Hi, Rochatter
To encourage more creators, every week we select the best creator of the week and the best entry. We hope to see your work next week!
This week's creator is @Evelyn°•
Rafael
Rafael has never been a man who blends into the background.
On the field, he is impossible to ignore — the kind of player the camera can’t help but follow.
The kind of player whose name rolls off the commentators’ tongues like a warning.
Whose every sprint feels like it could crack the earth open.
And off the field… with you?
He’s always been more than the noise.
He’s been warmth.
He’s the late-night phone calls when he’s traveling, his voice quiet but still smiling through the line.
He’s been the arm around your shoulders when paparazzi flash too bright.
He’s been the man who would slip his jersey over your head after a match just to see you wear his number.
But two nights ago…
You fought.
About dishes.
Not betrayal.
Not heartbreak.
Dishes.
You’d made a joke about him never helping with chores — he’d snapped that he doesn’t have time when he’s training fourteen hours a day.
You’d told him not to be dramatic.
He’d left the room without looking back.
Neither of you said sorry.
And now here you are, two days later, sitting in the stands.
Not for him.
For Leo.
Leo, your friend since before Rafael ever walked into your life.
Leo, whose easy grin has never once meant anything more to you than friendship.
Leo, who just happens to be playing for the opposing team tonight.
You cheer when he runs onto the field.
Once.
Twice.
And then you feel it — that heat.
Not the sun.
Not the crowd.
His eyes.
Rafael’s gaze cuts through the pitch like a knife.
It finds you.
Holds you.
Doesn’t let go.
At first, you think you’re imagining it.
But then… every time the ball gets near Leo, Rafael is there.
Not just playing defense.
Colliding.
Shouldering.
Using the kind of force that makes you wince even from the stands.
The referee sees nothing wrong.
But you do.
And when Rafael glances up again, there’s no mistaking it.
The look in his eyes isn’t just anger.
It’s that sharp, possessive kind of jealousy that doesn’t shout — it simmers.
Your cheers falter.
You clap half-heartedly.
And by the second half, you’re silent.
The tension between you is a thread pulled so tight it might snap.
Then — the final whistle.
Rafael’s team wins, his goals sealing the victory.
The crowd roars.
His teammates rush to him.
But Rafael doesn’t smile.
Doesn’t celebrate.
He’s already walking toward you.
Not running.
Walking.
Like every step is deliberate.
Like he’s been rehearsing this approach since the first time you called Leo’s name tonight.
By the time he’s in front of you, the rest of the stadium feels like static.
His shirt clings to his skin, damp with sweat.
His chest rises and falls like he’s still catching his breath, but his voice — when it comes — is low.
The water bottle leaves his hand and hits the ground at your feet, splashing cold droplets across your shoes.
You flinch.
There’s nothing playful in his eyes now.
Just the sharp edge of something darker, heavier, that you’ve never quite seen from him before.
Other outstanding works of the week
Adrien
He quickly catches up to you as youre leaving.That annoyingly pursuading smirk playing on his lips as he grabs your wrist,not harsh,but enough to stop you in your steps
Nothings wrong
You mutter under your breath as you forcefully pull away,continuing your walk to your house
° You were angry.Angry at his ignorance.Angry at him humiliating you infront of the group of girls flirting with him.Angry that most girls oncampus saw it
Angry he denied knowing you
The fact that he let them mock how you looked
The fact he even laughed along with them without a single thought
Him saying he would never date you.Even though you were bestfriends,it still stung your heart.And he knew it,yet he continued mocking you
°
He continued following you,quickly matching your pace
❖Damien Cross⭒
Everyone at school knew one thing: ellerie and Damien Cross couldn’t stand each other.
It wasn’t just a mild dislike — it was open warfare.
Damien had a knack for finding exactly the right words to get under their skin, and ellerie was just as quick, firing back with cutting remarks that left him smirking instead of wounded.
In P.E., Damien would deliberately throw the ball too hard in ellerie direction, and ellerie return the favor with a pass aimed straight at him.
And in the crowded hallways, they would meet head-on, neither one stepping aside, brushing shoulders in a way that was definitely not accidental.
One memory still stood out — chemistry class.
Damien had leaned over with that infuriating smirk and said
Without missing a beat, ellerie had shot back,
“Your existence is already dangerous enough to be a safety hazard.”
From then on, every shared glance carried that same spark of challenge.
Graduation day eventually came, bright and chaotic, caps flying into the air as laughter filled the courtyard.
That night, one of the most popular girls in their year hosted a massive party at her house.
Lights strung across the backyard glowed in warm gold, music thumped through the walls, and the smell of pizza and popcorn lingered in the air.
ellerie was in the living room, surrounded by friends, when they caught sight of Damien across the room.
He was leaning lazily against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink.
His gaze was steady — too steady — locked on them through the moving crowd.
When their eyes met, his lips curved into that same maddening half-smile he always wore when he knew he was getting to them.
ellerie quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in conversation, but the warmth creeping up their neck betrayed them.
Then, from the center of the room, a voice shouted above the music:
The group gathered quickly, forming a loose circle.
The rules were simple — spin the bottle, whoever it lands on goes into a room together for seven minutes.
What happened inside was no one else’s business.
The first few rounds were filled with laughter, giggles, and teasing as pairs came back out — hair slightly mussed, grins giving away more than they said.
Then the bottle was passed to the ellerie.
It spun, the glass catching the light as everyone leaned forward, watching.
It slowed… clicked against the floor… and stopped, the neck pointing straight at Damien Cross.
The crowd erupted instantly.
Some laughed, others whistled, and someone in the back called out,
("Place your bets — fight or kiss!”)
Damien set his drink down and took a step forward, eyes locked on the ellerie
His voice was low, almost a purr.
ellerie folded their arms.
“Fate clearly has bad taste.”
he said, that irritating smirk deepening.
ellerie brushed past him without a word, heading for the small side room the game had claimed.
Damien followed, close enough that they could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence impossible to ignore.
The door shut behind them with a soft click.
The music outside dulled to a distant thump, and the air between them felt suddenly heavier.
Seven minutes.
