hope for the best. I’ve got a lot of blood.”

“Moony, I love you, but when you’re not bleeding profusely in my arms, I’m going to be so fucking angry with you. ‘I’ve got a lot of blood’ is not— No, you don’t. You have the same amount of blood as anyone else, you wanker. Sometimes it’s like you don’t value your life.”

Remus, half-conscious as he was, felt very called out. “My life doesn’t have much value, to be fair.”

Sirius inhaled sharply, “No. Because you don’t have people around you that would do anything for you. You’re not a fucking wizard. Your life has no value.” He said sarcastically.

“Didn’t mean it like that, Pads.” He mumbled. “Don’t.”

“Then how did you mean it?” He shouted. He would have walked out if he didn’t know that Remus wouldn’t be able to hold the shirt on his shoulder.

“Well, I love you too, by the way.” Sirius almost dropped the shirt as Remus’ eyes closed again. “When you have no choice but to turn into a monster once a month and repeatedly take chunks out of yourself, you can judge the way I cope with it. I’m in a lot of fucking pain and I just want to sleep. Thank you for helping, as always, I appreciate it. I’m just so tired.”

“No.” Sirius poked his cheek until his eyes opened again. He looked mutinous. “You're going to stay awake. I think I can hear them in the passage. Once you’re patched up, you can sleep.”

“You’re going to make me talk about this later aren’t you?” His eyes almost closed again, but he managed to open them and blink a few times.

“Of course I am.” Sirius could feel his heart pounding in his head.

"You could just focus on the love part, and not the hyperbolically suicidal part, if you wanted.”

“We’ll see.” Sirius tried so hard not to smile. “If you tell me again when I’m not covered in your blood, I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Remus said as Madam Pomfrey burst through the door, followed by James, who took one look at Sirius and almost threw up.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“So when I got out of the hospital wing, I couldn’t wait, I pulled you behind a tapestry on the way to Charms and told you I loved you again. You were still pissed off, but I convinced you that I was pretty determined to stay alive.” He looked down at Sirius who was asleep. “You don’t know how much you’ve always helped with that.”

He considered going back to his room, but eventually slipped beneath Sirius’ duvet and curled up against his back, wrapping an arm around his waist.

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 5

Hey guys!! Things are finally starting to move in this story, I'm not sure how much longer we have, but I just started Eddie's training, so whooo!!

In this we have Eddie being dumb, fixing it, and then apologizing properly! He can be taught!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

Robin smacked the back of Steve’s head as she walked past. “No staring. It’s creepy!”

Steve ducked his head and blushed. He had been caught staring so many times today that, yeah, it was starting to be a little creepy now. But in all fairness, Eddie was staring right back. A thought that sent Steve spiraling. But like in a ‘oh shit, that’s hot!’ way.

Which he really, really needed to tamp down on, because yes, the guy was eighteen, but like barely.

“You should just go talk to him,” Robin encouraged gently. Because for all her teasing, she knew how important it was for Steve to talk to him about his swimming.

Steve nodded. He had time until his next class. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He walked up to Eddie and flashed him his patented Harrington smile.

“Hey, you’re Eddie, right?” he said warmly. “Robin tells me you like to swim on Saturdays, yeah?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Um, hi. Yup! That’s me. My mom used to call me her little fish.”

Steve grinned. He liked that. He wished his mom had taken that kind of interest in his swimming. “I saw you swimming when I was helping Joyce set up for the party last weekend and you were really good! Did you compete in high school?”

“Nah,” Eddie said with a shrug. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t get someone to take me that early in the morning so I stopped. Competed in middle school, though. I was decent enough, I guess.”

Steve was shocked. To have to stop just when you hit your stride must have been quite the blow.

“That fucking sucks, man,” Steve said with a grimace. He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “You ever think about competing on the national level? Because I really think you could.”

Eddie rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Yeah, right. I couldn’t afford the coach let alone all the traveling I’d have to do to make it to meets. I’m going to have to pass on that one.”

“There’s actually a program here for people who can’t afford it,” Steve hedged. “Robin used it when we both first started out.” He was fighting back the urge to start biting his nails.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and Steve gulped. “Is that so?” He nodded. “Well ain’t that nice. Still not interested.”

Steve wished the floor would swallow him or that pool would suddenly flood or that he’d get a brain aneurysm and die, right there on the spot. He pursed his lips together and nodded with his whole upper body. He turned on his heel and walked away.

When he was about to the other side of the pool, Eddie called out, “Who would even want to coach me?”

Steve turned around with a grin. “I would.” Then he spun on his toes and walked out of the pool area to the cool fresh air of the hallway.

~

Once Steve was out of the pool area and into the hall, he had a full on panic attack. He sank to the floor and held his head in his hands. Why the fuck did he offer to coach Eddie? He didn’t know Eddie, he was afraid of deep water, and he hadn’t even talked to Joyce yet.

It was a real mess now, but the words just forced themselves from him and now he wants to gobble them back up. Well maybe they’ll just avoid each other from now on. They had done a pretty good job up to this point, they could just continue as normal and forget all about how Steve made a fool of his himself.

Then slowly he began to come out of his panic attack to the sounds of soft words and the gentle rubbing of his wrists with their thumbs. His breathing evened, his heart rate dropped, and his eyes fluttered open.

The eyes looking back at him were warm chocolate brown and deeply concerned. The angel in front of him said something but Steve couldn’t hear. Then all at once all the sounds came rushing back into the hall. And suddenly there were more people in the hall with him than he thought. In addition to Eddie who was the one holding his hands, Robin and Joyce were there too.

“I think he’s coming around,” Joyce said gently as Steve’s eyes focused on her. “Hey, there, Steve. Are you okay now?”

Steve gulped, nodding. He was feeling better. In fact he didn’t have a pounding headache like he usually had after an episode. “My head doesn’t hurt.” He looked over at Robin in confusion. “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“Uh...” Eddie said hesitantly. “I might have something to do with that. I used some calming techniques my friend’s dad showed me.”

Steve turned to him, mouth open in awe. “Oh. Thank you.” He didn’t know what to do with that because technically it was his conversation with Eddie which caused the panic attack in the first place. But maybe that’s why Eddie helped, because he knew he’d caused it. That was a nice thought, Steve supposed.

Eddie smiled and stood back up. “I have to get back to work. You take care of yourself, okay Stevie?”

Steve nodded and Eddie slapped his hands on his knees, standing up. He muttered goodbye to the two women and then wandered off.

As Robin helped him to his feet, she said dryly, “I take it the conversation didn’t go well.”

He barked out a laugh causing Joyce to look back and forth between them in confusion. So Steve put her out of her misery. “I was telling him that he was good enough of a swimmer to compete, but I think he thought I was mocking him or something, because he kinda blew me off.”

He rubbed his temples for a moment before adding. “I even offered to coach him.”

Joyce blinked at him for a moment. “You offered what now?”

When he looked up both Robin and Joyce were looking at him with large, wide eyes and slack jaws. “Yeah, that’s kinda what started the panic attack if I’m honest. I know I am like the worst person for the job with all my...” he waved his hand helplessly. Then he snapped his fingers. “Issues. Anyway. It was nice of him to help me out after all that.”

“Dingus...” Robin said with a heavy sigh. “What were you going to do if he accepted?”

Steve grimaced and ducked his head. “Have you help me?” He looked up at her through his eyelashes and batted them, pouting.

Robin pushed his shoulder. “Disgusting!” Then she gave him a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. “Of course I’d help you.”

“I think it would be perfect,” Joyce blurted out. They both turned and looked at her. “This place could use the publicity if I’m honest. There are other pools in Indy that have been bringing in the bigger names. So if Eddie accepts and starts training under five time gold medal champion Steve Harrington...”

“Then this place could start bringing in the big names again,” Robin said. “Not to say that Steve isn’t a big name of his own,” she added when Steve’s face twisted into something like offense.

Steve shook his head. “Which isn’t going to happen because he said no.”

Joyce and Robin sighed. There was that. But they knew they shouldn’t go trying to pressure Eddie into it. Plus, despite how good he was there was no telling he’d be on par or better than his younger peers.

Steve and Robin left Joyce standing there, pondering her dilemma.

~

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He was grateful that the technique worked, but he was pretty sure that he had caused the attack in the first place. Which was... not good. He could have handled the offer to have him trained to compete a little better. Steve was paying him a compliment and he threw it back in his face as charity. He didn’t need charity not from no one.

There was no two ways about it. He was going to have to apologize. Which was never his strong suit. But he’d do it. He just wasn’t going to take Steve up on his offer. He would see about staying on here as paid help because then he could still have access to his beloved pool.

It took him a couple of days but finally their schedules matched up and Eddie was on his break and Steve had time between classes again.

“Um, hey,” he said timidly, sauntering up to Steve. “I just wanted to apologize for being a bitch on Monday. I was rude and that wasn’t fair.”

A slow smile spread out over Steve’s face. “Thanks. I did just spring it on you without an preamble, so...”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, there was that. But it still was mean and I should have been nicer.”

“Well, you made up for it by helping me with the panic attack afterwards,” Steve said. “I’d say that makes us even.”

“A panic attack I’m pretty sure I caused.”

Steve winced, confirming the worst of Eddie’s suspicion on that one. Steve rubbed his chin thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what, if you teach Robin and Joyce that technique you used to pull me out of my panic attack, then we’ll be even.”

Eddie smiled that sweet closed mouth smile that melted Steve’s insides when he saw it. “Sure thing I can do that. On Saturday before the crew swim. I’ll teach them both.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed. That was going to be so useful, having multiple people know how to get him out of an attack would make it easier for him to go out in public. Something that was very limited after the incident in Beijing.

“That’ll be great, thanks.”

“You should come too,” Eddie suggested. “I know you don’t like being in the pool, but you could come hang out and have a little fun for a change.”

Steve gasped dramatically. “What do you mean? Isn’t teaching beginning classes meant to be fun?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. It took him two seconds long than it should have to realize that Steve was joking him. He pushed Steve’s shoulder playfully.

“At least with us,” he teased, “we won’t try and drown you, deliberately or otherwise.”

Steve tilted his head to side and looked at him in confusion. Where the urge to bite those cheeks came from, Eddie will deny knowing until his last breath. “I saw that snotty teenaged little shit try to pull you into the pool. That’s fucked up at hell.”

Steve’s smile was blinding. “Fair enough. I like getting to sleep in on Saturdays, but we’ll see.”

Eddie grinned back. “I never used to get up this early for school. But ya know, keeping out of jail is pretty inspiring.”

“I could see that, yeah,” Steve agreed. “It was the one downside being on the swim team in high school.”

“You went to a regular high school?” Eddie asked tilting his head. “I would have thought after getting fifth in your first Olympics you would have gone to a special school for kids that are huge in sports or whatever?”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Do they have schools like that?”

“They do for like actors and shit,” Eddie said with a shrug. “So I assumed they would have something similar for the jocks.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, no. That would have been preferable.” He shook his head. “But no, it’s much more cut throat that than that. Pretty much, schools try and poach students from other schools to make the best sports teams.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

“Yep!” Steve said beaming at him. He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Look, my next class is about to start. So I really should get going. Especially with Joyce’s son in the class, I don’t want to be late.”

“Why is he starting so late?” Eddie asked. “I would have thought with Joyce being in charge of the rec center and his older brother literally being a trainer too, he would have been in the tots class.”

Steve nodded. “She didn’t get the manager position until five years ago and Will was afraid of the water by then. So they just waited until he was ready.”

“So he’s ready now?” Eddie asked curiously.

“Mhmm,” Steve hummed. “All his friends are going to be in the class with him, so he ready to hop in the pool with them.”

Eddie smiled. “That’s cute.”

That surprised a huff of laughter out him. “Sure is. But don’t tell him that. He’s at the age where cute is akin to baby and well...”

“He’s too old for that?” Eddie finished.

“Yeah.”

“I feel that,” Eddie agreed. “Have fun in your class, and remember you can always make it look like an accident.”

Steve laughed out right at that and waved goodbye. Eddie watched him go feeling better about the whole panic attack thing. Now all he had to do was make sure it never happened again. Or at least not by his own big fucking mouth.

~

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6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I feel like Killer often had to act dumber than Nightmare around him. I just know that Nightmare is the kind of guy who wouldn't take kindly to not being the smartest person in the room at any given time. It mostly stems from his own childhood traumas (I'm sure that the fact that nothing he ever did was good enough to make him deserving of not getting abused stuck with him post corruption), but to me he's a walking inferiority complex.

And the thing is that Nightmare isn't stupid. He's a very studious person and he probably retains a lot of the stuff he reads about. But Killer is undoubtedly more observant and logical than he is. I feel like he probably picks up on stuff much quicker (even though he also probably forgets a lot of it just as quickly because of his memory issues).

And, well, I saw a couple of comics of them playing chess and Killer winning every time. And I do think that, realistically, if he played at full capacity every time, he would win against Nightmare. Chess is a game that rewards his kind of smarts so much more than Nightmare's.

But I also think he'd know not to win most of the time (unless his purpose is to piss off Nightmare that day). But, here's the kicker. I think it would be just as humiliating for Nightmare if Killer dominated the entire game only to make some very obviously porpuseful fumbles at the end. Of course, Nightmare could call him out on it, but then he'd need to admit that he would have lost had Killer not thrown the game. And he's not gonna fucking do that. Not when they both already know and Killer is staring unblinkingly at him, challenging him to say something, to admit defeat.

No, he's gonna take that fake victory and he's gonna massage his bruised ego with it. Denial is always a powerful shield.

Yeah absolutely. Killer knows how to stroke people’s egos and notice their insecurities, he will use both against someone for his own benefit. He knows he needs to walk a fine line with people like Nightmare and Chara—those that tend to have huge egos, that are also very fragile. Those whose first instincts are to lash out, and in Chara’s case, throw violent tantrums.

It’s like managing the moods of very explosive, highly dangerous bombs. It’s just that sometimes Killer can’t resist playing a little careless, in a calculated way. He is not above putting himself in huge danger and playing with his life just to gain momentarily pleasure in pissing them off, or to provoke them into hurting him just to alleviate his soul crushing apathy and boredom in controlled bursts.

Like micro-dosing on a drug that is pain, or simply because he knows (or thinks) it is inevitable that they will hurt him today, so he will provoke them earlier and take away their satisfaction in hurting him by taking away their control and bruising their egos.

Let Chara think he loves them. Let Nightmare think he’s stupid and blindly loyal. Those are the things he knows to maintain control over them. On the flip side, a way to keep Killer under control (particularly Stage 2), is to let him think he has more control than he actually does.

Imagine how powerless Nightmare could make him feel if he were to say, find a way to destroy any pleasure and satisfaction Killer gets out of pain. If he takes away the framing of torture, punishment, and pain as “fun” and “playing” in Killer’s mind.

I wouldn’t be suprised if Killer finds a sense of pride in his ability to not only endure but enjoy vast amounts of suffering—especially if he ever got some form of validation or approval for it. He views it as him still having power and control even as he is being “dominated”—because he can say that he enjoys it and therefore it means nothing and has no genuine impact on him beyond the satisfaction and pleasure.

People being unnerved and annoyed when you laugh in their face after they’ve broken your bones just means that Killer still has control over their emotions.

Yet another way he is views himself as sort of, above others. Not in the self loving ego stroking way, but still in a superior, ‘I’m above you, so don’t try me’ way. He’d likely look down on anyone who runs from or hates pain— or anyone who obviously lets it show. Viewing them as inferior and weak.

If Nightmare can take that away, then pain is just pain. Potentially sending Stage 2 deeper into his apathetic, nihilistic, fatalistic worldview—“just get it over with if you aren’t going to make it fun.”

Which is probably the reason why physical punishment wouldn’t work on Stage 2 at all—not until you can take away his sense of control in these situations—psychological stuff like isolation and sensory deprivation certainly would.

I feel like another way would be to greyrock him whenever he tries to provoke someone into violence and hurting him—not giving him the reaction he expects and craves. Which would either make him quickly lose interest, or motivate him to keep escalating until he gets what he wants.

Killer has definitely greyrocked Chara and Nightmare before as well— refusing to give them any type of satisfaction or control over him by not giving any response or reaction they want from him. And sometimes giving the exact opposite of a reaction or response that they want.

All in all, I can definitely see Killer underplaying himself and his own abilities to satisfy others egos and play into expectations if it benefits him or avoids inconvenience. And he’d definitely use their egos to lure them into little mind games and traps—like the one you described.

{ @stellocchia }

[crappy-writings]

Retriever Antics

Kate BishopxReader // Fluff

*Images are not mine, credit to their sources and creators

Summary: Kate meets a kind dog walker after having chased Lucky through half of Central Park.

Content Warning: Cringy Dialogue? Awkward Kate.

Word Count: 2338

A/N: Hey, I just realized we reached 155 followers :D Thank you to all of y'all!

Main Masterlist | MCU Fics | Recced Fics

“Lucky! Come back here!”

Kate chased after the escaped golden retriever, frantically weaving between runners, cyclists and tourists through the Central Park paths and sidewalks. 

From the moment they had stepped out of the apartment for a walk this morning, Lucky had been tugging and pulling on his lead impatiently, much to her confusion. The dog was generally very calm, obedient and well-behaved, so the sudden shift to overabundant energy and restlessness had taken Kate completely by surprise. 

Something had caught Lucky's attention while they walked, causing him to run after it with force behind his tug, effectively breaking Kate’s rather slack hold of the lead. She genuinely did not understand what was up with the golden retriever, as he had never acted this way before, but regardless, she continued to run and call after him. The dog would not give up though, continuing to chase after whatever it was that caught his eye.

You would think that months of vigilante work would make chasing after a dog in the park easy, but it clearly was not. Lucky was quite fast and his small– well, smaller size made it easier for him to skirt through the people on the path.

There was a bit of distance between her and the retriever and he was still in her sights, up until she nearly knocked into a runner. “Sorry!” she yelled out at the bystander she nearly hit but continued running. 

The damage had been done though, as the minor trip-up caused her to lose track of him. 

Panic rose in her chest quickly as her head swiveled around the dividing path she found herself in. Her eyes scanned around the path, hoping to catch a glimpse of where the golden retriever might have gone.

“Lucky!” she called out to him a few times to no avail. She begins to lose hope, until she notices a group of kids that kept staring at her, a clear look of hesitancy on one of the boys’ faces. 

“Have you seen a dog? Golden, one eye, running away, black leash dragging behind?” the words rushed out of her mouth so fast, she was almost afraid she’d have to lose time repeating them.

The hesitant boy seemed to understand her, nodding his head and pointing his hand towards the left side of the path, “Your dog went that way.”

She was already running before the boy had finished his sentence, yelling out a quick “thanks!” while doing so. Her eyes scanned over the wide, bench-lined, stone path for the familiar golden fur and black leash. Dread was overtaking her body as all she could see was people walking through Central Park, but no Lucky.

Could the kid have been wrong? Was there another dog on the loose and he sent her after that one and not Lucky? Had she lost too much time? Was Lucky lost for good? 

Her spiraling thoughts came to a screeching halt when she caught a glimpse of him near the green-colored benches to the right side of the path. He was sitting down on the ground, staring up at a person surrounded by dogs. They were crouched down to his level, the golden retriever’s paw raised upwards at the stranger, as if asking for something. Kate could see him panting heavily, the wild goose chase he had sent the both of them taking a toll on him, too.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears and her chest, her breath heavy as the exhaustion of the impromptu run crashed into her. “Lucky!” she yells out again as she closes the distance between her and the golden retriever, who only moved about two feet closer to her, panting happily as if she had not chased after him for a solid twelve minutes. She crouches down, grabbing the leash that was all dirtied up from being dragged around half the park.

“I’m so sorry! He’s usually not like this, he’s usually pretty calm! I don’t know what’s up with him today, he just woke up with so much energy and–” Kate starts apologizing in between heavy pants as she stares up at the stranger who now stood upright. 

Small rays of the morning sunshine fell through the tree branches that hung above the both of you, lighting up the skin of your face in an almost ethereal glow. A beautiful smile is painted on your lips as a soft giggle escapes you, your head tilted slightly to the side as you stare down at the girl. The sound of your laugh made Kate’s heart skip a beat, and she couldn’t help but want to hear it again. 

“Hi,” Kate says breathlessly as she offers you a lopsided grin, wiping away at the droplets of perspiration that had gathered on her brow. She stands up from her crouched position, both of her hands gripping tightly onto Lucky’s lead. Her cheeks are flushed with a soft, reddish pink color, and she chooses to blame it on the run. 

“Hi,” the look you give her is almost shy, and the sight makes Kate visibly soften, a fluttering sensation settling into the pit of her stomach. She takes in the rest of you, noting the athletic black leggings, paired with a black, cropped shirt, and a pair of running sneakers. 

“I’m Kate, that’s Lucky,” her eyes were still glued to yours, mesmerized by the lovely color of your irises. She realizes that the last thing she said could be slightly misinterpreted and quickly rushes to add in, “As in, that’s his name. Lucky.”

“Lucky, huh? So that’s who you are,” you tilted your head to the side slightly, your gaze traveling down to the golden retriever that now sat obediently by the raven-haired girl’s side, tongue hanging out with his tail wagging excitedly as you stared down at him. This earns him a silent laugh from you and the dog yips in reply.

“I also call him Pizza Dog,” Kate isn’t quite sure why she added that last bit, and she suppresses the urge to cringe at herself.

“Now that is definitely a bit more creative,” your tone is amused and teasing, your smile never going away. There’s a soft breeze that caresses your skin, tussling the ends of your hair gently. A small strand of hair falls over your features, and Kate almost has half a mind of brushing it away. You push the lock back in place, your eyes traveling upwards to stare at the raven-haired girl once more.

Kate looks away as she realizes she has been staring at you. A flush of embarrassment overtook her, staining her cheeks a soft pink color once more. She couldn’t help it though, there was something so captivating about you that would not allow her to look away. 

‘What happened to his eye? If you don’t mind me asking,” you added that last part quickly, not wanting to come off as nosy or disrespectful. Your question snaps her out of her thoughts, her eyes settling into yours once more.

“I’m not sure really, he was like that when I rescued him from getting hit by a car,” she stares down at the golden retriever that attempted to lick at her hands as soon as she tried to lay her hand on top of his head. She added that last part mindlessly, not intending to sound impressive or to show-off to you, and her eyes widened slightly, a sense of nervousness overtaking her. 

“Wow, really? You must be a modern-day superhero, then,” your smile is wide and teasing, but your eyebrows had raised slightly in amazement, and she relaxed slightly under your gaze. 

“You could say that,” Kate laughs at the unintended irony in your words.

It’s not until now that she realizes the sheer number of dogs that were sitting around you. There were eight of them, all different breeds, sizes and colors. Her attention was drawn to a beagle puppy, cinnamon brown and black spots spattered over his white coat. The small dog tilted its head to the side as Kate met its golden eyes, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s a lot of dogs,” Kate comments as another one of the smaller dogs, a white and sandy brown shih tzu, approaches Lucky, sniffing at his side in curiosity. The golden retriever seemed barely phased by the shih tzu, merely looking down at the pup before being distracted by a couple of cyclists that sped past the both of you.

“I sure hope so, or I wouldn’t be able to make rent,” you chuckle softly as you stare up at Kate once more. Her blue eyes flecked with gray were captivating, and they made you want to get lost in them forever. Biting the inside of your lip was a subconscious action, one that you hadn’t even realized you’d done, but it hadn’t escaped Kate’s attention, her heart jumping in her chest again at the gesture.

She could almost hear Clint complaining in her head, “You notice that, but you don’t notice when you pick up an explosive arrow instead of the regular one?”

“You’re a dog walker?” Kate asks rather dumbly, and she can’t help but cringe inwardly at her obvious question. You don’t seem to mind it as you chuckle slightly, finding the girl’s awkward demeanor adorable and, dare you say, charming.

“Among other things, yes,” the smile you flash her is so sweet, and Kate can’t help but wonder if your lips would taste the same. ‘Calm down, you just met her,’ she scolds herself internally.

“Oh yeah? What other things?” Kate questions curiously, her head tilting slightly to the side. 

“I moonlight as a waitress at a late-night diner,” you bow slightly, the words being said in an exaggerated way, making it sound more glamorous than it is. A goofy little grin decorated your lips as you stood upright once more.

“Wow, that’s very noble indeed,” Kate teases, her lips matching yours. 

“Yeah, not everyone thinks so, but I appreciate your appreciation,” your tone is a little less silly this time, but your smile never falters.

That was until one of the dogs you held onto by the lead began tugging at you with small whimpers and whines, desperate to continue the walk Lucky had interrupted. You give the black and brown German Shepherd a half smile, a twinge of disappointment sharp in your chest as you know the conversation with the raven-haired girl in front of you was coming to an end. Kate recognizes this too, the smile on her face faltering slightly, the same kind of disappointment hitting her like an arrow hitting its mark. 

“I have to start getting them home soon,” you send her a small apologetic look, “Their owners are waiting for them.”

But the disappointment disappears as quickly as it hits you, your eyes lighting up with excitement as you remember something. There was a brief hesitancy in your actions before you passed all the leash handles, reaching into the small fanny pack that hung around your waist. After a brief struggle to get it open with only one hand, you pull out a black and white business card, decorated with small paw prints, green tennis balls and a small drawing of a puppy with its head tilted sideways sketched at the bottom of the stiff paper. 

“Take my card, my number is on there. For if you ever need someone to take Lucky out, of course,” the tone in your voice is coy and the smile you send her way is playful. Kate immediately focused on the phone number that was written on it as she took the card from your hand, biting the inside of her lip to keep her excitement from pouring out.

“Right, of course,” Kate’s reply is stuck somewhere between stunned and amusement, her eyes switching between you and the card. 

“Or, you know, you could always stop by Jack’s Diner on 59th street, if you’re ever hungry,” you offer up a hopeful smile, one that Kate missed as she had still been staring down at the card, “I hope to see you around, Kate!” 

It took her a few moments to realize that you were walking away, and a few seconds more to realize something else.

“Wait! What’s your name?” It was embarrassing how long it took for Kate to realize that she had never asked for it throughout the entire conversation. 

“Look at the card!” you turned slightly to look at her, sending the awkward yet charming girl a wave before walking straight forwards once more.

Her eyes land on the card again, reading the words on the embossed paper. Your name tumbles out of her mouth breathlessly and she can’t help but love how melodic it sounds. 

She looks up at you once more, watching as you continue to walk away with the gaggle of furry creatures that surround you, before taking a right and disappearing from her view.

The busy world of Central Park continued around her as she simply stood in the middle of the path, not believing the luck she had just had in meeting you. It’s not until her furry companion lets out a booming bark that she breaks out of the momentary spell she was under.

“You had this all planned out, didn’t you?” Kate accuses the golden retriever, who simply stares up at her, panting and wagging his tail happily, and she swears she could see a mischievous twinkle in the dog’s eye. She crouched down at his level, scratching the soft fur in the back of his ears. A warm, slimy tongue laps at her face excitedly, catching her off guard and causing a groan and a laugh to get caught in her throat as she pulls away from the golden furball. 

“Come on Pizza Dog, let’s get you home,” her eyes drift back to where she last saw you, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“I think I might be going out tonight.”

[acute-scary]

Behind the Ropes... a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley FanFic.

Chapter 19: my tormenta...

Just a few days later...

October 2nd, 2024. 5:12 P.M.

The house felt emptier without Jey. Rhea sat on the couch in Jon and Trinity's living room, her thoughts racing as she absently scrolled through her phone. It had been a few days since she had last seen him—since he scrambled to make that last-minute flight for the press releases and appearances after winning the Intercontinental Championship. He’d been told he had the rest of the week off, but Friday afternoon, while at Universal Studios with Jeyce and Jaciyah, everything changed.

They had been having a great time. The kids’ laughter filled the air as they explored the park, and for a moment, everything felt normal—just Rhea and Jey with the kids, enjoying themselves away from the constant chaos. But then the phone call came. Jey’s face shifted from relaxed to tense, his plans suddenly upended. He’d barely had time to drop the kids off at his Dad's house before heading to the airport and Takecia wasn't exactly too thrilled with that. Rhea had heard the whole conversation on the phone, Jey kept telling her it was for work and Takecia came back with a reply, "Last time it was work it was actually Rhea.." Rhea knew this was his life, their life now, but that didn’t make the house feel any less empty without him.

Since then, Rhea had stayed with Jon and Trinity, though her mind was occupied with preparing for their new chapter. The rental property they had signed for was coming together, with a move-in date scheduled for October 16th. Rhea had spent the week finalizing details—furniture, utilities, and packing up the few things they’d brought. The new place was meant to be a fresh start, a clean slate for both of them, but it seemed like every step forward brought another hurdle.

The news had broken about them—TMZ, of course, couldn’t resist. The photos of her and Jey at Universal with the kids were plastered all over social media, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The gossip site had also leaked that both Rhea and Jey had filed for divorce from their exes, setting the internet ablaze with speculation. Within hours, the whispers had spread to the locker room.

It wasn’t long before she felt the shift. The eyes, the whispers, the pointed stares. The locker room that had once felt like family had grown cold. Everyone had an opinion, and most of them weren’t good. People who used to greet her with warmth now kept their distance, avoiding her as if she carried some kind of scandalous disease. Rhea knew why. They saw her as the new Lita, a homewrecker, a woman who had stepped out of bounds. The tabloids were already calling her that—the next “Lita,” dredging up the old affair between Amy Dumas and Adam Copeland.

She had tried to ignore it, but it stung. She wasn’t Lita, and Jey wasn’t Edge. They weren’t even trying to hide anything anymore, not now that their divorces were public. But the locker room had made their choice, and it was clear who they were siding with. Only a small group of people still talked to them—Damian, Kayden, Finn, Dom, JD, Carlos, Liv, Joseph, Cody, and Joe. Everyone else had shut them out.

Paul hadn’t been happy about the news breaking either, even though he had known about the affair long before TMZ did. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard the whispers, and if anyone knew how to handle a situation like this, it was him. Still, Paul wasn’t prepared for the fallout, not like this. The backlash was directed mostly at her, and that made it worse. Paul had pulled Jey aside recently, confirming that he would still keep the Intercontinental Championship despite the controversy, but that hadn’t stopped the rumors. Some people had gone straight to Paul, questioning if Jey deserved to hold the title after everything that had come out.

Worse, the questions had spread to her and Damian’s spots on the roster as the indestructible forces known as the 'Terror Twins'. People were wondering if they should even still be there. That got to her the most—knowing that Damian, her best friend, was under fire because of choices she had made. Damian tried to reassure her, told her to ignore the noise, but she could tell it bothered him too. The isolation, the whispers, the judgment—it was all starting to weigh her down.

Rhea leaned back into the couch, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. "Lita," she muttered under her breath, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. She wasn’t some villainous seductress out to ruin lives. Her relationship with Jey had been complicated, messy, but it had never been malicious. Why couldn’t anyone see that?

She sighed, pulling up her messages. Damian had texted her earlier about traveling with Jey for the next few weeks. It was weird for Jey, she knew that much. People were looking at him differently now, the same way they were looking at her. Every time he walked into the locker room, there were whispers. Damian said Jey shrugged it off, but she knew it hurt. It was more than just the locker room—it was the magazines, the fans, everyone who thought they knew their story when they didn’t even know the half of it.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed again. It was Jey.

"Miss me?" his text read, followed by a picture of him and Damian grinning like idiots, standing outside some press event. Rhea couldn't help but smile.

"More than you know," she replied, feeling a little lighter. She missed him, missed their quiet moments together, the way he always made her feel like she could breathe when everything else felt suffocating.

But for now, they had to deal with the storm they were in, together. No matter how many people turned their backs, they still had each other—and for Rhea, that was enough.

--

Jey stood off to the side, his eyes drifting around the bustling crowd at the WWE Fanatics event. The air buzzed with excitement, fans eager to catch a glimpse of their favorite superstars, and media lined up, ready to grab interviews. Tiffany Stratton and Nia Jax were up next for interviews, and Jey and Damian would follow them. He glanced at his phone and smiled as he texted Rhea, letting her know that everything was going smoothly.

"Miss me?" he had texted a few minutes ago, and her reply made him feel a little closer to home, even in the middle of the chaos.

Next to him, Damian nudged his arm. "Got the email," he said, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Jey arched a brow. "Email for what?"

"The chef," Damian replied, holding up his phone. "It’s confirmed. October 12th, Jon and Trinity’s new place. Rhea’s birthday is gonna be legendary, man."

Jey felt a rush of relief. He had come to Damian needing help organizing something special for Rhea’s 28th birthday. With everything that had been happening—their relationship being exposed, the constant judgment from everyone around them, and the overwhelming stress—Jey wanted to give her a moment to forget it all. Something intimate, something just for them and the few people who still had their backs.

Rhea’s birthday was on October 11th, but they had planned to hold the event on the 12th. Jon and Trinity had been in the middle of moving to their new home in Pensacola, and while most of their belongings had already been moved, they were still waiting for the electricity to be turned on, which wouldn’t happen until Friday night. For now, there were just the essentials left in the house—two beds, one for Rhea and the other for Jon and Trinity, along with the couches. Jey, however, it was easy for him and Rhea to move because Takecia was keeping the house and the furniture and Rhea refusing to set foot in her old home; it was only fair to both of them they get new everything: furniture, decor etc.

Damian had taken charge of booking the private chef, a rising star on Instagram, known for creating luxurious in-home dining experiences. That part of the plan was locked in. Now, Jey was on the hunt for the right party planner, someone who could bring his vision to life—a Great Gatsby-themed party. It wasn’t just because of the extravagance of the theme; it was for Rhea. Jon had mentioned that she had been glued to that movie, watching it on repeat since everything went down. Jey didn’t need to ask why. He could feel it every time he spoke to her, that something was off, something she wasn’t telling him. She always shrugged it off, telling him she was fine, but he knew better. He’d seen that kind of coping before.

"You sure she doesn’t suspect anything?" Damian asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Nah, man," Jey said, though his voice carried a trace of doubt. "She keeps saying everything’s fine, but I can tell something’s wrong."

Damian gave him a look. "And she’s still watching The Great Gatsby?"

"Over and over," Jey said, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I know she’s hurting, but she won’t let me in. Every time I ask, she just brushes it off."

"That’s her way of dealing, I guess," Damian said with a shrug. "You know Rhea—she’s not gonna show it until she’s ready."

Jey sighed. "Yeah, but I want to do something, you know? This birthday, it’s gotta be perfect. It’s the least I can do after everything she’s been through."

Damian nodded. "Well, between the chef and the theme, she’s gonna love it. We just gotta keep it quiet."

As they stood there, waiting for their cue to head to the interview area, Jey’s phone buzzed again. This time it was Jon, texting him about the final details for the house move.

Jon: Got an email, the electricity will be on Friday morning instead of Friday night. You’re good for the 12th. Just make sure you get that party planner locked in Uce.

Jey smiled at the message. Jon had been nothing but supportive since everything had blown up. He and Trinity had opened their home to them, and now they were offering their new place for Rhea’s party. They knew, just as much as Jey did, how much Rhea needed this, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Jey: Thanks, Uce. I’m on it.

He tucked his phone back into his pocket just as the crew signaled for them to head over for the interview.

"Ready?" Damian asked, adjusting his jacket.

"Yeah, let’s do this," Jey replied, but his mind was already racing ahead. The party planner, the decorations, the perfect Gatsby-style extravagance. He wanted everything to be flawless, a night where Rhea could escape, even if just for a few hours, from all the noise, all the judgment, all the hurt.

As they made their way to the interview area, the weight of everything lingered in the back of Jey’s mind. He couldn’t change what people thought of them, couldn’t erase the judgment they were facing, but he could give Rhea something special. Something that showed her, without a doubt, how much she meant to him.

--

Trinity pushed open the door to their soon-to-be former home, her steps echoing in the mostly empty space. The house was almost cleared out now, with only a few essential items left. As she walked into the living room, she saw Rhea lying on the couch, staring at her phone. The Great Gatsby was playing yet again, the small screen glowing in the dim room.

Trinity sighed softly. "Rhea, you’ve gotta stop with that movie," she said, walking over. "Come on, you know you need our help picking out the furniture. You still need to choose your master bedroom set and the two guest bedrooms."

Rhea groaned but didn’t look away from her phone. She knew Trinity was right, but it was hard to pull herself out of the comfort zone she had built with the movie playing on repeat. The familiarity of it kept her mind from wandering too far into the painful realities of her life.

Trinity sat down beside her, nudging her leg. "I mean it. You can’t leave this all to me. The only thing I need is a new dining room set—everything else is on you."

Rhea let out a deep sigh and paused the movie. She knew this was important, and she didn’t want to leave all the decisions up to Trinity. "Okay, okay," she muttered, sitting up. "I’m coming."

Trinity smiled, standing up and giving Rhea’s arm a light tug. "Good. I promise it’ll be fun. You get to make the place feel like home."

Reluctantly, Rhea slid her phone into her pocket and followed Trinity out the door. Jon’s Mustang was parked in the driveway, the trunk still loaded with boxes and bags that hadn’t found a place yet. Jon leaned against the car, scrolling through his phone, but looked up as the women approached.

"Finally!" Jon teased, smirking at Rhea. "Took you long enough."

Rhea rolled her eyes but managed a small smile. She slid into the crowded backseat of the Mustang, squeezing herself in among the bags and random belongings that still needed to be moved.

Jon hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. "Ready to buy a whole house worth of furniture in one afternoon?"

"Not really," Rhea muttered, resting her head against the window.

The drive to Furniture Row was filled with easy conversation between Jon and Trinity, though Rhea stayed mostly quiet. She was still feeling disconnected, like her mind was stuck in a fog. It was hard to focus on anything other than the chaos swirling in her life—her divorce, the media circus, the whispers from the locker room.

But today wasn’t about any of that. Today was about her future, her new home with Jey, and making it their own. As they pulled into the large parking lot of Furniture Row, she tried to push the heaviness aside. This was supposed to be a fresh start, and she needed to start embracing it, even if it felt overwhelming.

Jon parked, and the three of them stepped out into the warm afternoon sun. Trinity was already excited, practically dragging Rhea toward the entrance of the massive showroom.

Inside, the store was a maze of beautifully arranged rooms, each setup more elaborate than the last. Rhea felt a little daunted by the sheer number of choices, but she knew she had to focus. The new rental needed furniture, and she didn’t want to put this off any longer.

Trinity guided her toward the bedroom section first, eyeing different sets. "Okay, you’ve got the master and two guest rooms to fill. Let’s start with your room—something comfortable, luxurious. You deserve it."

Rhea nodded, though the enthusiasm still wasn’t there. She wandered through the rows of beds, running her fingers along the soft headboards and polished wood frames. Eventually, a king-sized bedroom set caught her eye. It was white and elegant, the kind of bed that invited you to sink in and forget about the world for a while.

"I like this one," Rhea said, her voice a little stronger. "For the master bedroom." She had wanted to get away from the black due to having black furniture with Matt.

Trinity smiled. "Perfect. Now let’s find something for the guest rooms."

They spent the next hour moving through the store, selecting two more simple yet cozy bed sets for the guest rooms, Rhea had decided to make them boy friendly for Jey's kids out of respect for both of them. The two then made their way to the dining section. Rhea tried to focus on the details, even though part of her still wanted to retreat.

In the dining area, Jon was already checking out options for Trinity’s new set, running his hands over the surfaces of various tables and chairs. "So what are you thinking, Rhea?" he asked, looking over his shoulder. "Rustic? Modern?"

Rhea took a deep breath, looking over the different sets. She wasn’t sure what style she wanted, but a sleek dark wood table with matching upholstered chairs caught her attention. It was understated yet elegant—something that could work for both formal dinners and casual meals with Jey and their close friends.

"That one," she said, pointing to the table. "It feels right."

Jon and Trinity exchanged a smile, pleased to see Rhea starting to get into the spirit of things.

"You’ve got good taste," Jon commented, stepping over to examine the table more closely. "This’ll look great in your new place."

Rhea smiled, a small sense of accomplishment settling over her. It wasn’t much, but it was a step toward building the life she and Jey were trying to create. Maybe the fog she’d been trapped in was beginning to lift, even if just a little.

As they headed back to the Mustang, with orders placed and delivery dates set, Jon tossed the keys in the air, catching them with a grin. "Not bad for an afternoon of work."

"Yeah," Rhea said, the corners of her lips curling into a smile. "Not bad at all, hope Jey doesn't freak out too much on the pricing..."

"He will be just okay with the $800 down payment you just dropped.." Jon said grinning.

Rhea's Master Bedroom Set:

Rhea's Guest Bedroom Sets:

Trinity's Dining Room Set:

As they walked out of the furniture store, Rhea’s phone buzzed in her hand. She smiled faintly as she saw the message from Jey—he had finally replied to the pictures she’d sent him of the bedroom and dining sets.

"These are great, babe," his message read, followed quickly by, "How’s your day going?"

Rhea’s fingers tapped away quickly, filling him in on the afternoon. The two messaged back and forth for a while, exchanging updates and little comments, their conversation offering her some comfort in the otherwise heavy day. Even though Jey wasn’t physically there, the connection they had through their messages felt grounding.

As Jon pulled the Mustang out of the parking lot and back onto the road, Trinity spoke up from the passenger seat. "You hungry, Rhea? We’re thinking Chick-fil-A. Want something?"

Rhea, feeling a hunger she hadn’t noticed before, nodded. "Yeah, I could eat."

They stopped at the drive-thru and ordered their meals. Jon drove slowly through the line, the trio choosing to eat in the car for privacy. Rhea leaned back, nibbling on her food while glancing at her phone every so often, waiting for Jey’s next message.

By the time they pulled back into the driveway, the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the nearly empty house. Enjoying their final days in the home before they officially moved out.

Jon tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and stretched. "I’ll get us some drinks. You guys sit tight."

Rhea and Trinity settled onto the couch, and for a moment, the room was quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic from outside. Trinity turned toward Rhea, a serious yet gentle expression on her face.

"You sure you’re okay?" Trinity asked, her tone laced with genuine concern. "You’ve been… well, kind of distant lately. With everything going on, I just want to make sure you're good."

Rhea forced a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m fine, really," she answered reflexively. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

Trinity leaned back, eyeing her knowingly. "Girl, come on. You’ve been watching The Great Gatsby on repeat. I mean, I get it, Leo is gorgeous, but…" She nudged Rhea playfully. "You’re a little obsessed, don’t you think?"

Rhea let out a soft laugh, but it was hollow. The mention of the movie made her stomach tighten—a reminder of the emotional weight it carried for her, one that she hadn’t shared with anyone yet.

Just then, Jon returned with three glasses, passing them out. He took a seat on the couch beside Trinity, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the tension between the two women. "Everything okay?"

Rhea hesitated for a moment, looking down at the drink in her hand. She swirled the liquid, watching it move, before glancing up at both of them. Her chest tightened, but she knew she couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore.

"Do you two really want to know why I’ve been watching The Great Gatsby so much?" she asked softly, her voice almost trembling. Jon and Trinity exchanged curious glances before nodding, leaning in slightly.

Rhea took a deep breath. "It’s… it’s the saddest love story ever written. Every time I watch it, I feel like I’m Daisy, stuck between Gatsby and her husband, Tom. But in my case, Jey is Gatsby, and… this whole mess we’re in—this thing called reality—that’s Tom."

Her words hung in the air, and the weight of them hit hard. Jon’s face grew serious, and Trinity listened intently, nodding for Rhea to continue.

Rhea pressed on, her voice shaking as she tried to explain the complexity of her feelings. "Daisy loved Gatsby, but she couldn’t give him everything. She couldn’t fully break free from her life with Tom, and in the end… she let Gatsby down. She broke his heart. And I keep thinking… what if I’m like Daisy? What if I can’t give Jey all of me? What if I let him down, just like she did?"

Tears welled up in Rhea’s eyes, but she blinked them back, trying to stay composed. "I love Jey. I love him so much it hurts, but… I feel like I’m betraying everything I ever stood for. All the sneaking around we did, the lies… I hate it. It made me feel like I wasn’t the person I thought I was."

Jon’s hand reached out, resting gently on her shoulder. "You’re not Daisy," he said firmly. "This isn’t some book. You’re doing the best you can with a difficult situation. You’re not betraying anyone by loving Jey."

Trinity nodded, her voice soft but full of support. "You’ve been through so much, Rhea and Jey? He’s not Gatsby—he’s not going to ask you to give up pieces of yourself. He loves you for you."

Rhea shook her head, emotions swirling in her chest. "But it’s not just about him. It’s about me, too. Every time we snuck around, it felt like I was betraying the values I’ve always held—loyalty, honesty… But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t help it because I am in love with him. However, that doesn’t take away the guilt."

The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, and Rhea wiped them away quickly. "I feel like I’ve let everyone down. The fans, the locker room, even myself. No matter how much I try to justify it, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m… broken."

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of Rhea’s crying. Jon and Trinity didn’t rush to respond. They let her speak, let her pour out the raw truth that had been buried beneath the surface for so long.

After a moment, Trinity leaned forward, her voice steady and warm. "Rhea, you are not broken. You’re human and humans make mistakes. We do things we regret, and we deal with guilt. But that doesn’t define you. What matters is that you’re moving forward, and that you love Jey in the way that matters—the real, deep kind of love that doesn’t fade."

Jon nodded in agreement. "You and Jey? You’re not some tragic love story. You’re writing your own story, and it’s not over yet. You’re stronger than you think."

Rhea wiped her face again, her breathing starting to steady. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a little less alone. Jon and Trinity understood—they didn’t judge her, they didn’t see her as Daisy or Gatsby or Tom. They saw her as Rhea, their friend, who was trying to make sense of the mess she was in.

"You’re not going to let Jey down," Jon said gently. "Because you’ve already given him the most important thing—you."

Rhea nodded, feeling the weight on her chest start to ease just a little. She wasn’t sure where things would go from here, but maybe, just maybe, she could start to believe that she wasn’t doomed to live out a tragedy like the one in The Great Gatsby.

Maybe her story—hers and Jey’s—was still unfolding, and it didn’t have to end in heartbreak.

After their heartfelt conversation, Jon felt a surge of inspiration. "You know what? I still have my laptop in the car," he said suddenly, his eyes brightening. "How about we watch a movie together? It might be nice to unwind after everything."

Rhea and Trinity exchanged hopeful glances, their spirits lifting at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect!" Trinity replied, her enthusiasm breaking the heavy air that had settled around them.

As Jon stepped out to retrieve his laptop, he felt a sense of urgency. He needed to talk to Jey about the birthday party he was planning for Rhea. This was a critical moment; he had to make sure that whatever celebration was in store wouldn’t inadvertently remind Rhea of her current struggles. He dialed Jey’s number, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jey answered, his tone warm but laced with an underlying tension.

"Listen, man," Jon started, taking a breath to steady himself. "I was thinking about the birthday party for Rhea."

“Yeah? What about it?” Jey sounded curious but slightly distracted.

“I think you should rethink the theme. The Great Gatsby might not be the best choice right now,” Jon said, his voice steady but urgent.

There was a pause on the other end. Jon could almost hear Jey’s gears turning. “Why’s that?” he finally asked.

Jon knew he had to be candid. “Rhea’s been watching that movie on repeat. It’s an emotional story for her, and with everything going on, celebrating her birthday with that theme could stir up feelings she’s still processing.”

A moment of silence lingered, and Jon could hear the faint sounds of the venue around Jey. He imagined his friend standing there, a mix of surprise and contemplation washing over him. “I thought something was off when she started watching it so much,” Jey admitted, his tone softening. "Damian, the Great Gatsby is off.."

Suddenly, Jon heard Damian's voice in the background, animatedly arguing in rapid Spanish. “What’s he saying?” he asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.

“Damian, ENGLISH AGAIN!” Jey snapped, a hint of amusement breaking through his frustration.

Jon chuckled, picturing the chaos unfolding on the other side of the line. “Sounds like a classic Damian moment. Always trying to keep things spicy.”

“I’ll find a different theme,” Jey said, sounding resolute. “Thanks for the heads-up, Jon. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, man. Just looking out for her,” Jon replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Changing the theme would be a significant step toward creating a celebration filled with joy rather than reminders of heartache.

After ending the call, Jon returned to the living room, where Rhea and Trinity were waiting expectantly. He settled onto the couch, opening his laptop and searching for something lighthearted to watch. The weight of their earlier conversation lingered in the air, but the anticipation of a fun movie night began to lift their spirits.

Rhea, still processing her feelings, snuggled up beside Trinity, who threw an arm around her in a comforting embrace. "You know, we could go for something funny," Jon suggested, scrolling through options. "How about a classic comedy? Something to make us laugh."

"That sounds perfect," Rhea replied, her voice a touch lighter. "I could use a good laugh."

The camaraderie of Rhea's family was a balm for her weary heart. While shadows of her situation still loomed large, moments like these reminded her that she wasn’t alone. She felt grateful for Jon and Trinity, their unwavering support providing her with a sense of stability amidst the chaos.

As the movie played, Rhea found herself laughing along with Jon and Trinity. The shared joy, the lighthearted jokes, and the easy banter made her momentarily forget the heaviness she had been carrying. Each laugh was like a small victory, a reminder that even in the midst of turmoil, happiness could still find its way through.

Yet, deep down, Rhea grappled with her emotions. The thoughts of Jey, the affair, and the impending changes weighed heavily on her. She knew their love was real, but the fear of hurting him, of being the Daisy to his Gatsby, was overwhelming. She silently wished for clarity, for strength, to navigate the storm that lay ahead.

As laughter echoed in the room, Rhea felt a sense of warmth envelop her. She glanced at her family, their faces lit with joy, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way forward—one day, one moment at a time.

-

Jey sat on the edge of the hotel bed, running his hand through his hair in frustration as Damian paced the room, tossing out random ideas for Rhea’s birthday theme. "What about a ‘90s retro vibe?” Damian suggested, to which Jey shook his head.

"Nah, man. She’s not into that." Jey sighed. Ever since Jon had warned them not to go with the Great Gatsby theme, they had been stuck, unable to agree on a new direction for Rhea’s 28th birthday.

They were still deep in discussion when Damian’s phone buzzed. He checked it and grinned. “Kayden wants to hit up a club tonight.”

Jey looked up, feeling a mix of hesitation and exhaustion. "A club? I don’t know, man. You know I’m not really feeling all that right now."

Damian, always the persuasive one, nudged him. "Come on, bro. You need a break. All we’ve been doing is planning and stressing. It’s just one night. You need to chill."

Jey paused, thinking about how much backlash he and Rhea had faced since their relationship became public. He had been trying to lay low ever since, avoiding the spotlight outside the ring. “I don’t know, D. What if we run into trouble?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “No one’s gonna bother us, man. We’ll keep it lowkey. Just a couple of drinks, good music, and we’re out. I swear.”

After a few moments, Jey gave in, deciding to put Rhea’s birthday plans on hold for the night. “Alright, fine. But I’m holding you to that lowkey promise.”

Both guys got dressed—Jey pulling on a black hoodie and Damian in his usual all-black outfit with his signature leather jacket. They met Kayden in the hotel lobby, and she greeted Damian with a huge smile, throwing her arms around him. “You guys ready?”

Jey stayed quiet, still unsure about the whole idea, but followed them as they climbed into an Uber and made their way to the club. When they arrived, there was a long line out the door, and Jey’s nerves flared up again. But as they exited the car, the bouncer spotted Damian and grinned, pointing at his Damian Priest shirt.

“Ayo, Priest! Come on in, man, WEPA!” the bouncer said, pulling the velvet rope to let them inside. Jey shot Damian a look.

Damian just shrugged. “What can I say? Lowkey, right?”

Inside, the music was loud, the crowd packed and buzzing with energy. The lights flashed in every direction, and Jey instantly regretted agreeing to come. He slouched a little, trying to disappear into his hoodie, but Damian was already calling over a waitress.

“Three Coronas, three shots of Patrón with lime,” Damian ordered, handing her his credit card.

Jey blinked at him, confused. “What the fuck happened to lowkey?”

Damian just grinned. “This is how I do lowkey.”

Jey reluctantly took the first shot, feeling the heat of the Patrón hit him instantly. The lime did little to help. A few shots later, the hesitation he had felt all night started to fade. He found himself grinning, laughing at Kayden and Damian’s drunken jokes, the trio on the verge of tipping over in the booth. The stress of the last few weeks seemed to lift, if only temporarily.

Jey then had an idea. Not his best one. “Yo, should I ask the DJ to play my theme song?”

Kayden snorted with laughter, and Damian, clearly just as buzzed, grinned wide. “I bet you 200 bucks you won’t do it.”

Fueled by the alcohol and Damian’s dare, Jey downed another shot of Patrón and staggered toward the DJ booth. The security guard standing nearby recognized him and smiled.

“Jey Uso, right? Big fan, man.”

Jey smirked, the alcohol making him bolder. “I bet you won’t play my theme music.”

The DJ, clearly up for the challenge, grabbed the mic and hyped up the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got the honor of hosting WWE’s newest Intercontinental Champion, Jey Uso!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Jey felt a surge of adrenaline as the DJ blasted his theme song. His heart pounded with the bass, the crowd's energy sweeping him up.

Then, in another questionable decision, Jey grabbed the mic and started shouting, “YEET! YEET!” The crowd caught on quickly, chanting along with him.

In that moment, Jey was completely in his element, lost in the noise and the chants. The worries and backlash melted away as the crowd responded with deafening YEETs, each one louder than the last. But deep down, as the music blared and the shots continued to burn through him, Jey couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to come back to bite him.

After Jey led the crowd in a rowdy YEET chant, he tipped the DJ generously and leaned in, asking, “Yo, can you play some early 2000s hip-hop?” The DJ nodded, and Jey smiled, stumbling slightly as he made his way back to the booth, still riding the high of the crowd's energy.

But before he could get there, he felt someone grab his hand. Turning around, he was met with a mischievous grin from a random woman who had made her way toward him. “Hey, you wanna party in the bathroom?” she asked, her eyes flashing with something Jey wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He was still processing what was happening when suddenly, Kayden stepped between them, glaring at the woman.

“He’s not interested. Jey’s with us,” Kayden snapped, her voice firm.

The woman’s smile faded, and she gave Jey a smug look. “We all know you cheat,” she said, her words dripping with venom. Jey’s heart skipped a beat. For a split second, the alcohol’s haze lifted, and reality came crashing back. All the backlash, the judgment, and the scrutiny he and Rhea had been facing since their relationship became public hit him like a punch in the gut.

Kayden grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the woman before things could escalate. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said, her voice low but urgent.

Jey didn’t argue. Kayden led him back to Damian, who was still laughing, completely oblivious to what had just happened. “We need to go,” she told him quickly, not waiting for Damian to ask why.

The three of them pushed through the packed club, weaving between groups of people, the flashing lights and pounding music making Jey’s head spin. Just as they reached the exit, they were greeted by the one thing Jey didn’t want to deal with: paparazzi.

Cameras flashed in their faces, blinding him. Jey tried to block the flashes with his arm, frustration bubbling up as the photographers shouted his name, asking intrusive questions. "Jey! Over here! Is Rhea with you tonight? What's going on with the relationship?"

The alcohol made everything worse, clouding his judgment and making his annoyance flare. Kayden, seeing the situation spiraling, acted fast. She spotted a line of taxis nearby and grabbed both Jey and Damian by the hands, tugging them toward a free cab.

“Royal Sonesta, please!” Kayden called out to the driver as they climbed inside. The taxi sped off just as the paparazzi gathered around, trying to snap more photos, but the car pulled away too quickly for them to follow.

Inside the taxi, Jey leaned back, rubbing his face. “Man, I knew this was a bad idea.”

Kayden, still holding Damian’s hand, looked over at him. “Yeah, you’re right. But we’re out now. Let’s just get back to the hotel and call it a night.”

Damian, still buzzed but sensing the shift in energy, nodded in agreement. “Lowkey, right?” he said, giving Jey a half-smile.

Jey didn’t laugh this time. He just stared out the window, feeling the weight of the night—and his choices—settle heavily on his shoulders.

The taxi finally pulled up to the Royal Sonesta, and the three of them stumbled out, struggling to walk straight. Jey felt like his mind was clearer now, but his body was still betraying him, the alcohol lingering in his system. “I may be alert now, but my body is still messed up,” he muttered, trying to laugh it off, but the words slurred as they left his mouth.

Damian stretched, still riding the buzz. “I’m gonna spend the night with Kayden,” he said, giving Jey a lazy grin before he and Kayden disappeared down the hallway toward their room.

Jey nodded, trying to focus on his own journey down the hall. He felt the room spin slightly as he walked, forcing him to grab onto the wall every few steps. “Come on, Uso… you got this,” he whispered to himself, determined to make it to his door without puking.

When he finally reached his room, he fumbled with his key card, barely managing to get it into the slot. The door clicked open, and Jey stumbled inside. That’s when everything started to go downhill.

His head started spinning, the room tilting and swaying like he was on a boat. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He bent down to take off his shoes, but the motion sent his body off balance. Before he could stop it, he pitched forward, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.

Jey groaned, his mind too foggy to process the situation. The last thing he remembered before darkness took over was the sensation of his cheek pressed against the floor, and then he was out cold, knocked out by the weight of exhaustion and alcohol.

—

9:08 AM Thursday October 3rd.

Rhea groggily turned off her alarm without even glancing at her phone. She shuffled toward the bathroom, her body still half-asleep. As she washed her face, she reached for her toothbrush but paused when she realized she was out of toothpaste. With a frustrated sigh, she decided to head to Jon and Trinity’s room to borrow some.

Still rubbing her eyes, Rhea knocked lightly before stepping inside. She barely noticed how quickly both Jon and Trinity put away their phones as soon as she entered. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Hey, can I borrow some toothpaste?"

Trinity, looking alarmed, didn’t respond right away. She glanced at Jon, who just kept his head down, pretending to be busy with something else. Without saying a word, Trinity pointed toward the bathroom. Rhea now had the most curious and annoyed look on her face.

Rhea, now fully awake and sensing something was off, hesitated. "Okay... What’s going on?" she asked, looking between them.

Trinity sighed, exchanging another glance with Jon. After a brief pause, she reached over to her nightstand and handed Rhea her phone, a look of reluctance on her face. "You might want to see this," Trinity said softly.

Confused, Rhea took the phone and saw the screen filled with social media posts—pictures of Jey at the club the night before, stumbling out, surrounded by paparazzi, looking drunk and out of control. There were headlines, too, speculating about his behavior and dragging their relationship back into the spotlight.

Her stomach sank. “What the hell?” Rhea muttered, scrolling through the comments, each one harsher than the last. All the backlash she and Jey had fought was suddenly flaring up again even worse.

Trinity watched her carefully. “We didn’t want you to find out like this. Jon’s been trying to get ahold of Jey all morning, but he hasn’t answered.”

Rhea's hands tightened around the phone as she felt a wave of frustration, anger, and disappointment wash over her. "I can’t believe this..." she whispered, feeling her heart race as she tried to make sense of it all.

Rhea handed Trinity her phone back, her mind racing as she headed back to her room. She needed to check her own phone and see if Jey had reached out. As she opened her messages, she noticed a series of texts from him, sent late last night while she had been asleep. Her heart sank as she scrolled through them, each message progressively more incoherent and filled with typos.

9:38 PM

Hey Rhea, just wanna say goodnight. You’re the best. ❤️

10:08 PM

I’m out with Damian… we’re just chillin. You shoulda come!

11:49 PM

Dude, this place is crazy! I feel like a champ! U should be here!

12:12 Am

Can’t believe it…. I’m thaaaaa champ.! YEET! Where u at?!

1:48 AM

U should’ve come with me! Rhea plz! Everyone’s here and they know me. I miss u. Where’d u go? I love u!🤍

Her heart ached at the sight of the last message, the way his affection spilled out in a drunken haze mixed with desperation. Just then, her phone rang, and she glanced at the screen to see it was Paul calling. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she answered, “Hi, Paul.”

“Rhea, hey,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Have you been in touch with Jey?”

She hesitated for a moment before replying, “I received a goodnight text from him at 9:30, but that was it,” she lied, trying to keep her tone professional.

“Okay, I just wanted to check in. We’re getting a lot of press about his night out, and I need to know if he is okay…” Paul said, his voice filled with concern.

“I’ll try to reach him,” Rhea replied, her heart racing. After hanging up, she immediately attempted to call Jey, but it went straight to voicemail. Panic set in as she left a message, her voice shaky. “Jey, it’s Rhea. Please call me back. I need to know you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”

She ended the call, staring at her phone, unsure of what to do next. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her chest, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was going to change everything.

—

Damian woke up with a splitting headache, a throbbing reminder of the chaotic night before. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the curtains, the brightness only amplifying his discomfort. In the corner of the room, Kayden was doing yoga, gracefully transitioning into the King Pigeon pose. She took a deep breath, her focus unwavering, and as she held the position, she glanced back at him.

“Good morning,” Damian mumbled, still rubbing his temples.

“Morning! You look rough,” Kayden replied with a teasing smile before taking another deep breath. “Jey, Press, Paul,” she added, her tone shifting slightly as she remembered the events of the night before.

Damian kissed her on the cheek, his mind racing. He quickly got dressed and left the room, making his way to his and Jey’s hotel room. When he opened the door, his heart dropped. Jey was passed out on the floor, tangled in his clothes, and it was clear he hadn’t made it to bed.

“Jey!” Damian exclaimed, rushing over and rolling him onto his back. He shook him vigorously, trying to rouse him from his slumber. Jey struggled to open his eyes, but when he finally managed to do so, he immediately shut them again, groaning.

“Come on, man! Wake up!” Damian shouted, panic creeping into his voice. He could see that Jey was disoriented, his expression blank as he tried to piece together where he was and what had happened.

“What... what time is it?” Jey mumbled, his words slurred and barely coherent.

“It’s late, dude! We have a situation,” Damian urged, looking at Jey with urgency. “Paul’s been trying to reach you. You’re all over the news! You can’t just sleep this off!”

Jey finally blinked a few times, slowly processing Damian's words. “What do you mean? What’s going on?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, clearly still struggling to shake off the remnants of the night.

“Last night was a mess! You need to get up!” Damian said, feeling the pressure mounting as he watched Jey try to come to terms with reality. The gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on Jey, and the look in his eyes shifted from confusion to concern as he realized he had to take responsibility for his actions.

“Fucking told you ‘lowkey’ would get us into trouble!” Jey yelled, his voice hoarse from the night’s escapades. But Damian ignored him, staring intently at his phone.

“We're going to be in big trouble,” Damian muttered, swiping through notifications. He turned the screen towards Jey, showing him the litany of missed calls and messages. Jey's heart sank as he processed the numbers: three missed calls from Paul, four messages from Rhea, seven missed calls from Rhea, and two voicemails.

Jey took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His hands trembled slightly as he quickly grabbed his own phone, the screen lighting up with notifications. His heart raced as he saw the chaos unfold before him: seven missed calls from Jon, four missed calls from Trinity, four from Paul, and that’s when it hit him like a freight train—fifteen missed calls from Rhea, along with several voicemails.

“Oh no,” he muttered, his stomach dropping. “What the hell did I do last night?”

Damian ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “We need to figure this out, like, now. Rhea’s worried sick, and you know how Paul can get. We can't just ignore this.”

Jey’s mind raced as he tried to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night. “I didn’t mean to cause this mess,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to have a good time for once. I didn’t think it would spiral like this.”

“Yeah, well, it did,” Damian replied sharply. “We need to face the music. Start by calling Paul back.”

Jey nodded, swallowing hard as he dialed Paul’s number. The phone rang, and with each tone, his anxiety grew. He could only hope he would pick up and that somehow, he could make this right before it went any further downhill.

After what felt like an eternity, Paul answered the phone after just two rings. His tone was clipped, and Jey braced himself for the inevitable lecture.

“Jey, listen to me. Just listen. I don’t want to hear excuses right now,” Paul began, his voice heavy with frustration. “I understand that the relationship being leaked has been eating at your mentality, but this? Getting completely fucked up at a club? That’s not how you handle things.”

Jey winced, guilt flooding through him. He opened his mouth to respond, but Paul cut him off again.

“Worse yet, you thought it was a good idea to go up to the DJ and ask him to play your theme song? What were you thinking?” Paul continued, his voice rising. “You’re representing WWE, and this behavior is unacceptable. You’re supposed to be a professional!”

“I didn’t mean to—” Jey began, but Paul was relentless.

“You didn’t mean to what? Make a spectacle of yourself? You didn’t think your actions could have repercussions? This isn’t just about you, Jey; it affects the entire roster and the company’s reputation!”

Jey felt his stomach churn as he absorbed the weight of Paul’s words. “I know, Paul. I messed up. I just... I wanted to get my mind off everything, you know? With the whole situation with Rhea—”

“Save it!” Paul snapped. “You’re dismissed for the remainder of the weekend. You’re lucky I’m not taking your title away from you right now. You’re also being fined five thousand dollars for this stunt.”

Jey’s heart sank. “Five thousand?”

“Yeah, five thousand,” Paul replied, his tone still icy. “Also have Damian call me. He’s going to have to deal with this too. You need to get it together and face the consequences of your actions.”

“Understood,” Jey muttered, feeling defeated.

“Good. We’ll talk later.” With that, Paul hung up.

As Jey ended the call, the weight of his choices crashed down on him. He looked over at Damian, who was watching him intently. “Well?” Damian asked, crossing his arms.

“Paul’s furious,” Jey admitted, running a hand through his hair. “He’s dismissing me for the weekend and fining me five grand. Said I’m lucky I’m keeping my title. He wants you to call him as well.”

“Damn, Jey,” Damian said, shaking his head. “We really stepped in it this time.”

“I know,” Jey replied, a sense of urgency flooding through him. “I need to fix this with Rhea before it gets any worse.”

“Then let’s go,” Damian said, determination in his eyes. “You’ve got to make it right.”

With a deep breath, Jey steeled himself for what lay ahead. He couldn’t let his mistakes define him; he needed to confront the fallout of his actions and salvage what was left of his relationship with Rhea.

Jey took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart as he dialed Rhea’s number. When she picked up, her voice was soft, almost fragile, and it sent a jolt of guilt through him.

“Jey?” she said, and he could hear the tension in her voice. Before he could explain himself, she interrupted him.

“Please, just come home,” Rhea pleaded, her words laced with urgency. “I’d rather talk to you in person. Just come home to me…”

Before he could respond, she hung up, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone. Jey’s heart sank, the weight of her words crashing down on him. He felt like he really fucked up this time.

“Fuck!” he yelled, frustration boiling over. He began throwing his clothes into his duffel bag, each item representing his anger and regret. He didn’t care how it looked; he just wanted to leave. He tossed in his toiletries with reckless abandon, not even bothering to organize them.

“Jey, wait!” Damian called, trying to intervene as he watched his friend spiral. “You need to calm down!”

But Jey was beyond listening. The feelings of letting Rhea down clawed at him, igniting a fire that he couldn’t extinguish. He zipped up his bag with a swift motion and stormed out of the hotel room, ignoring Damian’s attempts to calm him.

The hallway felt suffocating as Jey marched toward the elevator. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the anger propelling him forward. Each step brought the weight of his mistakes into sharper focus, and he was determined to face Rhea and make things right, no matter what it took. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel alone or abandoned.

As he waited for the elevator, he replayed their conversation in his mind, his stomach twisting in knots. He had to show her that he cared, that he was there for her—even if it meant confronting his own demons along the way.

[loganswdc]

i dunno who fucking said it, if it was david c. or will buxton but they tried my baby (logan), comparing franco to logan talking about how franco was better and saying logan crashed more and shit, but they both can eat my shit and leave my baby ALONE .

- 🏎

REAL REAL REAL REAL REAL literally i don't understand how anyone thinks they can fairly compare logan and franco when logan never got to drive the car with upgrades (and when he got upgrades they took them away !) while franco is driving a fully upgraded car like come on 😭 and in general it's insane to me how vehemently people have been comparing franco , not just to logan but to other drivers , too !! like it not only makes me upset for logan and the other drivers being compared to him because ?? wtf ?? but it also makes me sad for franco because he didn't sign up for this kind of treatment .

i truly will never understand how people can think they can fairly compare franco with others , especially with logan , and the insane hate that people have towards logan . i cannot comprehend it and i don't think i ever will . i overall do not understand the hate that a lot of drivers get . perhaps it's because i have a lot of empathy for people and can understand different sides of things ,, but i just don't understand how hateful the f1 community has been recently . and that especially goes to how people have treated logan .

and the commentators making such comments and coming after logan even though its been a whole month since he got dropped is also insane to me . it's as though they have nothing else to talk about and their commentary will fall flat if they don't take a jab at logan . like , please , just move on . let him rest . let him go on to different motorsports series and show how good of a driver he is . they need to stop constantly bringing him up in such a negative way . he was their scapegoat then and he still is now , and it's pathetic and sad and disgusting .

and it's crazy to me how it's their job to know what's going on (who has upgrades , who doesn't , who is driving what car , etc.) and yet they never have any clue what the fuck is going on and make stupid comments . like y'all fucking SUCK at ur jobs if all you can comment on is negative things about logan . literally they need to do some damn research and open their eyes like us fans have been doing for so long 😭

also !! on a happier note -- oh my gosh hi race car anon !! this is my first ever emoji anon message i've ever gotten so this is genuinely so exciting to me 😭💞

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

do you think Eridan would listen to kpop ? (either the human or Troll variant)

if not...then which troll would be the most likely to :3c

LOL no way, he's a hipster. KPop is mainstream as hell; if anything, he'd have disdain for it (and for pop as a whole). One of the less emotionally perturbed trolls would probably enjoy that stuff, though I don't know that I'd call any of the Alternian crew the kind who'd consider it to be their favorite, since nearly all of them are at least a little alt in some way, and kpop (and idol culture as a whole) is heavily tied up in politics, propaganda, capitalism, and consumption - so the troll version of it would be that times a thousand.

I'd say Feferi, Gamzee, and Kanaya probably quite like it because they're most at ease with their society, but it's not their favorite. Equius probably sees it as being aimed at the lower castes, and therefore crass and beneath him. Everyone else would probably get the propaganda vibes and dislike it on principle, even if some of them might secretly find some songs catchy (cough Karkat cough).

If you want to get into Beforan trolls, haha, oh man. I think more of them would like it than not.

Normally, I'd say that Eridan would at least make a show of liking it, given how much he makes a show of being a Sea Dweller(TM), but his hipster tastes, like his interest in magic, don't appear to be things he can shake. Karkat even calls him a hipster, so you KNOW he's out here dissing Trollor Swift and making disdainful faces when people bring up Troll Marvel.

I have as a selection of bands for Eridan Have a Nice Life (post-rock/post-punk/shoegaze), Sprain (noise rock/experimental rock), and Tool (alternative metal/art rock/progressive rock). Generally, I find he vibes with stuff on the darker side of post/prog rock, or the more lyrical side of heavy metal - both in terms of themes (lots of darker topics, like death, murder, suicide, child abuse, etc.) and in terms of sound. It also fulfills the requirement of being "hipster" by nature. Eridan is a very troubled, angry, violent guy, and I personally like to call the linked bands "angry man music". Just a smattering of lyrics for those who don't want to listen:

I've been doing a lot of damned things without you And all the damned things I do confound you Yeah, Satan and his devils try to take my hand And the angels on my shoulders try to tell me that they understand Oh well, oh well

Imagine this: I'm the guest on some obscene talk show In a cell of moral compromise The audience is made up of everyone that I have ever met in my entire life Every sin I've ever committed is put up on display by screens hung around the stage And we watch, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch The host says "I now present to you an elaborate choreography of failure!" The audience erupts with seemingly coordinated jets of jargon laughter "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Shame on you!"

I'm broken, looking up to see the enemy And I have swallowed the poison you feed me But I survive on the poison you feed me, leaving me Guilt-fed, hatred-fed, weakness-fed It makes me feel ugly

I think even when his tastes do venture lighter, they still never really cross the threshold into pure pop. There's always going to be a hipster, indie, punk-y, shoegaze/post-rock bent to his tastes. I also list for him Dirt Poor Robins, Family Crest, Johnny Hollow...

Wisdom unearned is Intrepid and proud Till we’re dragged by the tide and nearly have drowned Entropy thrives In conditions enclosed Innovations arise When humanity chokes

Cast your heart to the floor, love Feel the sting, feel the weight Of a love, of a love not strong enough Your head's on fire Your hands and feet come off the ground Oh, sweet desire, when your mind, when your mind When your mind's not strong enough It's not that your head is gone It's just that your heart is on fire, fire It's not that the beat is off It's just that your heart is on fire, fire

Once when I was all alone I called you, and you weren't at home My heart fell like a stone, to the ground To the ground, to the ground Why, when morn had dawned on me And anger grew like ecstasy And Leda threw the swan on me and I fell to the ground To the ground, to the ground

Hilariously, this alt/hipster taste means that he runs up against stuff that's ridiculously anti-government; I personally like to believe he does actually listen to outright anti-fascist songs, but if you point it out, he's just like. No it isn't. So SWMRS, Silver Mt. Zion, Vansire.

Well, you gotta keep it up But it will never be enough No sonrisa teenage shit pop Well, you gotta keep it up But it will never be enough No sonrisa teenage shit pop Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic

There's fresh meat in the club tonight God bless our dead marines Someone had an accident Above the burning trees While somewhere distant peacefully Our vulgar princes sleep Dead kids don't get photographed God bless our dead marines

So I convalesced in the middle west And fell for Ohio's roads I'm standing still by the windowsill Where I once watched the world explode So when it's looking dark in your narrative arc I'm here and you can talk with me A hackneyed fool under fascist rule Wasting days singing about his dreams

It's a pretentious-ass taste, but one that fits in with the vocabulary he likes to use:

CA: all of her FRAUDULENT MAGICS cannot come close to posin threat to my mastery ovver the TRUEST SCIENCES CA: an wwith my empiricists wwand i servve as the righteous hope that wwill incinerate delusion and the deluded alike CA: my holy fire is the wwhite fury bled from the wwrath-wweary eyes of fifty thousand nonfictional angels CA: and wwhen theyre finished wweepin they wwill boww before their prince GG: wow what are you talking about

I miss the days when stars were saintly They sang to me in ways innately Before we enslaved the symphony To playing anthems for selling things I used to wonder, wander farther Into awe, but those days were squandered My ghost was lost to the grownup gallows So I find my spirit in the bottle

Those modal masterworks Atonal oeuvres it seems When I ask afterwards All message lost in between The shifting aperture Depicting sun-soaked scenes I guess they resonate That's Universal Consciousness

Fate’s a funny thing It makes a victim of the will and brings a suit of broken bands A snake so full of tail That it can barely breathe to say it “doesn’t understand.” So, what am I to think? What am I to think? I’m doing it now At least I know I am At least I caught myself before I sent this out Into a stupid world that doesn’t give a damn Oh, what kind of fool do you think I am?

Like, I really can't stress enough, but Eridan is abjectly fucking miserable, angry and violent, anxious and unhappy. And his taste in music should reflect that, his feelings of impotence, his angry and anxious energy, his desperation. Have a Nice Life is probably the band I pick for him, because their discography reflects so greatly these emotions of anger, impotence, self-loathing and self-destruction.

The thing about being a hipster is that there's, the way I see it, three main reasons people wind up falling into it - the first is that they want to feel special, feel better than other people (not really Eridan's deal); the second is that they're just generally a music liker and their taste is indiscriminate enough to include indie stuff, too (and this is also not really Eridan's deal); and the last is because there is something in their soul that cries out for validation that they can't receive in the mainstream - for example, emotions, impulses, thoughts, and urges too dark for radio play (such as an obsession with genocide and murder). It's actually really important to me that Eridan IS a hipster, and specifically the type of hipster who's super pretentious and looks down on stuff that's "popular."

He has a massive fixation on being understood - complaining constantly that people don't "get it," that "nobody understands." This would extend to his taste in music. He would seek out genuine-ness, something grungy, something real, and unfortunately, stuff that's made for mass-market consumption must have the edges sanded off by nature. Given he actually gets upset when people don't "get" him, I'd wager that he doesn't treat media that he feels doesn't "get" him pretty poorly, too.

To be clear, I'm not trying to diss KPop in any way. It's not really my thing, but I get why people like it, and I'm not saying you shouldn't. Just feel like I have to toss that in there. I just really don't think Eridan would like it. And also he would probably be mean about it if you told him you liked it.

[poorlittlegreenie13]

Another 'Rules For (fake) Dating an Italian' deleted scene that I promised to post: (the omitted shower scene from chapter nine)

this was gonna start where they were walking to the L after dinner... but the chapter was getting too long & it's kind of dumb & just wasn't feeling it lolll. But you can read it if you really want to! (& I didn't proofread it. sorry! Hopefully no egregious errors).

When she finally looks up again, she finds herself staring at the CVS across the street and stops abruptly. 

“Oh, come with me,” she says, tugging his hand to J-walk across the street. 

“Syd!” Carmy says, eyes widening, glancing at the cars approaching on either side of them. 

“Pedestrians have right of way!” Sydney says, pulling him quickly across before either of them can get flattened. 

“What do you need from CVS?” Carmy says, slightly breathless, as they walk in, dry heat hitting them both as the doors slide closed on the Chicago cold. 

“It’s not what I need, it’s what you need,” she says, pulling him toward the shampoo aisle. 

“Oh, you were serious about the shampoo,” he says, though he doesn’t sound particularly upset about it. 

Would she be crazy if she thought he might actually sound slightly overwhelmed by the idea? But not in a bad way. More in the way where he looks like he’s holding back his actual reaction. She wants to see it.

“I’m not letting you bald in your early thirties because you used 3-in-1 your whole life,” Sydney says, stopping in front of a shelf of shampoos and conditioners and carefully choosing a pair of bottles, which she hands to Carmy. 

“Sounds great,” he says, not even looking at them. The words have a hazy quality to them. She smiles at him, grabbing a bottle of leave-in conditioner for good measure. 

“You need anything else?” she asks him. 

He shakes his head quickly and she nods, walking toward the register, Carmy trailing behind her. 

Somehow, Sydney did not notice them walking through a section of condoms and lube on their way to the hair productions on the way in. 

She notices now though. 

There are a couple of people waiting to check out at the register, and she intended to hang back, not wanting to crowd them, but she realizes now the connotation of her pausing in this particular section of the store. 

Carmy clears his throat. She looks at him. He’s blushing. He’s so pathetic sometimes; she’s fucking crazy about him. 

“Should I…?” he says. 

On any other occasion, she might’ve teased him about trailing off instead of being able to say it out loud, but he’s already so red in the face, she decides to be merciful. 

“What, you don’t have one in your wallet?” she says. “What kind of date is this?”

“You’re so mature, Sydney,” he says, holding back a smile, shaking his head at her. “So mature.”

“You’re the one who’s blushing,” she says, and he blushes harder, grabbing a pack of condoms off the shelf and walking away from her, up to the—now available—register. 

She follows closely behind him, drunk on the ease of it all; the absurd, entrancing way they seem to be able to speak to each other. She’s never had that with anybody else before. She likes the way he smiles when she tries to make a joke. 

In his apartment—a mutually-agreed-upon destination landed on during an L-ride that consisted mostly of staring at each other—Sydney kicks her shoes off by the door and sizes him up for a second.

He fills a glass with water and sets her flowers into them. Then he empties his pockets onto the counter; keys, wallet, phone, cigarettes, then finally, he carefully sets the plastic CVS bag down next to them, looking over at Sydney with a note of uncertain expectation on his face.

“I feel like I should offer you food, but we just ate,” he says, smiling ruefully. 

Sydney stays silent for a second, wondering if she’s being like… overly horny, and weird.

But then she considers the fact that Carmy is still blushing, and decides it’s probably fine. 

“I could, uh, show you how to use that stuff,” she says, inclining her head toward the CVS bag, then, after a moment of silence, quickly adding, “I meant the hair stuff. I didn’t mean the condoms. I mean, we can… we can use the condoms. If you want. But I’m sure you’re… perfectly capable of using those yourself. No instructions necessary.” She forces an awkward little laugh. 

He smiles at her. Not patronizing, or annoyed. He smiles at her like there’s nothing more charming on this earth than her making an utter fool of herself. She watches him bite his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, and then he laughs anyway, a sweet, boyish sound. A sound that makes affection for him swell up in her chest like a helium balloon. 

She finds herself scoffing too. 

“It wasn’t that funny,” she says. 

He presses his lips together in a thin smile to stop laughing. There’s color in his cheeks; a warmth to him, underneath all the overly-formal newness of the date. 

She snatches the CVS bag off the counter, turning and walking toward the bathroom without waiting for him.

She hears him following close behind her. She kicks her shoes off, stopping outside his shower and pulling her sweater over her head (unable to stop herself from neatly folding it and setting it gently down on the closet toilet seat. Because heaven forbid it get fucked up; she loves it like an old friend). 

When she looks up, Carmy is standing in the doorway, tongue playing at the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on her.

Jesus Christ, are they actually doing this?

Theoretically, stripping her clothes off in front of a guy she just went on a first date with isn’t really her style. 

This is different though, isn’t it? 

Honestly, she doesn’t really care. 

She’s standing in just her skirt, and the bra she picked out that morning (not a particularly nice bra, to be completely honest, she only owns four bras and they’re all the same, just in different colors).

Carmy’s eyes don’t move off her, but his fingers come to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with absurd dexterity, until he has enough room to pull it over his head, leaving him in a white wife beater, gold chain glinting. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Sydney says. 

Carmy scoffs. “Fuck me? You’re the one who looks like that.”

“Like what?” Sydney demands indignantly. 

“Like a fucking angel,” Carmy says, a disbeliving laugh breaking through his words halfway through the sentence. 

“You look like Marlon fucking Brando,” she says. 

“You look cold,” Carmy says, smile softening. “Wanna turn that water on?”

Simple command, but it still makes her smile fade, and her cheeks heat. She nods, turning and reaching into his shower to turn the hot water on, standing on the bathmat where it can’t reach her. 

With her back still turned to him, she reaches to undo the clasp of her bra, sliding it off and letting it fall to the tile floor of his bathroom. 

She hears him inhale. 

Hears a faint rustle of fabric. 

She brings her fingers to the zipper of her skirt and pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. 

He’s taken his undershirt off. 

She stands unmoving for a long moment, stuck in the feeling of him staring at her like a fly stuck in honey. 

“Syd,” he says gently, after a moment. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Do you want to do this?” she asks. 

He exhales a soft laugh. 

“Yes,” he says simply. 

“Well, so do I,” she says, turning back to look at the shower water, unzipping the side of her skirt. “Get over here,” she says, one hand still holding her skirt up. 

Carmy crosses quickly to her; shirtless, impossible. His eyes flick down to her chest, but quickly come back up to her face, like he thinks she might not notice. 

She did notice. She didn’t mind. 

“You first,” she says, nodding toward his pants, still buttoned. 

He scoffs, and a blush creeps up his exposed chest, but he unbuttons them anyway, pushing them down his hips and stepping out of them, left in boxers and socks. 

She lets her skirt drop, kicking it over the same way as Carmy’s pants, and without letting herself hesitate, slides her panties down her hips too and steps under the water, inhaling sharply as it hits her head, instantly banishing any hints of the cold from her body. 

She hears the curtain slide shut, and when she opens her eyes, Carmy is standing across from her, his back pressed to the cold tiles behind the showerhead, totally dry. 

She steps back so he can stand under the water too, but he makes no motion to move until she reaches out and takes one of his wrists in her hand, pulling him under the water. 

He tilts his head back, water running over his face, curls straightening out beneath it. She finds her eyes catching on stray drops of water as they trail down his chest. 

But no. She’s getting distracted. 

“Carm,” she says. “Hair.”

“Really?” he says, with a faint note of exasperation, opening his eyes and looking at her. 

“What, did you think this was just an excuse to get you in the shower?” she says, reaching out to get the shampoo and conditioner and setting them on the shelf. “I don’t joke about curl patterns, Carmen.”

“Right,” Carmy says, shaking his head slowly. “I should’ve known.”

She smiles at him ruefully.

“I still don’t know what was so bad about my 3-in-1,” he says. 

Sydney rolls her eyes. 

“God, you’re hopeless,” she says, “here, just turn around.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, spinning him to face the opposite shower wall. 

The water hits his face and he tilts his head back to avoid it. 

For a moment, she lets her eyes wander over his back; littered with tattoos, dripping with water. 

She wants to press a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades, but she settles instead for dragging her fingers over the slopes of his shoulders, down his biceps, lingering on his skin until she pulls her hands away to reach for the shampoo. She sees him shiver. 

“I never take warm showers,” he murmurs. Maybe to break the silence. Maybe just to talk. 

“Why not?” she asks, pouring some shampoo into one hand and replacing the bottle on the shelf in the corner of his shower. 

“I— oh,” he breaks off as she brings her hand to the back of his hair, beginning to massage the shampoo into his damp curls. “I, uh, I don’t know, just never… had the time for the water to warm up, I guess,” he says, quieter. 

She drags her fingers through his hair, bringing her left hand up to join her right, working across his scalp. 

“God, that’s— that’s good, Syd,” he says, words soft.

He steps back, maybe subconsciously, leaning into her touch. His back grazes her chest and she hears his breath catch. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, freezing in place.  

“Don’t be,” she says. “Step under the water for me though, we need to wash this out.”

“Mmhm,” he says, leaning his head forward to catch under the water. The bubbles of the shampoo run down his back, following the path of his spine.  

When the water runs clear, no more shampoo running down the drain, he turns around to look at her. His eyelashes have droplets of water stuck in them. His hair is plastered to his forehead. 

“Done?” he asks. 

“No,” she says, smiling at how disheveled he looks.  “Conditioner now.”

“Oh,” he says, exhaling. 

“It’s good to leave the conditioner in for a few minutes sometimes,” she says, swallowing hard, reaching blindly behind her for the bottle, uncapping it and squeezing some into her palm. He watches her do it. “Makes your hair softer, you know?”

“Whatever you say,” he says, though he doesn’t seem particularly invested in her haircare instructions. 

She doesn’t make him turn around this time, just smooths his hair back with one hair and combs the conditioner through with the other, enjoying the way his eyes flutter shut as she drags her fingernails lightly over his scalp. 

When she’s done, he doesn’t open his eyes. 

She studies his face for a second; greedy and unhurried. 

He’s so fucking beautiful. 

“Carm,” she says. 

“Mm?” he says, eyes opening. 

She smiles softly at the dazed expression on his face, and drops her eyes to his lips. As she leans into him, she sees the tiniest flicker of surprise, and then he’s leaning back to meet her, that hungry kind of kissing that unfailingly disarms her. 

Her chest presses against his, their wet skin sliding easily together, making her body hum to life. 

She isn’t sure if she steps forward, or he steps back, but as they move together, the shower water begins raining down over both their heads. Sydney tastes flat water catching between their lips; the shock of the heat of it makes her gasp, and when she pulls back from Carmy, he’s red and breathless.

“I… think it, uh, washed itself out,” she says, glancing at his hair. 

“Yeah?”

She nods slowly.

“Smells good,” he says, running his fingers through his own damp hair. 

She smiles at him. “It’ll be soft when it dries.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she says, nodding, becoming less capable of words as he stares at her more intensely. 

“You wanna… dry off?” he asks. “Then we can… you know. Whatever you want.”

“Yeah,” she says. 

He reaches behind him, turning the water off. 

There are towels under his sink and he tosses her one. 

“Don’t you dare towel dry your hair,” she says. 

He blinks at her. 

“Wha—how am—what am I supposed to do if I don’t towel dry it?”

“You need to scrunch it up and let it dry naturally.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Maybe show me that next time.”

She rolls her eyes as he towels his hair off in a way that is absolutely going to undo any progress she made. But she doesn’t really care. 

“Bedroom?” she asks, wrapping the towel he gave her around herself. 

“Yes,” he says, 

[lilsoftext]

•~* WHISPERS IN THE DARK *~•

-chris sturniolo x female reader

-summery: late night talks

——————————————————————————

It was 2 AM, and the city outside was quiet. The apartment was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. Chris and Sof lay in bed, wide awake, even though they both had an early start the next day.

Sof was curled up against Chris’s side, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Chris had one arm around her, his fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair. It was one of those nights where neither of them could sleep, and neither of them minded.

“Tell me something,” Sof murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris shifted slightly, glancing down at her. “Like what?”

“Anything,” she said. “Something about you. Something I don’t know.”

Chris chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath her head. “You already know everything about me.”

Sof smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles on his chest. “I’m sure there’s something.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke, his voice soft in the stillness of the room. “Alright. When I was a kid, I used to have this crazy dream that I could fly. Not like a superhero—more like I’d just run and jump, and suddenly, I was floating. I had that dream for years. Every time I’d get upset about something, I’d close my eyes and imagine I could just take off and fly away.”

Sof lifted her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Really? How come you never told me that before?”

Chris shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. It was just one of those things I kept to myself. Guess I felt silly about it.”

Sof’s smile softened, and she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I think it’s sweet. You still dream about flying?”

“Not anymore,” Chris said with a chuckle. “But sometimes, when I’m having a really bad day, I’ll think about it. It’s like this weird, comforting memory.”

Sof’s hand rested on his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. “I like knowing that.”

Chris turned his head slightly, kissing her palm. “Your turn. Tell me something.”

Sof bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she thought. “Okay. When I was in high school, I used to sneak out at night and go up to the roof of my house. I’d just sit there, looking at the stars, trying to figure everything out.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Sneaking out? Sounds like you were a bit of a rebel.”

Sof laughed softly. “Not really. I wasn’t doing anything crazy. I just needed time to think, you know? Life felt so overwhelming back then, like everything was so much bigger than me. Being up there, alone with the stars, made it all feel... smaller. More manageable.”

Chris’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin. “I wish I could’ve been there with you.”

Sof leaned into his touch, her eyes soft. “I think I needed that time to myself. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

There was a comfortable silence between them for a while, the kind that only comes from two people who are completely at ease with each other. Sof settled back against Chris’s chest, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady beneath her.

“Do you ever wonder where we’ll be in five years?” Sof asked quietly, her voice thoughtful.

Chris was silent for a moment, then he smiled, his hand resting on the small of her back. “I don’t know exactly where we’ll be, but I know I’ll still be with you. That’s the only part that matters to me.”

Sof’s heart swelled at his words, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes searching his face.

“You really think we’ll last that long?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Chris looked down at her, his expression serious. “I know we will. I’m all in, Sof. Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

Sof’s eyes filled with emotion, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, pulling him down for a slow, tender kiss.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m all in too.”

Chris smiled, his eyes soft as he looked at her. “Good.”

For a while, they lay there in the quiet, holding each other, lost in the intimacy of the moment. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own little bubble.

Sof broke the silence after a while, her voice playful. “Okay, but seriously, where do you see us in five years?”

Chris laughed, the sound low and warm in the dark room. “Alright, alright. Let me think.” He paused for a moment, then grinned. “I see us in a house—not too big, but cozy. With a backyard and maybe a dog. We’ll have more time to ourselves, and maybe we’ll finally take that trip to Italy you’ve been talking about.”

Sof smiled, her heart fluttering at the thought. “That sounds perfect.”

“And you’ll still be sneaking up to rooftops to look at the stars,” Chris added with a wink.

Sof laughed, shaking her head. “Only if you come with me.”

Chris pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Always.”

They fell silent again, the weight of their words settling between them like a promise. The night stretched on, but neither of them were in a hurry to fall asleep. They were content just being there, in each other’s arms, talking about dreams and memories and the future.

As Sof drifted off, her head resting on Chris’s chest, she realized that no matter where life took them, as long as they had each other, everything would be okay.

And that was more than enough.

——————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed it.if you have any requests, leave them down below.

lilsoftext <3

[sweetladymoon]

I was so happy to read your explanation on Lando and Oscar, tysm!! 🥰✨🌸 can you explain to me what is going on with Logan Sargeant? I may have no idea who that is but i am very interested in The Tea, and i am always happy to defend someone who deseves it lol

Have a great day!! 🌸✨💙💙

Oh absolutely I can! This is gonna be a long one so grab a snack!🤭💗🫶

Logan Sargeant is a driver that a lot of people had really great expectations for. He excelled in the feeder series (F4,F3, F2, basically the series you drive in before you get into F1, even though driving in these series does not mean you are guaranteed a seat in F1). Logan was very close to winning the F3 championship and was also the first American to ever win a F2 race. Here’s a link to a Twitter thread about his junior racing career in case you’re interested in details:

He was driving for the Williams Academy at the time and in 2023 he got promoted to a F1 Seat with Williams. Many people question if he was taken out of F2 too soon and tbh I do think so. He could have used some more experience and maybe then we would have seen a different F1 career from him.

As a side note: Williams is not a top team. They used to be really good in the 80s and 90s and even won the Constructors Championship 9 times in total but had a bit of a fall off since then. The biggest issue for them is money. They don’t have the same kind of cash as the top teams which means they can’t develop their car at the same speed as other teams and also can’t upgrade it as regularly. They’re not fighting for wins or even podiums at the moment but mere points. Logan’s rookie season wasn’t great tbh. He made mistakes, he crashed and was also a bit unlucky throughout the season. At the end, he managed to score only 1 point which brought him to the bottom of the driver’s standings (with that 1 point he also became the first American driver to score points in F1 in 30 years though…so small wins I guess).

He got a lot of backlash from the fans and media and many wanted to see him gone from the sport. Williams however decided to keep him around for 2024. His fans hoped that this season would go better than the last and that he’d finally be able to prove his worth, but it was evident from very early on that Williams didn’t care that much about him and wouldn’t keep him around for 2025 no matter what he did. The team principal, James Vowles, played a big part in this. He kept badmouthing Logan to the media and, according to Logan, also did not give him feedback after races. Vowles would praise Logan’s teammate Alex Albon and then go on to talk about how if Logan wanted to keep his seat he would have to start performing in a similar matter which was unfair for many reasons. For one, Alex has been in F1 longer and has far more experience. Secondly, they weren’t even driving equal cars for most of the season. The 2024 season so far has been all that good. The car was pretty bad, but Logan’s in particular was nothing more than a glorified shopping cart. They couldn’t afford to update both cars, so they gave Alex the better car while Logan drove a car that was overweight and used spare parts from the previous season. However, JV never communicated this clearly when talking to the media, so a lot of people just believed that Logan was underperforming.

And tbh even when Logan was driving the inferior car he was not that far off from Alex’s times, so JV’s comments were also quite unnecessary. They started having equal cars from Silverstone (12th race of the season) on and Logan managed to finish P11 which is still outside of the points but was a huge improvement from previous races. But even that didn’t impress JV and that point everyone had kind of already accepted that he would be no longer on the grid the following year. Personally, I suspected as much since the race in Melbourne (3rd race). When Alex crashed his car during a practice session, Williams couldn’t repair the car because they didn’t bring a spare chassis. They knew they could only compete with one car and decided to give Logan’s car to Alex for the weekend, which was quite unfair of course seeing as Logan didn’t make a mistake and still had to suffer. It also showed that Williams and JV in particular had no faith in Logan’s abilities at all.

During the summer break it was announced that Logan would be replaced the following season, which didn’t surprise anyone but we thought we’d at least get to see him finish out the season…well we didn’t. He returned for a single race after the break. During a rainy practice session, he lost control of the car and had a really nasty crash. The car was a wreck and even caught fire. Logan was thankfully okay but had to start the race the following day from the back of the grid. He once again didn’t score points but I still think Zandvoort was one of his most impressive races still. Two days later, it was announced that he would be replaced for the rest of the season.

Many thought the crash and the cost that came with repairing the car afterwards were the reason for letting him go early but JV pretty much said that this wasn’t factored into the decision. They fired him because they thought they finally had managed to bring the car to a level for points to be a possibility and they didn’t believe that Logan had the ability to score any…which once again must’ve felt like a slap in the face for Logan.

They replaced him with Franco Colapinto who had until that point still driven in F2. Many questioned the decision of replacing an inexperienced driver with an even more inexperienced driver, especially because Williams’ aim was to fight for points. Alex expressed his sympathies when asked about the decision. He also made sure to point out that he thinks Logan is incredibly talented, has the pace, and will succeed in whatever he’s going to do next. (Here's also the lovely goodbye post he made) Oscar who was his teammate in F3 and drove against him in F2 also talked about how Logan could never show his true potential in F1 and how he is one of the quickest guys he ever drove against.

JV on the other hand talked about how he thinks Logan has reached his potential and basically said that he’s not good enough which is just a shit thing to do. You already fired him, what more do you want? JV has been acting highly unprofessional in many regards btw and so many comments he’s made (also about other drivers and situations) have been plain weird.

Franco has been doing really well. He even managed to score 4 point in his second F1 race in Baku, which was also the first race of the season in which both Williams cars scored points. Instead of just focusing on how good he’s doing for a rookie however, everyone keeps comparing him to Logan. Fans, media, even the commentators during the race keep bringing up Logan and how much worse he did compared to Franco without acknowledging that they never drove the same car. We’ll never know how Logan would have done in this version of the Williams, just like we’ll never know how Franco would have done in the earlier part of the season when the car was still shit. The comments are just unnecessary. You can compliment and praise a driver without dragging another driver’s name through the mud.

Logan has been pretty quiet since he got fired. There was a statement posted on his app but it got deleted soon after. We know he’s currently in the US with his girlfriend, friends and family which I’m relieved about. He looked really down in so many of his interviews. I can’t imagine the strain it must have taken on his mental health to not only have the media and fans against you but to also have your team (aka the people who are supposed to support you) talk about how disappointing your performance is. While I do miss him on the grid I’m almost glad he was able to leave this toxic environment behind.

He was spotted at the last IndyCar race of the season in Nashville that he was invited to by his best friend who drives for Andretti. There have been rumours all year if he might join IndyCar as well next season. Yesterday it was announced that he’ll do a test drive with Meyer Shank Racing in November. While they have no more available seats for next season, it will still be an opportunity for him to showcase his abilities and might open up some doors with other teams who are still looking for drivers to sign. A few haters have once again spouted bullshit and tried shit talking him but I’m just trying to be optimistic and hope that the whole IndyCar business will work out for him and that he’ll find a team who’s willing to support him the way he deserves.

I hope I didn’t bore you to death but that’s pretty much all there is to the whole Logan situation.😅 After all the unfair treatment and hate he’s been subjected to his fans have become even more protective of him. Also look at him. How could anyone be mean to this guy🤧:

[lilacwriter07]

pirate au adamsapple childhood flashback part 1

(inspired by @breedtheseed au, @inubaki)

Adam remembers that day very clearly, he was 6 years old at the time when he met him .

Both even though young, were very new to the big world around them . Naive, they trusted who showed them kindness, they were so sure the world was theirs to rule .

How stupid they were .

Adam was bonr on a farm, far from the ocean, they had nothing but miles of green trees and fields of corn .

Adam hates corn .

He remembers taking off with his dad, they were set to sell some things close to the bay . The old man told his mother he was to learn, so he could help his father more .

His mother shed a few tears as they left, the young child remembers his mother's words to stay clear from the waters .

He should have listened .

The city smells disgusting was the first thing he thought, it was loud and too many people .

He hated every second of it .

His father and him ended up at the bay, where fisher's came to sell their stuff, bigger ships of the Queen were also there speaking of a 'monster of the sea'

"Tha saw ta devil himself hehehe ." An old drunkard spoke to his father, who barely showed intrest in the conversation ."shul hav not made at mad !"

Adam wanted to hear more but his father pulled him away ."Keep up ." He spoke strengly ."Yes papa ."

But Adam was small he could not keep up, either his father forgot as he let go of his hand or he didn't want to be bothered that Adam can's keep up .

Either way Adam got hit by so many things, that he started to stumble to the side ."Papa ...!" And he fell .

He heard his father curse as he shouted, Adam could not hear more as he kept going under .

He can't swim .

Never needed to learn it .

As he kept going under he opens his eyes, trying to hope his dad came .

But he stared deep in the eyes of something he could not understand .

What was to understand ?

He doesn't know .

Red eyes of something he never thought to see were looking right back at him .