#Five just seems so nonchalantly out of character?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dirtytomatoedwrites · 11 months

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Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 1

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Dark!Rafe. Virgin!Reader, Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering, squirting. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 9k words (Yo it took me months to write but I finally did it)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So this is an original idea I’ve had for a while now... and this is the longest fanfic I’ve ever written for a character. Who did I write this tale about Rafe motherfucking Cameron of course. HA! I may do a part 2 but we’ll see based on the response it gets. Love you all and thanks for reading and listening - there’s music in there too so if you can listen to the tracks as you read it’ll heighten the experience. 🫶 Enjoy!

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Rose, elegant and poised as ever, fiddled with Ward's bowtie. It was a futile attempt to straighten it, and you wondered if the Kooks knew how ridiculous they looked, their privileged lives spent fussing over trivial things.

"Do you play?" Ward's voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of interest. He had seen you eyeing the piano in their opulent living room before, and it was clear he suspected you had a musical inclination.

"A little," you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. You didn't want to give too much away. The Kooks had a tendency to pry, and you had learned the hard way that it was better to keep your guard up.

The Camerons were pleasant enough, but like the other Kooks on Figure Eight, they didn't really care about the Pogues. You had grown up being told that Pogues were different from Kooks, but as you got older, you realized it was more complicated than that. The Kooks were narrow-minded, lacking empathy and understanding. They saw the Pogues as nothing more than servants, there to cater to their every whim. It was a toxic dynamic and one that you had learned to navigate with caution.

The key to survival on the Outer Banks was invisibility. You had learned that early on. The less you revealed about yourself, the safer you were. So you didn't tell Ward that your father had started teaching you piano before you could even walk. You didn't tell him that music was your escape, your solace, your everything.

"Well, a bit of something is better than nothing," Ward chuckled, his eyes flickering back to you. "I bought it thinking it would be nice to have music in the house that wasn't rap or pop, but you know how kids are." He chuckled again. "No one seems interested in learning how to play it. If you want to try it out, our door is always open."

The Kooks were the quintessential chameleons, expertly donning the cloak of benevolence and charity. But behind the facade lay their self-centered motives, concealed in plain sight. In their company, you had to be just as duplicitous as them, your true self lost in a sea of artifice. So you donned your own mask of deceit, feigning a grin while burying your true feelings behind a veneer of politeness.

As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck six, Rose and Mr. Cameron stepped into the warm North Carolina evening, dressed to the nines for their elegant black-tie affair. You were left behind in the kitchen with Wheezie, chatting aimlessly about everything and nothing. A comfortable silence settled between you.

"Want to watch a movie, Wheezie?" you asked, but you already knew the answer.

"Maybe next time? I'm having a Stranger Things watch party with my friends. We're on season three, actually," she replied as she pulled out her phone and began texting.

"Oh, that's cool. Sure, let me know when you're hungry and we'll order in."

A few minutes later, you were left alone in the kitchen, grappling with the void of the next five hours stretching before you. Your gaze was inexorably drawn to the open double doors of the living room, and a force beyond your control tugged at your heartstrings.

There, in the corner of the Camerons' living room, stood a magnificent black Steinway & Sons piano. A work of art that you had only seen in fleeting glimpses on the internet, played by virtuosos with mastery beyond compare.

The Camerons' piano was an exquisite piece. Valued upwards of forty thousand dollars, it was a show-stopper that begged to be played in a prestigious concert hall. And yet there it sat in their living room, untouched and unloved.

With a fluttering heart, you approached the baby grand piano, drawn by an unconscious force beyond your control. As you lifted the fallboard, a heady scent of wax and mahogany wafted into your nostrils, creating a longing you could barely contain. Your fingertips brushed against the smooth, pristine ivory keys, unable to resist the urge to touch. As you pressed down on one, a crystalline note filled the air, flawless and true. Before you could even think, you were seated on the bench.

Back straight and feet planted firmly on the floor, you thought about all the classical pieces you had practiced over the years and loved to play. How each piece would sound hollow on your cheap, antiquated piano in your small family home. Music was your first love, and you longed for the day to play on stage accompanied by the New York Symphony Orchestra.

Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining a sea of faces, a packed audience hanging on your every note. In your mind's eye, you saw your dad sitting in the front row, his gaze filled with pride and love. The thought of his reaction, a validation of all his sacrifices over the years, filled you with purpose.

Driven by your distant dream, you let your fingers glide across the keys, effortlessly weaving a tapestry of sound that flooded the Camerons' living room with music.

With meticulous attention, you listened closely to the dynamics of the piece. You noticed the way the Steinway amplified the subtlest variations in volume, imbuing the composition with a melancholic mood. Your fingers moved with practiced ease, executing intricate runs and arpeggios with fluid grace.

Enraptured by the music, you let the notes wash over you. Every facial expression was a reflection of the emotional journey unfolding before you. As the piece reached its crescendo, your fingers moved faster, striking the keys with greater force, a physical manifestation of your emotions. Your hands flowed in flawless harmony with the rhythm, pouring your soul into the music. And with the final notes, you laughed breathlessly, basking in the afterglow of your musical outpouring.

But your blissful moment was cruelly interrupted as you suddenly sensed you weren’t alone. Your eyes snapped open, and a cold wave of fear washed over you.

“Shit! I am so sorry,” you stammered, your voice trailing off in a rush of apologies as you gingerly lowered the piano fallboard.

“You know,” Rafe’s words were laced with honey, each syllable slow and sweet, yet there was no mistaking the menacing undertone to them. “We don’t take kindly to people touching our things,” he drawled, his intense gaze locked onto yours, a warning glimmer lurking within his dark eyes.

“I… I had permission from your dad,” you insisted, your words barely audible above a whisper as you tried to defend your actions.

His response was a dismissive chuckle. The atmosphere was taut with tension as he nonchalantly propped his golf bag against the wall. Leisurely slow, he sauntered over to you, his hands casually tucked away in his pockets.

“What were you playing anyway?” he inquired, his tone deceptively relaxed.

“You mean the name of the piece?” you swallowed hard, fear palpable. “It’s called Nocturne in C-sharp Minor.”

The tall blonde squinted at you, and you could not decipher his expression. Wanting to avoid further irritation, you slowly rose from the piano bench and dusted it off.

“What kinda name is that?”

“I… I…” you stammered, blood surging in your ears from fear as Rafe suddenly leaned in and lifted the fallboard. He scanned the keys, perhaps checking for any scratches. You took a deep breath. The scent of his expensive cologne and freshly mown grass overwhelmed your senses.

“I don’t know. It worked for Chopin, I guess.” You said quietly.

“Chopin…” he said with his lip jutted.

“He’s the composer. He wrote it and-”

“I know Chopin,” Rafe interrupted, his eyes suddenly locked on you. Up close, you could not deny that they were a striking shade of blue, if not for the death glare he gave you. “Chopin, Beethoven, Einaudi, Bach…” He backed away and sat in a nearby chair. “Brahms… I’ve been to enough of those long-ass concerts to at least know their names.”

You felt a confusing mix of awe and jealousy as you listened to Rafe’s words. The pit in your stomach proved this. You had never been to a proper symphony concert, and the school concerts you had attended were barely amateur. The thought of your dad’s broken promise to take you to one was a constant source of frustration. However, Rafe’s casual disdain for the very concerts he was lucky enough to attend seemed to be a new addition.

“Well… I’m not getting paid to mess around on your piano,” you said with a wry smile, as you tried to mask your emotions.

“You’re right. You’re not,” Rafe retorted while he twisted the gold signet ring around his index finger with his thumb. Head tilted to the side, his eyes raked over every inch of you, from your hair, your oversized sweatshirt and jeans to your worn knockoff Converses. You felt self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. He made you want to crawl into a hole and hide.

“I… I should check on Wheezie,” you whispered, eager to escape the tension in the room.

“Why?” Rafe asked, halting his twirling of the signet ring. His face appeared bemused until a sly grin tugged at his lips. “Weeze is a big girl, right? Might as well… play Chopin while she’s doing her own thing…”

As you babysat for the Camerons, you occasionally spotted Rafe in the vicinity. Sometimes, he was accompanied by a striking beauty, while other times he hung out with his friends. Even when he was alone, his body language was a clear warning: "Keep your distance." His piercing gaze made you feel diminutive and unimportant, as if any attempts at interaction would be met with cold indifference. In his presence, you felt like you were navigating hostile terrain, just a misstep away from a precarious situation.

"Well?" he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his lower lip with a finger. The gesture seemed to carry a message, but what message you weren't sure. What was certain was that his expression of amusement made it evident that the outcome was secondary—he was simply enjoying watching you squirm.

Your tongue darted out to moisten your parched lips, while anxiety twisted in your gut as you stared nervously at the grand Steinway piano and Rafe. The weight of his words lingered in the air, causing you to hesitate and consider the potential consequences of your answer.

Every which way you looked at it, you were fucked.

Rafe was bound to tell his parents, and you were sure enough about to lose your job once they found out. Despite Mr. Cameron's outward kindness and willingness to accommodate, you knew very well that playing their piano without supervision was not within the bounds of your permission. And he certainly would not appreciate you lying about it either.

Still, you were determined to make the most out of a shitty situation. You weren't trying to prove anything to Rafe, but if this was going to be your last time playing a Steinway, you would go out in style.

You had chosen a haunting, evocative melody, a tale of lost love and longing. The notes rang out, clear and true, as your fingers danced over the keys.

Closing your eyes and shutting out the world and Rafe, you allowed the music to flow from your fingertips, guided by instinct and emotion. Your touch was delicate yet confident, breathing life into the haunting melody.

After the last notes of the piece hung in the air like a delicate mist. You held your breath, waiting for some kind of response from Rafe, but all you got was a deafening silence. The room felt like it was closing in on you, and you couldn't help but cast a quick glance in his direction.

Rafe's eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your heart stop. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. When you finally lowered the fallboard, the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

"I should check on Wheezie," you whispered, breaking the silence.

Rafe made no reply, and you took that as permission to leave. When you returned downstairs a half hour later, Rafe was nowhere to be seen and you sighed in relief.

In the best-case scenario, Rafe would keep your little transgression to himself. In the worst-case scenario, you could explain to Mr. Cameron that curiosity got the better of you and seek his forgiveness. Either way, you vowed never to touch their piano again.

"What's on your setlist today, piano girl?" Rafe's voice caused your heart to skip a beat, and you nearly spewed out the orange juice pooling in your mouth. A mere week had passed since your previous babysitting job at the illustrious Cameron residence. Yet here you were once again, feeling a pang of anxiety at the mere sight of him. You had desperately hoped to avoid any interaction with Rafe for the remainder of your shift, but fate had other plans in store.

There he was, sauntering into the kitchen, sporting an obnoxiously bright salmon polo shirt that clashed horribly with his teal shorts, and finished with a backwards baseball cap. Despite his frat boy appearance, you couldn't help but admit that he looked undeniably handsome. The realization hit you like a brick and left you feeling inexplicably uneasy.

"Excuse me?" you sputtered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Rafe's gaze shifted towards the living room, where the Steinway was waiting behind closed doors.

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched Rafe roll his eyes.

"Whatever," he drawled with a dismissive flick of his wrist, exuding an air of nonchalant superiority as he strode out of the kitchen.

You parroted his words under your breath, feeling frustration boil inside you. Despite his insufferable demeanor, you chose to let it slide. After all, you needed this job, and with a week of smooth sailing under your belt, you suspected that Rafe had kept your little piano incident under wraps. You weren't about to jeopardize your livelihood over a petty disagreement with Rafe Cameron of all people.

Just as you were considering taking refuge in the kitchen to avoid Rafe, the sound of a key being struck on the Steinway echoed through the kitchen, beckoning you towards it.

You stepped into the living room, a bundle of nerves and anticipation, only to find Rafe sprawled in the same chair as before. The piano's fallboard was already raised. Its ebony and ivory keys gleamed in the warm light of the setting sun. Rafe's piercing gaze locked onto yours, then flicked towards the piano.

"Do you want me to play something?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe shrugged, looking uninterested. "Do you want to?" he asked, his voice dripping with boredom.

"I don't mind, I guess," you replied, chewing your bottom lip.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you were desperate for another chance to play the Steinway. There was a piece that you couldn't get out of your head, and you knew it would sound magnificent on it. You did not need to be asked twice. But at the same time, you were no fool.

You had heard whispers about the "Kook King." Infamous for settling disputes with his fists, not for acts of kindness. You had no idea what was taking place here or why Rafe was suddenly allowing you to play the Camerons' prized possession. But despite your internal warning bells that this could be a trap, you put your glass of orange juice on the floor next to the bench. Consequences be damned.

Taking a confident breath, you aimed to kill.

As you hit the final notes of the composition, the silence was shattered by Rafe's ragged breaths. Your eyes locked onto his, and you saw a flicker of something in his gaze that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I've been working on that one for a while," you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite his stare. "I know it's not perfect, but I-"

"No, it's good," Rafe interjected with a croak. "You're good."

His words validated your talent, and a rush of excitement surged through you, causing a grin to spread across your face as you basked in his praise. But the moment was short-lived as Rafe pulled out his phone and started scrolling, his demeanor shifting from impressed to cold indifference. Without warning, he abruptly rose from his seat, an air of superiority emanating from his towering frame.

"Tell Rose I'm having dinner at Top's," he drawled, his voice dripping with aloofness as he looked down his nose at you.

"Sure, okay," you stammered, still reeling from his sudden change in behavior.

Without another glance in your direction, he strode out of the room, leaving you to wonder what the hell just happened.

It became routine. A ritual. Embedded in your weekly visits to the Cameron residence.

Each time you babysat Wheezie, the air would fill with the soothing sound of classical music, as you took your place at the Steinway and brought the keys to life. Rafe, either in the background or seated nearby, listened intently. His brooding demeanor was a stark contrast to the beauty of the music.

As the weeks went by, playing the Steinway became a treasured routine, and it wasn't just the music that captivated you. With every note played, the invisible barrier between you and Rafe seemed to thin. Despite his reserved exterior, there was a subtle shift in the room when he was around, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to him until one evening, a simple question from him sparked a conversation that would change everything.

"Where did you even learn to play like that?" Rafe asked as the sun cast its final rays of light into the opulent living room, painting the space with a breathtaking array of orange, pink, and purple hues.

You had just finished playing a piece by Bach. The air was still thick with the lingering notes of the Prelude as you closed the Steinway lid.

"There's barely electricity on the cut. Far less for piano classes, and even if there was, you can't—you can't teach this, know what I mean? Well, not the way you play it anyway." His tone shifted, taking on a new quality of—dare you think it?—admiration. You couldn't help but wonder if the beer he was drinking had anything to do with his slip of the tongue and the emotions that seemed to seep through in his words.

You cast your eyes to find Rafe leaning forward in his chair, said beer bottle in hand, his hair falling into his face and his eyes laser-focused on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you feel like you were being seen, truly seen, by him. But as much as you were flattered by his attention, something lurking in the depths of his gaze made you feel uneasy, and you weren't entirely sure why. You brushed the stray thought aside.

"My dad taught me." You said with pride in your voice. "Did you know they used to have jazz nights at the Wreck?" You turned your body towards Rafe, eager to share this piece of history. "Back then, it wasn't called the Wreck. Anyway, my dad used to play there every night from seven until midnight until the Carreras took over. Now he works on the big oil rig in Burnsville."

"Does he still play?" Rafe asked.

You hesitated for a moment, realizing you were oversharing with Rafe Cameron of all people. But something about his presence made you feel comfortable enough to continue. "No, after my mom left," you trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "He just gave up on music altogether."

Rafe looked down, his expression unreadable.

"I guess I'm trying to keep the tradition alive, in my own way. It's not jazz, but he approves." You smiled softly. "Anyway, what about you?"

Arresting blue eyes flicked up at yours, and your stomach flipped.

"What about me?" he asked, his voice low and husky, dripping with curiosity and challenge. He leaned back in his chair, the rattan creaking beneath him. He lazily ran a hand through his blonde hair, revealing his chiselled features. You weren't sure why, but the gesture felt calculated. As though it was meant to entice you. And yet you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest as you drank in the sight of him.

"No offense, but you don't look like the type to be into..." you waved your hand towards the piano, trying to deflect his gaze and lighten the mood.

"Yeah? What do I look like I'm into?" Rafe purred seductively, his tongue swiping his top lip. His eyes fixed on you. You didn't miss his tone. The double entendre just beneath the surface, if you were bold enough to respond to it. You were sure the alcohol running through his veins had something to do with his sudden flirty behavior. Tomorrow, he'd probably forget the whole thing. But it still didn't stop the butterflies from dancing in your stomach.

"I...I..."

"Go on, don't be shy," Rafe coaxed, his eyes dark and intense, almost daring you to take the bait.

"I don't know," you breathed out a laugh, suddenly feeling flustered and self-conscious.

"Yeah, you do." Rafe said, his tone low and teasing. "Saying I don't look like the type means you have a type in your head. So, let's hear it. What kind of man do you think I am, Y/N?"

You were certain this was not about music anymore, and you felt way out of your element. What were you supposed to say about that? You decided to keep the conversation neutral and err on the side of caution.

"Okay," you nodded as you shifted on the bench. "You look like the type to be interested in other types of music, you know like rap or hip-hop, rock— even country and western, anything but this."

Rafe looked away with a chuckle, a deep rumble that made your skin tingle. He nodded slowly, pondering your words.

"Does that sound bad? I know it sounds awful. I'm sorry." You cringed.

"Nah, it's pretty tame actually... innocent even..." Rafe murmured more to himself than to you. You shivered as his piercing blue gaze met yours, then slowly traveled down to your lips, neck, and every inch of your oversized t-shirt and cardigan to your jeans-covered body.

He cleared his throat, his voice low as he spoke. "And you're not wrong. Classical music was my mom's thing. She loved it." He said taking a swig of his beer.

"Oh," you breathed out, taken aback by the unexpected answer. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Why Rafe was always so engrossed in the music each time you played. The wistful expression that crossed his face whenever he heard familiar pieces of music. It was like a window into his soul, a glimpse into a hidden part of him that he kept from the world. And just as you pieced together your thoughts, Rafe spoke, confirming your suspicions.

"We used to go to the mainland to see 'The Four Seasons' or 'Carmen' or some other shit like that. I don't know, it reminds me of her, I guess. Takes me back to happier times." Rafe shrugged, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he sipped his beer.

"I'm sorry..." you whispered.

"Nah, don't be. She was sick for a long time, and now she's... Anyway, It's all good now." Rafe replied with a forced nonchalance, a fragile façade attempting to conceal his true emotions.

"So, you listen to classical music for nostalgia..." you whispered, your voice tinged with a touch of melancholy.

“I guess you could say that,” Rafe said thoughtfully, tilting his head from side to side as he considered your words. He scrunched up his face, eyebrows drawn together as if he had tasted something bitter. “But I'm not a classical music aficionado or anything. It’s not like I’m requesting it in the club. Can you imagine that shit? Right after 21 Savage fuckin’ Mozart on blast. I’d get jumped.”

"I don’t know, you might start a trend," you smiled.

“Sounds like you want me to get jumped”

You outright laughed at that one. “Well, it depends, do you deserve it?”

“Oof” Rafe countered, clutching his chest faux wounded. “That was good.”

You shrugged with a smile, feeling an unexpected kinship with Rafe of all people. Here was this tough, brooding guy who, beneath the surface, was incredibly sentimental and even had a sense of humor. It was a sweet and surprising discovery.

"What about you? Why do you play?" He asked, his blue eyes roaming across your facial features slowly, curiously, when your laughter had died and all that was left was contented silence.

"Good question. Why do I play? Well, I guess for me... it's about the emotion," you replied, your fingers tracing the Steinway keys without pressing them. "Each note, each chord, each composition tells a story. It's like I'm a part of that story, and I get to bring it to life. You don’t need words you just… feel it.”

Rafe nodded, understanding. "I get it. You're the storyteller. The piano is your instrument channelin’ that shit.”

"Exactly!" you said, touching your nose and pointing to him with an earnest laugh.

"Exactly," Rafe repeated with a soft chuckle, his gaze fixated on you.

“Hey, how come I never see you at bonfires?” Rafe asked, a mischievous glint in his eye one sunny afternoon when Rose and Mr. Cameron went out for drinks with friends, leaving Wheezie in your care.

“Bonfires just aren’t my thing,” you replied with a shrug.

“What, no friends to hang out with?” he teased.

“I have plenty of friends!” you retorted, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.

“Friends that I’ve never seen you with,” he pressed.

“What do you mean ‘friends I’ve never seen you with’ are you stalking me around town?”

“Maybe I am...” he shrugged a small devious smile curled his lips. “Whatever. Well, my friends and I clearly hang out when you’re not around,” you shot back, a playful smile lighting up your face.

“Sure you do,” he drawled, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Rafe leaned forward against the piano, the sun casting a warm glow on his handsome features. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and how the muscles in his arms flexed under his t-shirt while he absentmindedly tapped his index finger on the piano lid.

“You know, there’s more to life than playing music,” Rafe said, his voice low and smooth, as he turned the words over with his tongue. His finger tapping the lid, became slower, more measured.

“Oh, I know that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I have plenty of other things going on.”

“Yeah? Like what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like studying,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Rafe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m actually quite serious about my grades.”

"I wouldn't expect anything less from a good girl," Rafe chuckled. Once again, his comment caught you off guard. Although you knew he wasn't mocking you, it still felt strange that he felt the need to mention what he perceived was good girl behavior. “Seriously though, you should have some real fun too. Do some shit you probably shouldn’t do. Life’s too short to be cooped up not living it.”

You shrugged, unsure of what to say. Rafe had a point, but you weren’t sure if bonfires were the kind of fun you were looking for. Still, there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but swallow nervously. As if reading your thoughts, Rafe leaned closer.

“You know, I could show you a good time if you want.” Rafe’s voice was low and husky as he leaned in close, his minty breath fanning your cheek. While he had flirted before, this time there was a sober earnestness to his words that made your heart race. But before you could even formulate a response, the front door's slam cut through the thick tension.

Rafe straightened himself, briefly glancing towards the hallway before fixing his gaze back on you, his jaw tightly clenched in irritation. With determined strides, he purposefully walked away, the sound of his long steps resonating down the corridor, while you unintentionally caught snippets of his familiar argument with Sarah.

It seemed Sarah had developed an interest in John B, a guy you had seen around town, but Rafe vehemently disapproved due to his “pogue” status. You couldn’t fathom why he held such strong opposition, especially considering that you, too, were a Pogue. Had he conveniently forgotten? Or did he consider you an exception?

As you closed the lid of the Steinway, an inescapable curiosity filled your mind about what set your relationship with Rafe apart. Maybe he only saw you as a friend rather than a romantic interest the way Sarah felt about John B.

Reluctant to admit it to yourself, the thought pierced through, leaving you with a confusing mixture of disappointment, anger, and self-annoyance for even entertaining the idea that Rafe could ever feel that way about you.

As Rafe persisted in berating his sister, you dismissed any contemplation of what might have happened between the two of you if she had arrived just a few minutes later.

“Hello?”

“I'm in here.” Rose’s voice, sharp as a razor’s edge, resonated through the foyer of the Camerons’ residence. As you entered the kitchen, you discovered her gingerly picking up the remnants of a shattered vase from the tiled floor. You offered to help her, but she brushed you off with a dismissive gesture.

“No need, honey. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” She said, smiling unconvincingly.

Mr. Cameron burst into the room a few seconds later. His dominating presence charged the atmosphere, his eyes glinting like ice. It was only when his eyes landed on you that his demeanour changed.

“Oh, Y/N. Thanks for coming on such short notice. We’ll only need you for two hours. Sarah should be back by then.” He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

“Uh, sure. Of course.” You replied. You scurried out of his path as he snatched a file and car keys from the kitchen table.

“I’ll be in the car.” He informed Rose tersely, eliciting a stiff nod from her.

Feeling Rose’s disquiet, you intervened to clear the shattered vase. “I can pick these up for you, Rose.” You said warmly.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You assured her with a nod.

“Thank you.” She murmured, her smile returning. “Wheeze is upstairs doing her homework. I’m sorry about all of this. Things are a bit crazy today.” She said, her grip on her bag and sunglasses tightening as if she were holding onto her sanity by a thread. And with that, she vanished, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the shattered pieces of the vase.

Having cleared the wreckage, you climbed the stairs to find Wheezie immersed in her studies in her room, her headphones firmly in place. You inquired if she needed anything or was okay, but she appeared blissfully unaware of the chaos that had unfolded. You marvelled at her ability to concentrate amidst the turmoil, yet you couldn’t dispel the nagging suspicion that the Camerons hid a dark secret beneath their façade of rich superiority. With a sigh, you left Wheezie to her schoolwork and descended the stairs as the sound of the living room door being opened roused your suspicions.

As you passed the living room, your heart sank at the sight of Rafe. He was sitting on his usual chair, swaying back and forth, lost in a jumble of incoherent words. His eyes were bloodshot and streaked with tears. You hurried towards him, your mind racing with worry and fear. You sat down on the floor in front of him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He responded with a roar that shook you to your core. The words that spilled out of Rafe’s mouth were like knives, cutting deep into your soul. He berated himself with a ferocity that was frightening, how he was a failure in his father’s eyes, how he was nothing but a disappointment. You placed a comforting hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, trying to offer some solace amidst his torment.

His eyes flicked to your hand, then to your face, as if seeing you for the first time. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his eyes raw with emotions you couldn’t decipher. There was anger there, yes, but there was something else too – something deeper, more primal.

“Play something.” He suddenly demanded.

“I can- I can get someone for you. Do you want me to call your-”

“No. I don’t want that. I want you to play.” He almost sneered at you.

“Okay.” You whispered tentatively.

You made your way to the piano, your fingers trembling with anticipation. As you began to play, the haunting melody flowed from your fingertips.

As the tender notes from the piano enveloped you, the outside world ceased to exist. Within the protective cocoon of the Cameron's living room, you hoped your music might be a balm for Rafe’s pain. But this sanctuary of sound was violently shattered when an aggressive tug at your hair ripped you from your reverie.

Suddenly, Rafe was there, his fingers cruelly ensnared in your hair, exerting a force so savage it wrenched your head backward, choking off your breath and stilling the music in one brutal tug. The once harmonious room was now charged with an electrifying tension, your eyes captured and held hostage by the ferocity in his.

This was not the Rafe you knew.

The Rafe towering above you appeared utterly transformed. Unrecognizable in every way. Gone was the Rafe who had shared countless evenings filled with laughter and sharing stories. Gone was the anchor that made you feel connected and safe.

Instead, frustration etched itself onto his face like a battle scar, while his dilated pupils revealed an intensity you had never witnessed before, oscillating between your fear-stricken eyes.

His gaze dipped to your parted lips as you let out the breath you were holding, and before you could react, before you could appease him, Rafe captured your lips with his.

You froze. Paralyzed against Rafe's lips. Shock stole your breath away.

Time stopped in an instant as you grappled with the thought that this was a dream, a surreal nightmare. But that fragile notion shattered like glass as Rafe's movements became evident. His lips melded against yours like clay taking form. Hard and desperate, his kiss abruptly catapulted you back into the chilling reality that this was, without a doubt, happening.

Your instinct for survival surged as your fight-or-flight response kicked in. You attempted to push him away, but Rafe tightened his grip on your hair and yanked harder, forcing your submission, his tongue plunging into your mouth when you whined in protest.

The taste of alcohol on Rafe’s tongue was bitter and overwhelming. You tried to convince yourself that this was the reason behind Rafe's behaviour. Any moment now, he would realize his mistake, any moment he would let you go. But instead, Rafe's fingers sank into the hollow of your jaw, holding it open while his tongue explored the warm interior of your mouth.

You whimpered softly as his tongue twirled against yours with ferocity. Rafe adjusted his hand in your hair and gripped tighter, making you cry out as pain surged through your scalp and neck. The sound didn't deter him, as he forced your head back drinking from your mouth greedily.

Discordant notes rang out as you lashed out wildly, reaching for anything you could hold onto for balance. Your hands found Rafe's bicep and you dug your nails into his skin, trying to pull his hand away as he kissed you like a man possessed.

Your entire body was inflamed with sensations you had never experienced before as pleasure and pain bled into one. Your scalp ached yet your body felt hot. Your nipples were suddenly sensitive to your sweater's scraggly wool while you ached between your legs for something you had not experienced before. The whirlwind of sensations new and overwhelming within you made your eyes flutter shut on their own, your hands sliding up Rafe's wrist as you held on for balance.

Rafe's mouth worked over yours with an intensity so raw that your protests turned into breathless moans and frantic gasps as you succumbed to his kiss. Your tongue tentatively meets his stroke for stroke. Rafe growled in approval and you could feel him smile into the kiss, his tongue stoking the fire deep within you and just as quickly as it started, Rafe abruptly pulled away leaving you shaking and struggling for air.

Your heart raced within your chest as you abruptly pushed yourself off the piano bench, nearly causing it to tip over in your haste. Hand clutching your chest, you struggled to catch your breath, hastily wiping away tears that had unknowingly streamed down your cheeks.

A fleeting glance at Rafe revealed his heavy breathing, his mouth agape in quick, shallow pants, and his pupils dilated, tinged with a faint hint of blue. Yet, it was the expression etched upon his face that sent a wave of terror crashing over you.

Rafe's eyes showed no remorse.

Instead, you saw an overwhelming hunger within them that made your blood run cold. Rafe’s gaze moved down from your stunned face over your trembling body. The danger that emanated from him made your knees buckle.

You took a step back, your mind whirling with fear and apprehension. But Rafe stepped forward, his eyes locked onto yours with determination.

"I-- I need to check on Wheezie. See what she'd like for dinner," you whispered, your voice shaking as you inched backwards toward the door. You turned to run but it was too late.

Rafe reached out and snatched the hem of your sweater, yanking you towards him. You struggled to break free, twisting and thrashing like a scared kitten in his grip but Rafe was relentless. His other hand reached for your waist as he pulled you close. His nose and lips trailed the back of your neck and into your hairline and he groaned as he breathed you in. With a jab of your elbow into his rib you wriggled free. It wasn't enough to wound him but it gave you the head start needed to run.

You dashed from the room, Rafe's pursuit relentless. His outstretched fingers grazed your sweater, narrowly missing its mark. It wasn't until you sprinted up the stairs that he abandoned the chase. You didn't need to glance back to feel his gaze on you. The tendrils of his breathless laugh reverberated down the corridor.

You burst into Wheezie's room, a hot mess of tears and fear. You made up some excuse about feeling unwell and had to go home immediately. After calling Rose and arranging for a replacement babysitter for Wheezie, you sat in her room and waited for the sitter to arrive.

You didn't see Rafe when you left, and you thanked God for that. You knew that if you saw him, you would break down crying, and you couldn't bear to show him any more weakness. But the tears came anyways, hot and heavy, as soon as you got home. How could you have been so stupid? You knew all the rumors about him, knew that he wasn't a good guy, and yet somehow, you thought in your warped mind that he was different. A decent human being who was simply misunderstood.

It wasn't like you didn't see the signs. They were always there, staring you right in the face. The blatant flirting, the staring, the way he undressed you with his gaze. You dismissed every red flag, thinking he couldn't like you in that kind of way because you were not the type of girl Rafe Cameron would go for and you certainly weren't the type of girl Rafe Cameron would kiss.

And it wasn't just the kiss that scared you. It was the fact that Rafe had no intention of stopping. It was the way he held onto you, the way he made you feel like you were drowning in a sea of desire. He was a predator, relentless in his pursuit of you, and as you thought about how he grabbed onto your clothes his lips tracing your neck even as you protested you couldn't help but cry even harder.

No. There was no way you were setting foot in that house again. Not after the way Rafe kissed you, not after what he was determined to get out of you.

Over the next few weeks, Rose's texts kept coming, each one more insistent than the last. But you knew better than to give in to her demands. You couldn't go back to that house, not after what had happened with Rafe. It was too dangerous, too risky, and you couldn't afford to let your guard down again.

You thought about telling her what had happened with Rafe, but the thought of it made your stomach turn. How could you explain what had happened without sounding like a fool? That you had been hanging out with her stepson for months, that you had let things get out of hand?

You had every intention of never setting foot in that house again. But then Rose sent you a text, asking if you were available on Saturday. They were desperate, she said, and willing to offer triple what they usually paid. Rafe and Sarah were going to a game and the lady who was supposed to look after Wheezie had a family emergency.

You were going to turn them down, again, but the truth was that since you had dropped them as a client, it had been difficult to find other work. So, against your better judgement, you agreed, but only after Rose confirmed that she and Mr Cameron would be home long before Sarah and Rafe returned.

As the day of the babysitting gig approached, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew that you shouldn't go, that it was too risky, too dangerous. But the promise of easy money was too tempting to ignore. And so, against your better judgement, you found yourself standing in front of the Cameron's house once again, your heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation.

As you approached the front door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Rose had texted you on your way over, telling you that she would be getting ready and to let yourself in. But when you rang the doorbell and received no answer, you began to worry. Still, you didn't think anything of it when you turned the door handle and found that it was unlocked. You stepped inside and called out for Wheezie and Rose, but the house was silent.

Making your way to the kitchen, you put down your bag and pulled out your phone. You texted Rose and Wheezie to let them know that you had arrived and were in the kitchen, just in case Wheezie was plugged in. But as you waited for a response, your heart sank.

Something wasn't right. You could feel it.

You had been to the Camerons' house many times and had let yourself in on a few occasions when they were too busy to answer the door. None of this was new but it felt different. An ominous feeling washed over you. But just as you began to worry, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted your thoughts, and you sighed in relief.

As you called out for Rose, a sudden hush fell over the room, broken only by the sound of footsteps approaching. You looked up, hoping to see Rose's familiar figure, but instead, your eyes met the last person you expected to see: Rafe.

His presence was jarring, like a thunderclap on a clear day. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of his unexpected appearance. But before you could utter a word, Rafe's murmur cut through the silence like a knife.

"Nah, not Rose," he said with a smile.

Fear took hold of you as you realized that he must have had something to do with Rose's texts in the first place. You stepped back, fear making your knees buckle.

"Where's Rose?" you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively, as if shielding yourself from him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he drawled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Don’t come near me,” you said firmly as Rafe rounded the kitchen island towards you. Immediately, you moved in the opposite direction away from him.

“I… I just… I needed to talk to you, like, a little bit. Is that okay?” he said, opening his hands to placate you.

“Did Rose actually text me?”

“She did,” Rafe soothed. “But then I, uh… I heard you’d be here tonight instead of Pat, and well… seeing you was more important to me than some game.” His eyes trailed over your face, studying your every reaction.

“Where’s Wheezie?”

“With Sarah.”

You shook your head, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Rafe have orchestrated this situation for you to be alone with him without any of the Camerons noticing? But as if he heard your thoughts, a sly smile curled his lips and he chuckled softly.

“I told Rose I’d watch over Wheeze so she could catch an early ferry,” Rafe explained, his hands moving in slow, deliberate gestures, connecting invisible dots as he spoke. “After Rose left I gave my ticket to Wheeze.”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“Look, I know the last time I was a little… a little intense…”

“Intense!” You choked. You would have laughed if the whole thing wasn’t so heartbreaking.

“Yes, and I’m -- I'm really sorry about that, okay? I really am.”

"You tried to ra-”

"No! No, no, I would never..." Rafe rushed towards you and you immediately backed away. He froze mid-step as you cowered, his hands still raised in surrender. "I’m sorry things were confusing and it looked that way but I wasn't trying to hurt you. God, I- l’m-" Rafe sighed, deflated his hands landed on his hips, he looked away as he pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

"You're sorry it looked that way?" you whispered your voice trembling. Rafe's words echoed in your mind while memories of that day in all its menacing glory flooded back. You looked at him flabbergasted.

"Rafe...you... you were kissing me-”

“I know but I-”

“And touching me--"

He breathed out a laugh "Come on, you know I was only-,"

“Without my consent, Rafe.”

He was silent with that and you hoped your words had finally sunk in, had finally made him understand how terrifying he was in that moment.

“Then you chased me. You chased me like some...” you couldn’t even finish the sentence. You didn’t know how to finish the sentence. You were so hurt and confused. That your friend could do something like that to you. “I don’t even know who you are. I- I don’t think I ever did,” you whispered.

Rafe's eyes landed on yours with that. His gaze was dark and intense, and for a moment, you thought you had gotten through to him because he nodded slowly. But then he let out a humourless chuckle, reminding you of the one he gave post-chase, and any hope of reaching him dissipated.

"You know, it’s funny ‘cause you say that...” Rafe said coldly, a hand gesturing to you as if trying to grasp his own thoughts “But you’re not entirely innocent in all of this, are you?”

“I don't-- I don't understand."

“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, huh, Y/N?

"Raf—"

"What kind of mental shit you put me through? Nah, you don't. You don't think about that, do you?" he asked, his hands gesturing toward you as his eyes narrowed and he stared you down. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized the gravity of Rafe's words. It was as if he was confessing to a darker truth, a mental anguish that he had been helplessly consumed by, something unintentionally sparked within him by your actions.

"I have my dad on my back talking about legacies, our family business and preparing me for that shit meanwhile Sarah’s running around town doing god knows what with some loser fucking up our family name. I have real shit to deal with...” he gave out a bitter laugh his hand clutched to his chest as he confessed.

“But even with all of that all I can think about every minute of every fucking day, is you.” Rafe's voice was raw and anguished. His hand moved up to his ear as he slowly walked towards you.

"It's like you've crawled into my brain, you know? Like I’m under some fucking spell with your music and your voice and your-" His eyes trailed down your body just as his hand followed the motion, and you shuddered. He was consuming you with his gaze every sinful thought etched across his features.

"Nah, you made me do this…” he said bitterly, his jaw clenched tight.

“Rafe--”

“You did and now I'm the bad guy because I had a moment of weakness. But you know what? Fuck, it.” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Fuck it, i’ll take responsibility for my part in this--”

“Rafe--”

“That’s what real men do, right? Take responsibility for their shit and I’m all about being accountable, so yeah, I kissed you.” He said nodding slowly. “But I’m not sorry.”

His words made you recoil, disbelief etched across your face as you stared at him.

“Yeah, you want me to pretend like I am. Act apologetic but I won’t. I'm not sorry and you should quit actin’ like you didn't enjoy it."

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you could feel the weight of his accusation settling in your stomach. Stunned, you opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. A dry, humorless laugh left you instead. Rafe simply nodded slyly as he resumed his steps towards you, and as you stepped backwards, your back collided with the kitchen counter.

“That’s- that’s not true.”

“No?” he asked faux confused.

“It’s not- that’s not fair”

“Isn’t it?” he tutted.

"Rafe, listen to me," you whispered shakily, but he was already leaning in, his eyes dark and clouded.

"No. No, no, you listen.” he rasped, circling in and looking down on you, his lips pouted as he leaned into the shell of your ear, “You were moaning Y/N- No, don’t do that. Don’t shake your head, and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Don't stand there and pretend this whole fucking thing is one-sided. You were moaning into my mouth… and you...you held on to me, yeah? I didn’t force you to do those things."

"Rafe--”

“That was all you princess. So you gotta ask yourself. What kinda girl are you to be into that, hm?” Rafe whispered as he leaned into you. “What kinda girl would moan like a whore when a guy manhandles her…”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t. I wanted you to stop Rafe and you-”

Rafe chuckled before you could even finish your sentence.

“Is that what was happening while you were kissing me back? Nah, see I know what your problem is. I know, I know, I know…” he repeated softly, as he gently rested his hands on your hips. “I know why you ran when deep down you wanted it.”

You opened your mouth to protest only for Rafe to push his body up against yours. The hard wall of his body renders you speechless. “We eye fucked each other for months,” he whispered, as he looked down at you. His eyes darted to your lips as he licked his own. “You wanted it.” He said coldly.

"But I get it. It was overwhelming... too much... too soon... hm?" he murmured as his nose grazed yours. "I should have approached you more patiently. I realize that now," he acknowledged with a slow nod. "I should have been gentle with you, and I had every intention to. But I -- I wanted you so bad that day that I couldn't think straight. I'm thinking straight now, though."

“Rafe...” you breathed out, your hands on his chest to push him away but not quite having the strength to do so. Rafe must have picked up on this because he leaned in, his lips close to yours.

“You keep saying my name but you’re not telling me to stop...” Rafe whispered as his fingers caressed your cheek. With a gentle touch, he lifted your chin, and you willingly yielded. His caress made you sway, your mind growing hazy and confused. To regain your balance, you closed your eyes.

“Why aren’t you telling me to stop, hm?” he whispered.

You could feel the electricity between you as Rafe leaned in, lips hovering over yours and you tilted your head up slightly, closing the distance, only to be met with nothing. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Rafe’s hooded ones a victorious smile creeping across his lips.

“Come on” Rafe whispered, and before you could protest Rafe laced his fingers in yours and gently tugged you towards the living room.

Seated at the piano, Rafe smoothly lifted the fallboard with ease.

"Play something for me," he husked, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him on the bench. You felt a flutter of nervousness as you perched yourself next to him, unsure of where to start. You couldn't comprehend how you had gone from rejecting his advances to this moment of willing compliance and acceptance.

Rafe watched you intently. You had been up-close to Rafe before, but never this close. Not this intimately. Your mind became blank, overwhelmed with the prospect of playing for him.

"I...I don't know what to..." you stuttered.

"Anything, anything at all," Rafe whispered, his eyes studying your every move.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied your trembling fingers on the keys and began to release the notes, slowly at first, but gaining confidence with every passing moment.

“I noticed you, you know,” Rafe rasped. His knuckles suddenly grazed your cheek, and you flinched. “The first time you came to babysit Wheeze, I noticed you.” Rafe followed his knuckles as he moved them across your jaw.

“I remember thinking you were beautiful… shy… innocent…” Opening his hand, his fingers trailed down your neck, and your breath hitched.

“You were wearing this exact sweater…” His fingers splayed over your collarbone as they moved slowly down to your chest.

“What are you hiding under here, hm?” he asked softly. “What are you hiding under these baggy clothes?”

You shied away from his touch, your hands withdrawing from the keys of the piano.

"No. None of that. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said his voice stern yet soft. Your eyes glanced at his as Rafe inched closer. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” he iterated slowly. “Start again.”

Swallowing you placed your hands on the keys while the music resumed from your fingertips.

Rafe shifted closer his leg flushed against your own. He wrapped his arm over the back of you and hooked it to the other side of the bench. Leaning in, his nose ghosted your neck.

“Raf-”

“Shhhh…”His nose nudged into your hairline. His other hand on your chest continued its exploration. It moved lower cupping your tit over your sweater. The gasp you make made Rafe breathe even heavier, a deep pur coming from the back of his throat.

“Please-” you whispered shakily.

“I’ve always wanted to touch you, you know that? Every time you played I’d think about what you’d feel like... what you’d look like, moaning for me. I wanna hear you moan for me.”

Determined Rafe’s hand moved lower until it dipped under your sweater. Deftly he fumbled under your t-shirt and you gasped when his warm fingers brushed the skin of your stomach. His other hand let go of the piano stool and was now under your sweater squeezing your tit through your bra.

“Rafe--”

“Keep playing” he whispered against your neck and you did. His hand at your stomach moved lower, finding the button on your jeans he unbutton it with one deft move and your hands falter.

“Keep playing” he murmured, face nudging into your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses to your throat. “I wanna hear you play while I touch you”

The sensation of Rafe's hands on your body was almost lost in the overwhelming numbness that had taken over you. His strong hand leisurely tugged at the waistband of your panties seeking to touch what lay beneath, while his other hand snaked under your bra. He caressed and teased your nipple until a soft sob erupted from you as pleasure surged through your veins.

Rafe moved his hand lower, slipping it between your wet folds and pushing his middle finger inside of you. You cried out, the intensity of sensation causing you to clutch onto Rafe's arm for support, music abandoned.

“It’s okay “ Rafe breathed deeply into your neck, as he roughly peppered your neck with kisses. “You're okay. Just breathe...” and as he said those comforting words he gently wormed another slender finger passed your slippery folds and into you.

You hissed, trying to move away from the burning stretch of his long fingers. Your nails dug into the flesh of his wrist with enough force to draw blood but Rafe determined as ever slowly moved his fingers in and out of you, each time inserting them a little deeper until it reached his signet ring.

"You've had more than one finger before?" he asked hotly against your neck. You shook your head no, gritting your teeth in an effort to endure him stretching you further still. Rafe groaned and nipped softly at your jawline, "Fuck, I can tell. I can barely move them. But you're a good girl, aren't you? You're taking them well and afterwards, I'm gonna train you to take all of me."

Rafe's lips trailed tender kisses down the length of your neck, then his mouth closed hungrily around the sensitive skin. His two fingers moved inside you and each slow thrust drew a soft moan from your lips.

With surety, he curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, barely grazing your clit with his thumb. The sensation was overwhelming and foreign, causing you to gasp and cum embarrassingly fast. Your pussy contracting around his fingers, milking them for all they were worth.

“Oh Fuuckk…” Rafe hissed. “You liked that, I can feel it.“ He sighed utterly mesmerised. “Well, if you like that...” Rafe groaned resting his forehead against the side of your face and planting soft kisses on your cheek. “You’re gonna love this.”

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Rafe's probing fingers started their relentless hunt for something deep within you. Suddenly, those searching digits found what they were looking for - a spot that caused you to arch over and clutch his hand as you cried out despite your best efforts.

“Oh- there it is” he chuckled softly, shunting his hand and hitting that spot over and over again with a speed and force that knocked the breath out of you, while his thumb expertly rubbed your clit and the fingers of his other hand mercilessly pulled and twisted your nipple.

“OhmyGOD!” you cried.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck my hand. Just like that.”

Rafe kept at it, even as your nails scraped along his wrist and arm for purchase. Even as you screamed and tried to scissor your legs closed to shut him out. None of it mattered as your eyes crossed and you felt your orgasm raw and violent crash over you.

Bucking violently into Rafe’s hand, you could feel your release seep through your jeans and onto the piano bench. Pooling and overflowing you could hear it trickle onto the hardwood floor like raindrops and still, Rafe kept going, kept finger fucking you.

Lost in a sea of agonising pleasure you could do nothing but slump against him and take it, your hips stuttering, your mouth sagging as you whimpered and gasped.

Rafe moaned against you, planting soft kisses on the column of your throat. He stilled his hand, his fingers buried deep inside while you desperately tried to catch your breath.

"Seems my fingers are just as talented as yours, hm?" he said with a breathless chuckle. His nose trailed along your neck, while his tongue darted out to capture the perspiration nestled there.

Gently, Rafe removed his digits while you gazed in shock, unable to voice a single word as he brought the wet fingers to his lips and ravenously lapped up your fluids with a contented hum.

“It’s too much.” you said hoarsely “I can’t-- I can't do this. No more, Rafe. No more,” you said weakly, trying to remove his hand from your breast and move away from his hold only for Rafe to seize your wrist painfully in his grasp.

"No more?" Rafe chuckled darkly, his gaze fixed on you with dilated pupils. "No more?" he repeated, inching closer as he shook his head. "Nah, baby. No. We're just getting started..."

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Thank you for reading. Thanks for liking and reblogging. PART 2 / MASTERLIST

#rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fic #outer banks fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe #obx #obx rafe cameron #selfreblog #timezone reblog

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mistyacorn · 1 year

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you remind me of the main protagonist

sypnosis; dan heng and his odd way of saying “hey, i think i like you”

pairing(s); dan heng + fem! reader ⟿ featuring; pure fluff, really blank and super indirect dan heng, reader is compared to a female character (hence, fem! reader)

a/n; this was such a random write lol. im so sorry that it’s a bit of a mess, im still working on more clear storylines heheh . i hope it’s still enjoyable! ૮(ㅅ´ ˘ `) ♡ also i made beauty and the beast a canon fairytale here pffft u neva know

⇢ DAN HENG is the type that literally nobody expects to like anybody, and therefore neither do you.

⇢ you’d probably even think that he dislikes you because whenever it’s just the two of you he never says a word. he’s dead silent. he only ever nods or gestures and barely looks you in the eye.

⇢ occasionally you’d get slightly jealous of how he speaks whenever march is with you guys (even though they always end up fighting verbally, it’s still talking!)

⇢ so you eventually take it as a ‘hint’ and try your best to move on.

⇢ though let’s be real, it’s not easy to move on from a crush if you see him almost everyday. especially when he has the most perfect emerald eyes and soft black hair….

⇢ one day, you’re in your room on the astral express and you’ve just finished the book you had borrowed from the express library recently.

⇢ you did borrow it without telling anyone though, so it kinda felt like you stole it haha…

⇢ but you definitely did not want to annoy dan heng with your request so stealing borrowing seemed like the best option.

⇢ you decide to head over to his room, hoping to secretly drop the book and go.

⇢ thankfully the boy is not in the room when you get there (which is super rare, go you!). you tiptoe as carefully as you can towards the bookshelf.

⇢ you quickly find the correct slot and insert the book.

⇢ just as you think you’ve accomplished your mission, you turn around and-

⇢ at the door stands dan heng, staring at you nonchalantly (as per usual). “hi.”

⇢ his sudden appearance immediately causes you to begin a five minute long explanation about how you got there. (yes, five minutes. idk how but you drag it on and on) its mostly bullshit you’re spitting out.

⇢ “…pom pom told me that there was this super cool book…. I just had to read it of course …..and it was really cool yeah yeah ….um about robots and science and…stuff….”

⇢ does pom pom even read?? you didn’t know!

⇢ and you definitely don’t notice amidst your frantic stories, but dan heng listens to you attentively in amusement. he actually has the smallest grin on his face, very well knowing you are making everything up.

⇢ to put it simply, he finds it endearing. he’s almost in a trance, just listening to you talk and talk and talk…

⇢ after you finish your story time, he snaps out of it quick enough for you to not notice anything.

⇢ and you bow repeatedly in embarrassment before dashing out of the room.

⇢ the following day, dan heng suddenly gives you a book out of nowhere. today, his signature cold face seems slightly nervous instead, but you don’t pay attention.

⇢ you see that the book is a fairytale, one that is right up your alley!

⇢ ‘Beauty and the Beast’.

⇢ you open the book to see a post-it note on the first page, with neat handwriting on it;

‘y/n, I saw you liked fairytales and the fantasy genre. I do not. But I stumbled across this book yesterday, and I remember reading the first three chapters sometime when I was younger. It seems like something you’ll like. The main protagonist reminds me of you. I hope you’ll like it.’

⇢ your face is red hot as you read his note. he wrote to you. he thinks of you. he said you reminded him of a princess. (what the fvck.)

⇢ and secretly behind the scenes, dan heng is not as calm and collected as he seems.

⇢ after you put away the book and left that day, he took note of the book you had returned. fairytale…fantasy…

⇢ dan heng immediately started to think hard about any fantasy books he had read in his life. hours and hours of struggling later (he never reads fantasy, it’s too unrealistic for him), he finally remembers one.

⇢ he’d read the first few chapters of it before, and he remembers the main character all too clearly. she reminded him so much of you, yet he didn’t know why.

⇢ (truthfully, it was definitely because she was his first ever fictional crush. and now you were…… but he was never going to admit that to himself.)

⇢ he spends his night searching around the archives. 2am the next morning, he finds it.

⇢ dan heng goes to bed that night, heart thumping faster than usual, because now he realises just how much he likes you.

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) —mistyacorn’s #danheng x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng hsr #hsr dan heng #hsr fanfic #dan heng headcannon #danheng #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #danheng x y/n #dan heng x y/n

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animeisfornerdz · 9 months

Text

The Secret Affair Part Two || Ciel Phantomhive

Synopsis - It's been a week since you last saw Ciel at his ball and now you've been summoned to his manor for 'business purposes'. What on earth is he thinking now?

Warnings - Slightly suggestive.

Notes - All characters are 18+!

Word Count - 0.8k.

[Caffeinate Me]

It had been a week since your encounter with Ciel at his ball. A week since you had last seen him. You missed him, of course you missed him, but you had to remain strong. You knew you’d be summoned to his manor for ‘business purposes’ soon and that day happened to be today. You looked out of the window to your carriage as you watched the landscape pass you by slowly, the rain hitting the window harshly making you shiver. It was only another five minutes before you arrived at Phantomhive Manor and when the carriage door swung open, you were met by Sebastian who had a knowing smile on his face. “Lady Y/N. How lovely of you to join us.”

“Sebastian,” you smiled politely, taking his hand as he helped you out of the carriage.

“Earl Phantomhive is waiting for you in his study. Come, I’ll take you,” Sebastian stretched his arm out for you to loop your own around, which you did so reluctantly. “My master has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. It seems like you have unfinished business from the night of the ball?” Your eyes widened at his words as Sebastian placed a finger on his lips. “Your secret is safe with me,” he whispered before entering the manor with you. He walked you up the winding staircase and to Ciel’s study, letting go of your arm before opening the door and walking in with you following behind. “Lady Y/N has arrived master.”

“Fantastic,” Ciel smiled to himself before turning around to greet you. “Sebastian. Leave us. That is an order.”

“Very well my lord,” Sebastian bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as Ciel heard Sebastian’s footsteps retreat down the hall, he walked over to you and pulled you into a tight embrace. His head bent down to rest into the crook of your neck and he mumbled against the soft flesh, “God I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too Ciel,” you whispered against his chest.

Ciel pulled away from the embrace and kissed your lips passionately. His eye fluttered closed when his lips met yours, as did yours, and soon the two of you were engaged in a heavy make-out session. It was as if the week apart had caused a tension between the two of you that could only be broken with a kiss as deep as this. Ciel’s hands grazed upwards from your hips, stroking your curves as his tongue licked your bottom lip begging for entrance into your mouth. You smirked and refused to open your mouth, forcing a growl to rumble in Ciel’s throat. “Open your mouth,” he commanded into your lips. You simply shook your head. Ciel growled again and allowed his hand to travel up to your breast, squeezing it roughly to elicit a moan from you. When you let out a little squeak, Ciel took the opportunity and shoved his tongue into your mouth. He couldn’t help but smirk into your lips out of satisfaction as his tongue wrapped around yours, fighting for dominance. “Such a good girl,” he groaned into your lips.

Eventually you pulled away from Ciel’s lips and gazed into his singular uncovered eye. “Did you want me to come here just to make out or…?” You asked, trailing off.

Ciel took your hand in his and smiled softly at you. The only time he ever found himself smiling was when you were around. “I’m going to break off my engagement with Elizabeth today,” he said sternly.

You widen your eyes at his words. He had been saying for weeks he was going to break off the engagement with Elizabeth and now he was finally going to do it. You cleared your throat and smoothed down your dress nonchalantly asking, “why?” as if you didn’t care. But you did.

“Because I want to marry you,” Ciel replied, rolling his eye. “You’re the one I want to spend my life with. It’s been you ever since we met when we were children.”

You blushed furiously at Ciel’s words and sighed contently. “You mean that?” You asked.

“More than I’ve ever meant anything in my entire life,” he whispered breathlessly, leaning his forehead against yours lovingly. “Would you do me the honours of marrying me, Y/N L/N?”

“I’d love to marry you, Ciel Phantomhive,” you whisper, slowly pressing your lips against his once more.

Ciel groaned into the kiss, his hands cupping your face and pulling you close. He breathed a sigh of relief into your lips and relaxed his body as the two of you continued to mash your lips together clumsily, desperately almost. He backed you up against the door of his study, locking the two of you in with a grin on his face.

“Now, where were we?”

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herzgeist-writes · 7 months

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One Piece Headcanons - Renamed

Characters: Zoro, Law | Trope: Them giving you pet names | Content: for female readers / Wholesome - enveloping you in fluffy teddy bears

A/N: Clearly, you are their kryptonite. Feelings are blossoming towards you and what better way than to give you a 'different' kind of name? This is for the girls out there, who need some red tint on their faces and make their hearts go 'doki doki' ఌ

Dividers by cafekitsune ~

My Girl It involuntarily slips out of him, when he’s either extremely proud or confident in your abilities to conqueror anything standing in your way. His chest swells with pride, whenever he sees you take on hordes of marines, kicking their asses without effort. And the way you move, it all makes it seem so easy. A ferocious and passionate woman? Count him in.

“Oi (Y/n)! Are you alright over there?”

He calls out to you while watching you fight five marines at the same time. With one single blow, they bite the dust. You heard the swordsman yell something incohorrently.

“Huh? Did you say something, Zoro?”

“Oh uh, no. Nevermind.”

Tilting your head in question, you shrug it off nonchalantly and proceed in printing those marine fools some more footprints into their behinds. The swordsman chuckles to himself.

“Hm, that’s my girl.”

Sweet thing Is what he calls you when he’s quite playful. Always his first choice when teasingly bickering around with you, sometimes leaving his lips with a hint of sarcasm. It drives you insane - and that’s his goal. How can he resist that pouty face, when you huff at him like that. Naturally, he won’t admit it to anybody, not even you. You are just his sweet thing, end of story.

“Come on, Zoro! Let me try it!”

“No means no, (Y/n). That’s high potent sake. Nothing for a little girl like you. It’s the ‘I’ma split your head the next morning’ kind of alcohol, you don’t want that, trust me.”

Holding out to the mug in his hand, which dodges your failed attempts in grasping it, you blow up your cheeks in annoyance. No chance, (Y/n). The Vice Commander won’t let you taste the ‘demon’s blood’, but your expression changes soon after, for you have a secret weapon. His kryptonite is laid bare.

“You’re just afraid I will beat you in a drinking competition.”

“Oh? Now I wanna see you try. Drink up, buttercup!”

He hands over another mug, sake nearly overflowing from the brim.

“I can taste victory already!”

“Oh sure, sweet thing.”

Though you haven’t even placed your lips onto the rim, to let the brazen liquid flow down your throat, you’re already burning up. It’s the handsome smile he flashes at you, while lulling you in with his raspy voice. To Zoro’s notice, he doesn’t understand, why you’re already glowing so hard. He just called you his sweet thing, so what?

"Sweet thing?"

"I mean, aren't you?"

Oh dear . .

Hot stuff This man is so TACKY. Zoro isn’t a man of big words, hence he sticks to the silly namings, even when things get ‘steamy’ he prefers to adress you softly and caring. Unless you ask him to get more ‘foward’ with his wording, which by the by only you can unlock in him. After all, he’s the King of Hell and there’s no way he keeps away the more ‘ferocious’ side from you, giving you the whispered spicy nothings you deserve. . . However, that stays behind closed doors, dear (Y/n).

“That’s a nice workout routine you got there. Care to share, hot stuff?”

While you’re on your felt like quadrillionth biceps curl, you nearly let the dumbbell fall to the ground by his rash choice of words. Hot stuff? Heat rises into your head. Is he doing this on purpose?

“D-Don’t tell me you like what you see?”

“I do. Very.”

Screaming internally, you find it way too ambiguous of you. He just means the work out. He just means the work out. Based on your reaction, the green-hair can tell he must have said something to fluster you, and now he is the one, babbling in mere abashment and uncertainty.

“Yeah . . you look hot- I MEAN you look good! Great work out for you. Tones your body nicely- WAIT NO I . .”

Backing up he slowly treads out of the room, rambling about and occassionally stumbling over his own feet, or words in his case. You have to supress a girly giggle as you observe how his face begins to radiate. It’s the first time he ever called you that and something tells you, it won’t be the last. In the distance you can hear:

"Shit! What was that about? Hot stuff? What was I thinking? Damn it, might as well just cut off my tongue."

That drama queen.

Dove You’ve gained his full trust, respect and affection. It’s a sign of his feelings caving in for you. When you hear him say it, the strong and composed swordsman he is, melts by the sight of you. There’s nothing better than calling you his Dove, seeing you take on all kinds of colours in your face, mainly red that is. Besides sake, you get him drunk on a different level. So, KAMPAI, Dove!

The Straw Hats organised one of their famous banquettes once more. Everyone is cheerful and in the mood for good food and head spinning ale. The Vice Commander however is nowhere to be seen, for he usually hangs around the sake barrels most of the time, when events like these are planned. As you take a look at the crows nest, you find your sleepy swordsman staring out the window.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Mhm? Hi, guess so.”

Shifting to the side to give you some space next to him, he stretches his arm out, beckoning you to come over. You comfortably nuzzle against him, soaking in the warmth he emits. This feels . . strange, having such an intimate moment as friends. Perhaps, you hope it could turn out to form into something more? As if he read your mind, he speaks.

“Hey, umm . . this might sound weird, but uh - can I call you Dove?”

“Dove? A weird name indeed, but I take it. What made you think that suits m-“

Before you can finish your sentence, he shuts you up by turning your face to his, with his fingers on your jaw, and gently places his lips on yours. Well, that explains why he chose to call you Dove. Butterflies start to flutter around in your stomach and you gaze deeply into his onyx coloured eye.

“I think it’s . . cute.”

“It is.”

Taking a deep breath in, he continues.

"Whenever I feel down, you are the one bringing me up again. You are the wings lifting me up, giving me the ability to soar through the skies, showing me a different angle of the world."

Big words for a man of his usually reserved nature. His arm snakes around your waist from the side and pulls you even closer. Your heart just left out a beat. From now on, you gladly are his Dove.

(Y/n) Did you notice it? Yes! He left out the suffix. You should be honored he decided to grade you a level up. But in all honesty, he took a liking to you and your name. He thinks it to be rather pretty, it would be a shame to destroy the sound of beautifully aligned letters, as if molesting the title of a charming book. You have earned his trust. Interest - is peaked.

Sitting at a bar counter, you enjoy the evening at an inn, where the crew decided to take a break. It wasn't as calm as you excepted it to be, for a overly friendly and slimy man couldn't stop talking, obviously hitting on you.

"Can't you see she's uncomfortable around you, dumbass?"

The creep scurries off to the other side of the bar, all the tension in your shoulders crumbling, sighing subsequently in relief.

"Thank you, Captain."

Law gives you a reassuring nod and goes his way again.

"It's my job, (Y/n)."

Almost waiting for him to speak out that '-ya' of his, you tilt your head. Did the loud stir of the bar swallow that small suffix or . . does he deem you worthy of calling you by your normal name now? Your heart skips a beat out of happiness, hoping for the latter.

Sweetheart Teasing is one of his daily routines. Running out of ideas to get you either flustered or bewildered, he saw fit to take it up a notch. His heart races whenever he rolls the ‘sweetheart’ off his tongue, in order to adress you with a hidden sarcastic intent. Over time though, you begin to be his sweetheart. Just by the thought of you growing on him makes him shiver - positively.

"Why do you keep on doing this (Y/n)?"

"What do you mean?"

Innocently nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie, you flutter your puppy eyes up at the now faltering Captain, who furrows his brows at you.

"Baking cookies? We're pirates! Not some sort of- mhm . ."

You stuff his mouth with the tasty and crumbly goodness. Laughing at his fuming face, it's obvious to you he isn't completely opposed to your sweet counter attack. He keeps on chewing.

"Good right?"

Earning a low rumble in response, he averts his gaze and gulps loudly. His stern eyes sway over to the tray, filled with more crunchy cookies and you deny him that 'hungry' wish right away.

"Nope. Those are for the others. That was the only one for you. Besides, I thought you didn't like sweets., let alone dough."

Suddenly he takes a seat next to you, leaning in closer to you. His lips curling mischeviously, face now dangerously near yours.

"Oh how considerate of you, sweetheart."

Hold on, sweetheart? Frozen in place, you stare into those mesmerizing grey orbs, the perfect moment for the doctor to 'shamble' the snack into his hand and make a go for it, which he does without a word, practically sprinting out of the kitchen door.

"H-Halt! I mean wait! Stop right there! Trafalgar you thief!"

Darling He has you trapped in his room and vice versa. There you stand, no chance to escape. (No, he won’t sing it to you.) Besides singing that sweet jazz, that deep sultry voice loves to call you his Darling, when the time has come to playfully show you, that you have affected him. It’s a sweet name, however it bears a hidden, more lecherous intent, depending on how he enhances his words around you. Once or twice you caught him oogling you with those steel eyes, that’s when you realise, he does have a male instict, wanting to ‘court’ you, simply explained.

It's time for your annual classic health check up, no devil fruit voodoo, for he prefers to reserve his power, if not neccessarily needed. Meaning, you'll have to - strip. Oh don't worry, you're still wearing your underwear, nonetheless, you're heart beats out of your chest whenever he inspects your body, writing down your vitals and searching for any anomalies.

"Tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort."

Some touches tickle you, some induce your heart with pumping fuel and others make you go weak in the knees. The last one is new. What makes your position even more difficult now, is the fact that the stethoscope is up next, to check your heart rate.

"Are you nervous?"

"As if I am. It's just . . cold. That metal . . thingy."

"Stethoscope."

"I was about to say that."

His breath grazes along your naked skin, as he keeps on listening to your heart from the front and back. To your sassy comment, he can't help but chuckle lowly and gives your back a gentle glaze of his slim, wrapped in rubber gloves fingers, before moving on.

"Of course you were, darling."

If that doctor puts on that silly stethoscope again, he would have heard that literal jungle drum in your chest. He knows what it does to you, when he plays that extra sultry card on you, all with a hint of mock and sarcasm. Yet, a tiny slip in his voice tells you, he actually enjoys calling you that. - He is torture on two legs, keeping you on your toes.

My heart This is the part where you have defeated him completely. He is addicted to you and your cute reactions of him calling you his heart. Who would have thought a cold and serious man like him could be unintentionally romantic? Though he appears to be lacking the ability to express his emotions thoroughly, it doesn’t mean he can’t slip by and whisper your new title at you by coincidentially meeting in the Polar Tang’s corridors. As long as there is nobody around, snooping about of course. Though uncomfortable to show it in public, he gives it his all to prove his point that he is oh so head over heels for you.

He HAS HAD IT with you and your annoyingly adorable round puffy cheeks, whenever you throw a temper tantrum at his commands you vaguely dare to disobey. You leave him no choice but to:

"Room . ."

"O-oh no. Wait I'll-"

"Shambles."

You'll never get used to that. Finding yourself far off from the others at the harbour, he has warped the both of you to a secluded alley of the adjoining town.

"You. You. You! Just. Just!"

Visibly upset he throws his arms through the air, close to snake his giant palms around your neck to strangle you, however restraining himself with a forceful shake in his hands. Restless he walks up and down the narrow cramped aisle. He comes to a stop before you.

"I BEG you, to stop acting so god damn cute! Your back talk gives me even more reason to just . . to just-"

You shrink away from his intimidating demeanor and apologize with glistening eyes. A white hat on your head takes you aback, for he roughly propped it onto you, now pulling down the tip to restrict your vision and . .

"You idiot . ."

. . kisses you.

"Stop being a bratty crew mate and be mine already, my heart."

#one piece #one piece zoro #one piece roronoa zoro #one piece law #one piece trafalgar law #one piece headcanon #one piece headcanons #zoro x reader #law x reader #fanfiction #fanfiction fluff #fanfic fluff #fluff #headcanon #Renamed

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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The Invisible Woman

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x female!reader

TW:mentions of violence, I think thats it

Summary:Jake notices you at the bar and quickly learns you're more than just a pretty face.

Word Count:1.2k

A/N: I don't know much about the military so please excuse any inaccuracies. This will be a series and probably have some one shots based in this universe.

You're perched on a seat at the bar drinking a beer, watching the patrons. You've just been reassigned to North Island for a few months. You sense a presence behind you but don't face the person.

"Do you need something or are you just lurking?" You ask and Jake stops. How the hell did you know he was there? He recovers quickly and moves into your field of view.

"I just happened to notice the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and figured I'd never forgive myself if I didn't come talk to you." He flirts and he's surprised when you don't seem impressed.

He persists anyway and tilts his head toward the spot next to you. "Mind if I take a seat?

"No, by all means." You smile while nodding to the chair and he sits down with a smirk. You look him over and purse your lips. He's handsome, you can't deny that. He's wearing a button-down and jeans, his blonde hair neatly styled.

"I take it you're military." You state and his eyebrows shoot up.

"How'd you know?" He asks and you take a sip of beer.

"Y'all just have a certain look to you. If I had to guess I'd say you've got a fancy job." You tell him and he leans in a little closer.

"Lucky guess. Think you can figure out exactly what I do?" He quips and you smile.

"Not lucky, just observant. You're too polished to be Special Ops and too confident to be any sort of desk job. My bets on either intelligence or aviation." You respond and his jaw goes slack.

"Okay, seriously. How did you know I'm a pilot?" He scoffs and you laugh.

"What can I say? I'm good at reading people. You just have the arrogant vibe that most pilots give off."

This time he laughs and shakes his head. "You seem to know a lot about the military."

You shrug and lean back in your seat. "I know enough to get by. So are you Navy or Air Force?" You inquire and he straightens up, pride flashing across his features.

"Navy." He answers and you hum.

"You go to Top gun?" You wonder and he nods. "Sure did. Graduated top of my class."

You decide to play along a little longer and quirk an eyebrow. "So I take it you're good?"

His smile only grows and he brings his bottle up to his mouth. "Best of the best. I have two confirmed air-to-air kills." He tells you casually and you decide to drop the bomb. The cocky smirk on his face is amusing, and you can't wait to see it fall.

"Two? Well, I'll be god damned. Consider me humbled. I only have sixty-five." You say nonchalantly and confusion washes over him.

"Sixty-five what?" He asks baffled and you look at him like the answer is obvious. "Sixty-five confirmed kills."

He chokes on his beer and you stifle a laugh, satisfied with his reaction. "Excuse me? So you're military too?"

Your face deadpans and you stare straight into his eyes. "No, I'm just a serial killer." You say seriously and it takes everything in you not to break character when you see his eyes widen in panic.

You bark out a loud laugh after a few seconds and knock his knee with yours. "I'm just fucking with you, flyboy. I'm military." You reveal and he visibly relaxes before perking up again.

"Wait, how the hell do you have sixty-five? What do you do?" He asks, genuinely intrigued.

You break out into a wide grin and you can't wait to tell him. "I'm a Navy Seal Sniper. The only female to hold the title, actually."

His mouth drops open and you swear he's going to start drooling. "How the hell have I not heard of the only female Navy Seal?" He asks exasperated and you chuckle.

"Probably because I don't officially exist. None of us do. They keep our identities under tight wraps." You inform him and he thinks he might be in love.

"Okay, I'm getting us more beers because I need to know everything." He states firmly and you laugh.

The two of you talk for a while, and Jake just can't seem to get enough.

"So you go on top secret recon missions and then just disappear?" He asks perplexed and you nod.

"Nothing I've ever done officially exists. I mean, I've got the medals but the specifics aren't technically on record. Our whole job is to be invisible." You tell him and he clings to every word. He feels like he's in a movie right now, and you're the main character.

"What's it like?" He almost whispers and you frown.

"What's what like?" You try to clarify and he shifts closer.

"I mean what do you feel when you pull the trigger? Is it scary or exciting? Do you get nervous?" He rambles and you mull over your answer.

"The only thing I really feel is recoil." You respond simply and he lets out a short laugh.

"I think that's the most hardcore answer you could've given. It doesn't ever get to be too heavy? The mental toll, I mean." He presses and you give a half-shrug.

"I don’t really give myself the opportunity think about it. I do my job and then lock it away in a box. It's not like I'm taking out saints." You tell him casually and he shakes his head.

"You're incredible. I've never met anyone so fucking nonchalant about being a complete badass and you kind of scare me." He admits, only half joking.

You do scare him. Partially because you could take him off the map without him ever knowing you were there, and partially because he's completely enamored.

"I don't see myself that way." You tell him honestly and he looks at you like you have two heads.

"Are you insane? You have the most elite job on the planet and no one even knows you exist. Give yourself some credit."

You tilt your head to the side and your lips quirk up just a bit. "I like to stay humble but I do enjoy you gushing over me." You quip and his stomach does a flip. You're a spitfire and Jake can't get enough.

You look down at your watch and see that it's almost midnight before glancing back up at him.

"I have to get going. Early morning." You tell him and you almost feel bad at how sad he looks.

"Can I get your number? I'd love to see you again." He asks and you nod. He gives you his phone and you punch your number in, only placing a ghost emoji in the name field. You give him one last smile before leaving, and he watches as you walk away.

He stays glued in place for a few minutes before a hand comes down on his shoulder.

"Who was that?" Bradley asks and Jake turns to face him.

"My future wife I think." He laughs and Bradley's eyebrows shoot up.

"Wife? You have never once shown interest in dating, let alone getting married." He replies and Jake just looks at him.

"She's a fucking navy seal sniper." He divulges and Bradley's eyes widen.

"There's a female navy seal?" He asks confused and Jake nods.

"Yeah, and I think I'm in love with her. I don't even know her name."Jake realizes and Bradley laughs at the lovesick look on his friend's face.

"You're fucked, man. Your usual ‘I’m a badass fighter pilot’ schtick isn’t going to work." He teases and Jake can't even argue.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He nods in agreement, already resisting the urge to text you. This is going to be one wild ride and he can’t wait.

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @chair-things @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @dempy @wellshit6

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #hangman top gun #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin series #jake seresin fic

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complexsaviour · 18 days

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Milgram 4th Anniversary Art Analysis Part 1/3: Mikoto, Kazui, Shidou and Fuuta

I'm going to post these in a few parts since my analyses ended up getting so long...oops. Here's the first! Please let me know if I've slipped up at all or if you have anything to add.

Mikoto

Mikoto is standing very straight and to attention with his feet together, in the same way that he carefully curates his public persona and tries his best not to stand out. His suit jacket seems to be fully done up, all neatly and presentably, and he's similarly removed his stud earrings. Trying his best to come across as unproblematic, respectful and polite. But he's also standing a bit like a corpse in a coffin, holding his flowers like a dead man in his grave. This is probably related to Mikoto's associations with the Death tarot card (which does not in fact signify death but a new beginning — rebirth in a way) and his VD being titled 'John Doe' (that is, the placeholder name for an unidentified dead body) — perhaps a part of him died when his alter John was born? But that part of him was also reborn as someone bolder and stronger...Mikoto could also be considered a dead man walking, perhaps, working himself to death...he holds his bouquet in front of him in full view, just as he presents himself and his supposed crime since he has no memory of it — believing he has nothing to hide, trying to come across as trustworthy.

Kazui

Kazui is standing in contrapposto as he often does, only leaning his weight on half of his body — refusing to lean into both sides of himself. He also has his jacket half buttoned up, affording it a slightly more casual visual effect, and I think his tie is slightly loosened (half loosened?) in keeping with his half/half theme and general deliberately casual approach to most things. As seen in Cat and in other artwork of him, he is wearing a waistcoat underneath his suit jacket. I find it interesting that Kazui is consistently depicted with that extra layer in formalwear. Maybe I'm reading into things too much, but I wonder if it's to do with his devotion to trying to fulfil a masculine ideal — the three piece suit is often considered one of the most masculine forms of attire. It's also often associated with performance imagery, like the magic tricks we saw him doing in Cat. Unlike the others, he insists on that extra layer beneath his jacket — almost as if just to make sure he's really playing his role to the best of his ability. An extra layer of constriction, even beneath his jacket...anyways, he holds his bouquet with one hand — with only half of himself — sort of nonchalantly. His pose sort of reminds me of the way an actor might hold a prop he is planning to gesture with, which brings to mind Kazui's performative nature. Kazui holds his bouquet in front of himself, but his holding it with one hand makes it sort of feel like he's holding back a little. He isn't exactly outright presenting it to the viewer like some of the characters do, but he's also not actively trying to hide it (anymore?), which seems to be his attitude to the circumstances of his supposed crime as well — just as he implored us to find out and uncover the truth about him in his second voice drama.

Shidou

Shidou's body language is more open and relaxed than Mikoto and Kazui's, sort of reminiscent of the way his sprite's body language opened up in Trial 2 when he settled into his saviour/healer role in the second season. I also get the impression that his tie is the least loose of the five male characters, though I'm not exactly a tie expert — very intentional and meticulous, just like Shidou and his actions. Like Mikoto and Haruka, his buttons are all done up as far as I can tell (it's sort of difficult to see behind his bouquet to be fair, but that seems in character). I think this reflects how the three of them have a more decisive and resolute attitude to their crimes: while Mikoto insists he didn't do anything, both Haruka and Shidou admitted to killing from the very beginning, and all three of them were initially very accepting of their circumstances (albeit because Mikoto was in denial). Haruka and Shidou already committed to dressing up for the funeral from the very start— they both accepted their circumstances wholeheartedly, at least to begin with. Interestingly, he's the only one whose jacket is double breasted. I looked into this to see if there might be any particular significance to this choice, but I don't think I found anything of particular note except that it makes him stand out a bit, kind of like his straitjacket design's turtleneck style collar and long coat do. Double breasted jackets are associated with the navy, but I don't think that has much relevance to him as a character. As for Shidou's bouquet, he holds it just like a baby, cradling it close to himself with a sort of parental tenderness. It's in full view of the spectator and he makes no pretence about it. I think this reflects his attitude to his victims and to his crime — perhaps it implies that he considers his own children his victims, too? But I could also see this just reflecting his general attitude to lives — at least those of other people anyhow.

Fuuta

Fuuta's pose sort of reminds me of how a petulant teenager might stand at the funeral of a distant relative, irritated by the proceedings. It's quite open, like Shidou's, but much more defiantly so, leaning back slightly on one leg as if to challenge the viewer — sort of like a 'so what?' — much like he acted in Trial 1. He's not making much of an attempt to present himself formally or respectfully — his jacket is only half done up and his tie is the loosest of all the five male characters, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket. I think this reflects Fuuta's general tendency to chafe against convention and expectations, but also his initial refusal to accept his circumstances and responsibility. He holds his bouquet behind himself but largely visible — refusing to accept responsibility or be open with the viewer, but still self-aware enough that it's not exactly hidden — I think this reflects how he acts standoffish but ultimately is only really superficially in denial. He does hold his bouquet a little like a weapon, but he doesn't seem fully committed — he's not really holding it like he's seriously trying to threaten anyone. He's the only one who isn't smiling at all, which is just like him.

#milgram #milgram project #ミルグラム #analysis #character analysis #mikoto kayano #milgram john #kazui mukuhara #shidou kirisaki #fuuta kajiyama

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detachedminxsfics · 1 year

Text

Teach Me

Masterlist

Characters: Cal McCarthy x F!Reader

Summary: When spending a night alone at a dive bar leaves you smitten with a particularly skilled pool player you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, repeated use of 'cowboy' bc I can, creampie, praise, dirty talk

A/N: Yes this is just an excuse to express my love for cowboy JDM. I know Cal is a deadbeat kinda asshole in the film (really sparked the daddy issues there), but I'd like to think he could be pretty affectionate with someone intimately. So that's what this is ;) P.S. I have never played pool in my entire life

The glass slid towards you, the liquor within it swirling and rippling for a moment before you stilled it with your hand. After grasping your fourth or fifth drink of the night you lifted your head to stare at the man that had captured your interest for the past hour, the undefeated master of pool, judging by the many victories and complete lack of losses he'd had the entire time you'd been watching him, and probably even before you arrived. He was handsome in that rough and rugged type of way, the way he'd lean up after taking a shot with the pool cue and his tongue would pass over his bottom lip, flashing a smile right afterwards that made your stomach flutter. And that cowboy hat? Well, he was totally your thing. You downed the last of your drink, throwing it back before placing it back down onto the counter and sliding off of the barstool. Call it liquid courage, but when you stood to your feet and started to approach him you knew you were only happy for this night to end in one way, and that was beneath him. He just got done with his latest match, his opponent grumbling something incoherent before storming off defeated whilst the man of the hour gathered his prize, a couple of twenty dollar bills sprawled across one edge of the pool table.

"Hey."

He turned to face you, folding the bills and stuffing them into his pocket.

"You looking to play?" He queried with slightly furrowed brows, the apparent confusion written all over his face as you didn't look the type to play pool.

You weren't.

"Oh no, god I'd be hopeless. Especially against the likes of you."

Your first bit of flattery draws a chuckle out of him as he leans back against the pool table, nonchalantly stuffing one hand into his pocket.

"And the name of the man whose emptied the wallets of about five guys in the past hour is?"

"Cal." He says, a smile still lingering on his lips as he took his hat off and rested it on the surround of the pool table.

You knew you were being rather forward, but he didn't seem to be refusing any of your advancements, and it only encouraged you further.

"Well, Cal," you started whilst you took slow steps towards him, "could you show me how to play?"

Despite the innocence in your eyes at your suggestion, your intention was entirely the opposite, and Cal knew it.

"Sure I can hon, just gimme a minute."

You nodded, trying not to seem overly enthusiastic about his acceptance of your impulsive offer. You watched as he set all of the balls into a triangular rack and then lifted it off to set it aside. He rounded the table back to where you stood and then chalked the pool cue, something you'd watched him do a dozen times since he'd caught your eye tonight.

"Who taught you how to play?" You asked out of pure curiosity as he placed the white cue ball down on the table and leaned over.

"My old man. Playing pool's in my blood, feel like I've been doin' it ever since I could walk." He remarked as he gave the cue ball a firm shot, and you watched as it collided with the others, breaking up the formation and scattering them out all over the table.

Cal watched them closely, like he was calculating something, and then walked to one side of the pool table.

"C'mere." He accompanied his demand by patting the wooden edge of the table, and you made your way to the space he indicated for you without the slightest hesitation.

He chalked the pool cue before passing it to you, and you took it from him, holding it rather awkwardly. It was painfully obvious that it wasn't natural to you. Cal made his way behind you, and it was hard to suppress the smug smile teasing at your lips when he carefully placed a hand on the small of your back.

"Show me your dominant hand."

You slightly raised your dominant hand, and his hand pressed over the back of yours, fingers closing around it to guide it to wherever it needed to be. He brought it to a point towards the back of the stick, then pressed it gently against your hip.

"Alright, lean over."

You did just that, bending over and feeling the way he was pressed up behind you as he moved in closer, his arms reaching around you. He peered over your shoulder as he reached for your free hand and placed it on the table.

"Spread your fingers apart."

You put some space between your fingers.

"And you're gonna wanna keep the cue here."

He moved the cue to the space between your thumb and index finger, and then moved his hands to rest on your hips. You hoped the subtle music and general ambience of the bar were enough to disguise the small hitch in your breath as he held you, as he touched you.

"Now just spread your feet apart a little, and relax. If you tighten up your grip you'll screw your shot."

You knew Cal was being serious in his advice, but you couldn't help but allow some of the words to have a double meaning. Especially since his groin was pressing into your backside, and he was practically husking every one of his demands into your ear due to the closeness. You slightly spread your feet apart, steadying yourself to prepare to take the shot, then took it. The cue ball tumbled towards a red one, hitting it at such an angle it ricocheted off the edge of the table and tumbled straight into one of the pockets. Maybe it was just beginner's luck, but the hands of the pro responsible for your newly acquired pool skills were still holding your hips, so you begged to differ.

"Oh shit!" You mumbled with a surprised giggle, and Cal's laughter mixed with your own.

"Atta girl." He praised as he pecked your cheek, his stubble pressing into your skin when he did, and then he leaned off of you.

A little flustered you straightened your back and turned to face him, passing the pool cue back to him. His fingers brushed over yours when he took it from you, and the way his eyes never tore from the gaze of your own keen irises had you weak in the knees.

"Not interrupting a game here am I?" The voice of a stranger interrupted your moment, and Cal turned to look at him with a slight tilt of his head.

"Not at all, you lookin' to play?"

"Sure as hell am." The man replied.

The stranger wandered off to retrieve a pool cue and Cal turned his attention back towards you, reaching past you to take his hat from where he'd laid it on the table and place it on your head, the odd feeling of a far too large cowboy hat sitting on your hair making you snicker.

"You stick around and we can talk some more after this game, how's that sound, doll?" He paired his words with his thumb and index finger taking hold of your chin, and you looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head back slightly to stop the hat from obscuring your vision.

"Better yet." You drawled as you removed the hat from your head, using your free hand to smooth down your ruffled hair.

You leaned in afterwards till your lips were inches from his ear, the side of your face pressing into his stubble.

"You win this game and we'll go wherever you like, how's that sound?"

A beat passed before you leaned back to look at him, and the sense of pride you felt was instant. His eyes were glazed over with utter lust, and his top teeth were pressed into the underside of his bottom lip, though it was mostly disguised by the scruff of his beard.

"Alright, you're on." He murmured pointedly, moving to the pool table as his opponent returned, and you moved off to the side to spectate.

He never had to try all too hard to pull off a win, but if there was any sort of effort he could put in to secure his already outstanding chances, he was. Cal was making eyes at you occasionally throughout, eyes boring into yours with every perfect shot, and eventually, he'd wiped the table clean. Poor guy never stood a chance, or even took a single shot. Cal chuckled as he pocketed the last ball, turning to his slack-jawed opponent, and holding his hand out with an open palm in a self-congratulatory manner.

"Twenty dollars, right, pal?"

It was arrogant, but he had every right to be. The guy sighed as he reached into his pocket placing a twenty dollar bill into his palm and then walked off, smart enough not to attempt to win his money back in a rematch. Cal stuffed the money into his pocket with the rest of it before sauntering back towards you, and you made no attempt to disguise the admiration in your eyes. Not one bit. He took his cowboy hat back from you as you'd been holding it for him the entire short, almost one player game, and placed it back onto his head.

"So, how 'bout that bet?" Cal reminded with a shit-eating grin, like he was on cloud nine.

You laughed and placed one hand on his chest, running it down his button-up shirt.

"Lead the way, cowboy."

Cal was staying at a motel not too far, and your back was pressed against the inside of the door to his room before you knew it. His hands were all over you, caressing your waist whilst his lips moved against yours, only drawing a hand back once to toss his hat aside, and then it was on you again. He eventually pulled you from the door with the grip he had on your hips, slamming your chest against his whilst he spun you, beginning a slow walk that backed you in the direction of the bed until it hit your calves and sent you falling back onto it. After landing on the sheets you dug your fingers into the waistband of your mini skirt whilst Cal unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall down his shoulders until he shook it off, and then yanked the white tank top he'd worn beneath it over his head. As his top landed on the floor so did your panties, then his hands worked at his belt, undoing it before pulling it through the belt loops of his jeans and slinging it onto the floor to join the rest of the crumpled pile of clothing. Cal was impatient, his fingers quick to unbutton his jeans and let them carelessly fall to gather at his ankles, not even bothering to step out of them. Gazing down at you sprawled on the bed beneath him he slipped his hands beneath the underside of your thighs and pulled you towards him, the sudden jerk of your body and the way your lower half tipped over the edge of the bed before being supported with his own making you laugh.

"Eager much?" You teased as he lifted one of your legs and propped it up on his shoulder, his hand resting just above your knee to keep your leg straightened out against him, and he chuckled.

"Ain't this my reward for being such a damn good player?"

He'd shoved the waistband of his boxers down until it fell with the rest of the garments gathered at his ankles, something you hadn't noticed until you felt him sink into you, the sudden stretch around him eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips.

"Holy shit." You cursed, your hand instinctively seizing the wrist of the hand he was using to grip your hip.

It just felt like you needed something, anything to hold. Something to dig your nails into, something to ease you through the feel of his slow, intense thrusts. Every now and then, when he'd bury himself inside you and draw all the way back out again, his eyes would screw shut for a moment. His head even tipped back, and the groans that would rumble from his throat rendered the slow, punctuated roll of his hips inefficient. You needed more.

"Fuck Cal, just give it to me baby, please."

When he lifted his head to look back at you there was an eagerness to his eye that made you feel as though you should be bracing yourself. He planted a soft kiss on the inner side of your thigh before coming down closer to you, the way your leg was still propped against him allowing him to angle himself even deeper, the fullness making you whimper.

"You want it, huh?" He rasped.

All you could muster was the frantic nod of your head, the words in your mouth failing with the feel of every move he made, and he smiled. He brought your other leg up onto his shoulder and leaned down until he was practically folding you in half, the angle and the feel of your knees pressing against your chest winding you. Then, heaven. His thrusts were hard, the pace of his hips leaving you a breathless, moaning mess, eyes slightly rolling every time he buried himself inside you, over and over. It was an onslaught, something to which you succumbed to, especially when he crashed his lips against yours. He tasted like caffeine and cigarettes, a wildly fitting combination for the type of man he was. There was no way the thin walls of this motel were containing your cries, so the press of his lips would have to serve as the only way of muffling your earnest, untamed noises, every thrust drawing out a stream of euphonious, needy moans. He leaned back just to let you breathe, lips parting to speak.

"Damn, you sound so fuckin' pretty. You gonna cum, sweetheart?"

All you could do was fall into a string of curses and pleads, every one of your pretty pleases mixed in with your shaky sharp breaths bringing you both closer to release. He only fucked into you harder when he felt you clench around him, your head tipping back as your back arched and you felt the urge to squirm, but his body kept you pinned beneath him. It didn't take much longer for his relentless, undeviating thrusts to grow sloppier, the low, rough grunts flowing from his throat growing louder until he spilt inside of you. He stilled his movements and leaned up enough to allow you to move your legs, to which you languidly rested them on either side of his hips, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. When your shallow breaths eventually evened out he pecked your lips and leaned off of you, breath heavy as he straightened his back. Cal leaned down to slide his boxers back up his legs, then his loose-fitting jeans, and the space beside you dipped as he laid down at the head of the bed with a sigh.

"Well, don't think I ever had a pay-off like that before." He chuckled a little breathlessly.

You snorted your laughter, the flattery prompting you to lean up and crawl to him, his half-lidded eyes fixed on you as you moved to him and settled down on top of him, hands resting at his sides while you rested your chin on his chest.

"Lot more where that came from if you take my number, cowboy."

He grinned at the persistent pet name and used his index finger to pick your chin up from his chest, his thumb soon joining to cup your chin and tilt your head to look at him.

"I think it'd make me the stupidest man in the world if I didn't, course hon. Tell you what, you go get cleaned up and we'll grab a bite to eat."

His thumb dragged lightly across your bottom lip as he spoke, and you hardly had much to dispute when it came to the evening plans he'd sprung upon you.

"Sure." You muttered, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth as you leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

You sat up afterwards, turning to make your way off the bed but halting for a moment when you felt a playful hand come down on your ass, the sensation making you let out a surprised gasp.

"Cal!"

He only laughed as you continued to scramble off the bed and spun to face him when you stood to your feet, the light of gratification in his eyes not lost on you.

"Go on, I'm hungry."

You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom, excitement in your step as you did.

The night sure as hell ended the one way you wanted it to.

#jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan smut #calmccarthy #calmccarthy x reader

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plainemmanem · 2 years

Note

Hi <33 maybe watching tv and getting handsy with Steve or Peter? The idea is so delicious. I need.. a life

- 🐇

hi there, my little bunny :) i LOVE this idea... and it honestly really screams steve to me... i know i just kind of wrote something like this, but i have had One thought since this ask, and it’s been this…

"Nightmare on Elm Street." Steve holds up the tape, pure excitement in his eyes.

Finally, you both had found yourselves an unexpected night off. Free from parents or kids or work or saving the world. And here you were, sitting on his bed.

The room was so unapologetically Steve. All his bedding donned different hues of blue and the walls were abysmally checkered with detailed car pictures framed about. You always teased him over his room - "What? No pinup babes?" - but he never seemed to mind. It was a definite change, being at his house. Although his parents were often gone, Steve much preferred your house - your room in particular - with all of your little knickknacks and shelves he loved to rifle through. Your vanity was the best; he would smell your perfumes and look through your jewelry, making a mental list of what you already had and what was fair game for upcoming birthdays and Christmases. He teased your room too - "Jesus, why do you need all this stuff?" - but you knew he loved looking through all your dainty things. He was getting to witness a sacred part of you no one else ever got to see.

But tonight, Steve insisted on hosting, claiming he found a great movie for you two to watch at his place.

"God, Steve, Nightmare on Elm Street again?" you tried to come off annoyed, but you couldn't help but find his excitement adorable.

"Uhhh, absolutely. It's only one of the greatest slasher films of the last decade." He gave you a "Are you crazy?" look and hopped up from his spot on the bed, heading to the small TV setup at the front of his room.

He's a little clumsy, shuffling and bumping into things in the few short steps to the VCR. His spacial awareness was lacking but he still looked smooth, like he meant to stumble around.

God, he was cute.

He kneels down, sliding in the tape and hitting play, then hurrying back next to you, as if he was already missing crucial screen-time after five seconds into the film.

You laugh at his eagerness, fondness taking over your features, and he shoots you a questioning look.

"You're such a goddamn dork," you say, but your words hold no malice, only affection.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm pathetic, watch your damn movie."

He settles in beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his side.

You've both seen the movie about twelve times, always upon Steve's request, but you never had the heart to refuse him.

The movie starts out slow, establishing its characters and plot in tedious detail before the true action begins.

"He's cute," you mumble upon seeing the young actor on screen.

"Huh?" Steve peaks down to shoot you a half-confused, half-disgusted expression.

You jut out your chin towards the boy on screen.

"The guy. What's-his-name, Glen or whatever." You chuckle at Steve's baffled face, his lips pulled into a side grimace and one brow quirked high in the air.

"Really?" he asks, making sure you're both seeing the same guy.

"What?" you question, confused by his apprehension.

"I don't know," he's tilting his head to the side, trying to study the actor for himself. "He's practically... prepubescent?"

"Psh, please, Harrington. You're just mad you're not the handsome 'boy-next-door.'"

"Well, I'm not exactly right next door...'" His sentence trails off, leaving you to fill in the “handsome” part.

"God, you have zero game," you say, laughing to yourself as you turn back to the movie.

"Ouch.” You catch him mumble under his breath teasingly. “Way to let a man down easy.”

"Well, you're lucky you're cute," you say nonchalantly, stroking his ego.

"Thank- Wait a minute, 'cute?' You think I'm cute? I've always thought I was more 'dashing' or 'studly' or-" You cut him off with a hand to his face, playfully shoving his head to the side, much to his amusement.

"Prick," you tease, giving Steve a laugh.

The movie goes on, finally approaching its first kill, but, of course, you both saw it coming.

You're trying to focus on the film, really trying to burn the scenes into your brain, but you can't shake the feel of Steve's eyes on you. In your peripheral, you can tell he's peaking at you, longing evident in his face. He looks positively smarmy, but he can't seem to look away.

"Steve?" you can't hold back your subtle smirk.

"Uh-huh?" he responds, entirely too fast for someone who's supposed to be watching the movie in front of him.

"Eyes forward."

He crumbles slightly at your scolding, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, alright. You're so damn pushy."

He turns back to the screen, but his body is still angled towards you. He lasted a few seconds - trying hard to keep up appearances that he was still paying attention - before he was peering at you once again.

You could feel the air shift slightly, as well as Steve's arm around you. Slowly, his body started him leaning towards you, like a moth to a flame - mesmerized.

Eye's still on the screen in front of you, you tried to pretend you didn't notice his heated stare on your neck.

Then, a blossom of warmth, right below your ear. You could tell it was his lips, the feeling was so familiar. He's always loved your neck, knowing it was a particularly sensitive spot for you, but you stood your ground as best you could, refusing to give in to his advances.

You felt him hum slightly against your skin, his nose rubbing from side to side, giving you goosebumps.

"You're warm." His voice is muffled, but you can hear him loud and clear.

His lips travel further down, stopping at your collarbones. He nips at them slightly, simultaneously running his hand up and down your forearm before pulling you tighter to him.

"Steve." You’re breathless, still refusing to peel your eyes from the screen.

He groans deep, and it ignites something in your tummy that you can no longer ignore. Slowly, you trace your fingertips up his shoulder blade, feather-light over his spine, before finding purchase in the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He's moving back up your throat now, peppering light pecks over your jawline, heading for his final destination: your lips. He nearly makes it there, just hitting the edges of your mouth, but he’s stopped short.

"W- Wait, Steve..." your eyes are drooping now, fighting between the affection he was giving and the movie in front of you. "What - god- What about the movie?"

Steve still can't pry himself from your soft neck, now starting to tease the hem of your shirt, dragging his fingertips along the bare skin peaking out there, leaving more goosebumps in his wake. Expertly, his hands start creeping up your shirt, squeezing at your sides.

"Screw the movie," he mumbles against your skin, too wrapped up in the feel of you. You shiver at the satisfying timbre of his voice against your skin.

Higher and higher, his hands knead and manipulate your body, a mixture of need and devotion. You're now fully facing him, both of your fronts pressed together in the small bed, leaning against the headboard. Hastily, Steve wraps his hands around your back, pulling you flush to him as he plants a desperate kiss on your lips. The groan he lets out travels right into your mouth, catching you by surprise and parting your lips - a development Steve takes quick advantage of, now pushing his tongue shallowly into your mouth.

Steve was an amazing kisser. He quite honestly took your breath away every time. His lips were always soft and plush, and he always tasted faintly of mint and something sweet.

After a few moments, you were so kiss drunk, you barely noticed his fingers deftly fumbling with the hook at the back of your bra. He had started to become a pro at undoing it without looking, and he was just about there when-

"Wooooahhh, guys," you could hear Dustin's voice at the door, you and Steve now scrambling to pry yourselves apart. "Sorry, didn't mean to interup- Damn, Steve, you guys couldn't even make it twenty minutes without sucking face?" He was staring at the screen, quickly recognizing the movie. The rest of the gang was further behind in the hall, curiosity peaked at Dustin's outburst.

"Gah- Guys, what the fuck? Can't you dickheads see we're in the middle of somethin' here?"

Steve was shuffling around to face them, shielding your body from their prying eyes as you fixed your top and tried to rub at your kiss-swollen lips.

"You said you were having movie night," Mike says, as if was obvious.

"Wh- How did you even get in?" Steve asked exasperatedly to himself.

"Well, you really should make sure your back door's loc-" Dustin started to utter.

"No, no, no way. Get the hell outta here." Steve's up now, herding the group outside.

"But you said movie night," Lucas protests.

"I said we were having a movie night," Steve points back and forth between you and him, giving the kids a "Get the picture?" expression. Still, they were giving him a puzzled look, the implication flying over their heads. Steve really thought they were smarter than this, but... here we are. "Just us two?… Alone?"

Realization quickly struck each of them upon seeing your sheepish smile and timid wave.

A cacophony of "Ooooh's" came from the group, now looking a little embarrased at the mixup.

There was stiff silence, a look of apology from the kids and a look of pure annoyance from Steve. His hands were on his hips and he looked to be in full "upset dad" mode.

"But look!" It was Dustin who eventually broke the silence. "We brought popcorn!" the young boy says enthusiastically, holding up the tubs for all to see.

"Thanks." Steve snips out quickly, eyes wide in irritation. He shoots you a look of defeat and vexation, barely shocked that the one night you have alone is foiled yet again.

"C'mon in guys," you say warmly, beckoning them inside with your hand.

"Fucking nosy little bastards," Steve mutters under his breath before heading to the VCR to change the tape. "You get popcorn on my floor, you're dead."

"Woah, woah, woah," Dustin blurts out quickly at Steve's actions. "Why are you taking out the tape?"

"I'm not lettin’ you shitheads watch a scary movie late at night," he gives Dustin an exasperated expression, waving his hands around passionately. He turns to the stack of tapes on his desk, shuffling through to find a good one. "You'll get nightmares," he mumbles as he gives a once-over to each tape in his hand.

"Steve, you know we've all seen that movie, like, a hundred times," Mike says with annoyance.

"Oh, you’ve seen it ‘a hundred times?’” he mimicked Mike’s voice nasally. “Shut up and eat your popcorn."

Steve kneels down to the VCR, ejecting the slasher movie and sliding Commando in its place.

After tossing the old tape on his desk, Steve quickly strides back to his side of the bed, pulling you into him once again.

"But… isn't this movie rated R?" you whisper, trying to be quiet as quiet as possible.

"Eh," he shrugs, "they'll be fiiine." He pulls you impossibly closer - practically in his lap now - much to your approval. You nestle into his chest slightly, feeling a contentedness that's hard to find anywhere outside of his embrace. His chin rests on your head, then a light kiss is placed on your crown. You peak up at him, catching his lovesick smile.

"Love you, Stevie," you utter, giving his clothed chest a kiss.

"I looove you, Steevieee," the boys in front of you turn around, mimicking your display of affection, kissing the air and wrapping their arms around themselves in a faux embrace.

"Fuck off," Steve huffs, tossing a pillow their way, just missing them.

They turn back to the movie, satisfied smirks on their faces.

Steve just peaks back down at you, giving you an eye roll. Then that knowing smile.

A wordless "I love you, too."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington

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3terna15unshin3 · 10 months

Text

Then Because She Goes

Will you stay or wait?

★ Chapter 15 of 15, 8147 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: !!! mature content, minors please do not interact !!!, smut, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, alcohol consumption

<< 14

12 August, 2022

With his hands rummaging through the plastic bag that had been sitting near his feet for the whole road trip, Matty searched for an empty bottle. He had downed one of Coke about an hour in, so he knew it should be in there��he just couldn’t seem to find it amongst the rest of the rubbish.

“You’re not weeing in my fucking car, Matty!” exclaimed Este, attempting to keep her eyes on the road but ultimately being drawn away into the man-child sitting next to her and all of his antics.

Matty continued sifting through the bag, ignoring her protests. “Please, it’s not like I’m gonna piss on your floor. And I’ve done it plenty of times before, so my aim is pretty good—Oh! Here it is,”

The Coke bottle from earlier found itself in his hands, preparing to be unscrewed. Matty had been complaining about his full bladder for the past half hour and the next place for Este to stop wasn’t for another 15 minutes. As soon as the make-shift toilet came into her view, she grabbed it and threw it over her shoulder and into the back seat. It bounced around and landed on the floor, out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind, Este hoped.

“Love! What was that for?!”

“Grow up and hold it in for a couple more minutes.” Este threatened, reaching to turn down the radio’s volume before studying their surroundings in her mirrors and making a risky lane-change. Matty smiled at her habit of needing to quiet down her surroundings in order to focus.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Dunno if I can,”

Her eyes rolled at him. “You’re going to have to.” She said sternly.

“Well, then drive faster!”

Trying to listen to his girlfriend’s orders, Matty laced his fingers together and politely sat his hands on his lap. Focus, Matty, he thought to himself. His leg bounced up and down feverishly, to distract from the pain in his abdomen.

They sat in silence for the last stretch of the road, with Este’s eyes set on the GPS that guided her, and Matty squirming in the passenger’s seat. He kept complaining; and she tuned him out playfully. At one point, he even began undoing the zipper to his trousers, pretending to use Este’s car as a toilet instead of waiting for them to arrive at the petrol station. Matty wouldn’t actually do it, and just wanted to make her laugh. It did—though she didn’t like to admit it.

When they did arrive, he barely let Este put the gear into park before he burst out of the door and ran into the Shell while she refilled the tank.

“All good now.” Matty said when he came back, smiling widely. “No bottle of piss for you today,” They high-fived in silly celebration.

“I think I didn’t want you to wee in here because I’m just jealous. Not even because I think it’s gross.” admitted Este, laughing as she spoke. “I like, anatomically, could not even pee in a bottle if I tried. We’d have to pull over and find a bush for me to squat in.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s one of the many perks of having a dick,”

“Many?” She gave him the side-eye.

His brows wiggled suggestively. “You know…”

“Shut up.”

A few more moments of navigating led Este and Matty to where they were staying for the next two nights. It was a quaint Airbnb—away from the hustle and bustle of the city, which they didn’t mind, since they’d driven up and could easily use Este’s car to get around. They pulled into its driveway and admired the summer Manchester flora that heaped around the brick walls, surprised at how charming the fairly cheap listing had paid off in person.

Matty brought in their bags while Este creeped around lightly, peeking around every corner and touching things with a gentle hand. She explored as if what she was discovering could break just by looking at it too hard. Her feet trod quietly through the kitchen, into the lounge where the sofa looked particularly comfortable, and then up to the bedroom; where he caught her.

“Is there a reason why you’re walking around like a small Victorian child who has heard a noise in the middle of the night?” He asked, mocking her playfully as he sat on the bed next to his bag.

Este laughed at his tireless description of the timidness that washed over her the minute they entered the house. “I don’t know. It’s not my house—I’m not going to just barge in and throw myself about. I want to be a good guest. You know how I am,”

“I mean, you don’t have to ‘throw yourself about’, but you also don’t have to lift the toilet seat as if there’s some sort of punishment if you let it make a noise,” said Matty.

“You saw that?” Embarrassment was laced through her voice.

“Mm-hmm,” he confirmed, chuckling, “It was very cute though.”

She cringed and sat next to him. Matty’s hand found her thigh that brushed against his as their weight made the mattress cave in a bit. “It’s weird to pay to stay in someone else’s place in a city that feels like home, you know?” Este explained, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The past three years she had spent living in London didn’t waiver her Manchester pride. Este loved being a Londoner—the city was fruitful and ever-changing. It was the hub of her passions and the home of her favourite person. But, it didn’t fret her homesickness from being present; encouraging her and Matty to travel back to their hometown quite frequently. Mostly to visit Este’s parents, or Cate and Georgia.

This time around, they drove up to the North of England to celebrate with the latter couple at their housewarming party. Este was meant to come into the city earlier to help pack up the flat and move everything to their new place, but she was swamped with a head-cold so bad that her weekly column submission was almost submitted late. And it was never late.

It took almost two and a half years to work her way up to writing full pieces for The Guardian. Este spent a long time doing odd jobs and minor assistant editing before eventually getting promoted to co-writing some fluffy pieces with a team full of other writers. But then, at the beginning of the year, she was encouraged to join their literature review group. So now—every Wednesday—Este was a published and working literary journalist. Constantly reading books, and taking whoever flipped open The Guardian through the journey that each novel took her on. It was the second reason she couldn’t bear to leave London permanently; since being close to its headquarters and to where business flourished made work the easiest. The first was Matty, of course.

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” he started. “How it’s silly to come here so often and have to arrange a place to stay each time. Maybe we should just get a place here already,”

His suggestion intrigued her. Este liked the idea of having a home in both cities. “Like a little flat, or something?”

“Yeah, if we can find a good one. Just for us.”

“I’m in.”

The shower was cramped and its water pressure was next to non-existent, but alas; both Matty and Este had washed up in preparation for the party that evening. His curls hung damp and defined, while her hair stayed spun into a towel. They got ready—taking their sweet time and dawdling around—content to be doing any mundane task while having one another to do it with.

Both of them learned to appreciate the domestic side of being together after Este moved into Matty’s cold and rigid home, ultimately warming it up with the tenderness of her belongings and maximalist aesthetic. They met in the middle, somehow, and his home—now theirs—couldn’t be more reflective of their personalities. Living together was a challenge almost as identically as being apart was. But it was worth it.

Matty showered before her, so he sat on the bed and slid his party clothing over his towel-dried skin as Este emerged from the toilet. She let her raven hair free and tumble in wet gatherings near her face; still not dressed, and looking as if she wasn’t ever planning to do so.

A pair of cream boy short style knickers hugged her hips and a matching bralette supported her upper half. Este sauntered past him and sat at the wooden vanity where she had emptied all of her beauty products onto when unpacking. Matty’s eyes tracked her movements.

He didn’t say anything, at first. Just continued to button his shirt and fold up its sleeves while she started to put on some makeup. She opened and closed every product, Matty still watching, while delicately bouncing her fingertips to her cheeks and combing mascara through her long lashes. Este could feel his eyes burning into her skin—knowing that he was studying her summer tan that stood bolder next to her pale undergarments, and appreciating the rosiness she added to her face.

“What are you wearing? For tonight?” Matty asked after sensing that she was wrapping up at the vanity.

Este looked at him through his reflection in the mirror, smiling. “I brought a dress, it’s hung up in the closet since I didn’t want it to crease. The blue one.”

She tried to explain which one she was talking about, but since she was in need of putting it on anyway, she just got up to go fetch it. Matty took her spot in the now vacant chair, to lean forward and use the vanity’s lights to figure out his hair. He considered taking a dollop of gel and combing it back for the convenience, but he knew that Este liked when it came to the front and framed his forehead. And Matty liked doing things the way she liked them. So, he left it alone.

“See?” Stepping back into view, Este held the blue garment up in front of her barely clothed body for him to judge. He nodded and looked it up and down. There was a moment of silence as she waited for Matty to voice his approval. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

She dramatically dropped her free hand down to her side. “Nice? That’s all?” The other threw the hanger and dress flat onto the bed.

His hand waved her over, silently asking for her to step closer to him—and once she was in reach, Matty hooked his finger into the waistband of her underwear to pull and close the gap between them, wrapping his arm around the skin of her waist. He met her gaze, needing to tilt his head upwards since he was still sat on the vanity chair and was eye-level with her abdomen.

“I was just sort of hoping you’d look like this all night,”

As she felt the warmth of his hand graze back and forth across her spine, Este reached down to stick her own into his still damp curls. “Well, get your mind out of the gutter then.” He leaned back into her touch. “Plus, I know you couldn’t stand anyone else seeing me in this besides you.” The suggestive smirk could be heard in her voice.

Matty laughed and raised his eyebrows in agreement. “That’s a good point.”

She was about to take a seat on his lap; but her ringtone interrupted the thought. Both of their heads turned to where the sound came from, quickly realising that Este was getting a call. He laid a quick peck on her hip bone before she stepped away to answer it.

The call was switched to speakerphone after she read who was on the other end. “Lolo, hi.” greeted Este. “We haven’t even been away from her for half a day and you’re calling already? Should I be worried?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. We’re having fun together so far!” José explained. “I just wanted to make sure the car journey went alright.”

“Yeah, everything is good. Made it over in one piece. We’re going to leave for Cate’s in maybe an hour or so.” Este put her phone down to remove the dress from its hanger and slip it onto her body, while walking back to Matty and turning around to let him zip her up. It sat on her effortlessly and served as the perfect casual summery outfit; while still fitting for the late night out they had ahead of them.

“Tell her and G I say congrats on the house.” A bark was heard in the background. “From me and Keiko,” he finished with a chuckle.

José called from Matty and Este’s London house, staying over while they were away and looking after the puppy. Keiko (their four month old German Shepherd whose name came from the quirky Convenience Store Woman character that held precious memories for them both) erupted in more excitable barks through the phone after hearing her name.

“I will. She’s doing okay, yeah?” asked Este.

“Of course. But I’m sure she misses you guys. Right, Keiko? Where’d mummy and daddy go?” he started, egging the clueless pup on, and making the two on the phone to cringe at his choice of nicknames. “I’m also a bit worried that I’ve been giving her too many treats.”

Este’s eyes widened. “How many have you given her?!”

She put on a pair of black boots, while Matty held up his two shoe options. Her finger pointed to the black Converse out of instinct—always loving the classic shoe on her boyfriend as opposed to something dressier. He agreed and began undoing their laces.

“She’s just being a good puppy and I want her to know that,” her granddad responded defensively. “Your Lola would have been way worse than me. She’d give in and let Keiko walk her down the street instead of the other way round. So you should be thankful it’s just me,”

The conversation made Matty laugh; both of nervousness, for the well-being of his dog at home, and also of pure adoration for José. What a legend.

“Can I have the phone, love?” he asked, before Este handed it to him and watched him bring it close to his mouth. “Hey. It’s Matty. I like spoiling her too, Lolo. Don’t worry. I get it.” Matty said in a hushed voice.

Her jaw dropped open and the two men rejoiced, both basking in their soft spots for Keiko. “Don’t enable him.” scolded Este. She tried to be angry, but she loved them too bad to care all that much.

They took an Uber to the party after considering that they’d probably have too many drinks to be able to sober up and drive back. And as the city zoomed past them, they watched it through the backseat windows—both fantasising about their hypothetical second house in their second home. What it would look like, where in Manchester it would sit. Each of them pointed at different buildings periodically, pitching their favourites to the other. “Those ones seem too modern from the outside,” or ”This area’s rubbish,” or “Are you serious? Would you live there?” were a few short phrases exchanged between them.

The happy couple in their new house greeted Matty and Este with excited hugs. In the corner, on a sofa and catching up with the other parents, sat Este’s mother and father. Cate insisted on inviting them to give her own parents some company; the pair growing close after her and Este’s long friendship. It was a bit embarrassing for Este to learn that her parents had beaten her there, but she was also happy to see them and be able to give them a squeeze.

“There you guys are! We’ve been waiting for you!” said Este’s dad, giving Matty a firm handshake and then wrapping his arms around his daughter. A series of small hi’s and hello’s were thrown around the room as the lively music filled the air.

Percy planted a firm kiss into Matty’s cheek and followed suit with Este’s. “How’s Keiko doing back at home?“ she wondered.

“I think she’s pretty good so far,” responded Matty, “José’s spoiling her rotten—but we were expecting that. Just miss her already, don’t we E?” He rubbed her hip with the hand that was draped around her.

Este nodded with a pout on her face, thinking about their puppy and how badly protective they were of her. “100%. Should’ve brought her here and let her christen the new house by weeing all over your floor!” she joked.

“You wouldn’t dare,” sneered Cate as Georgia shoved a G&T and glass of red wine into their hands almost immediately, eager to get the night started.

“This is my favourite room in the whole house, E. Look. You’ll love it. I think of you every time I step inside,” the redhead declared as she led the two around for a tour. “It’s not totally finished, but you’ll get it.”

A twist of the doorknob showed them the home office. Cate and Georgia had put together every book they owned and shelved them charismatically. They surrounded the window, framed the desks, and sat in piles on the floor. Greenery of all sorts sat on top of them, and even hung from the ceiling. The rug was warm and welcoming. It was almost as if they captured all of Este’s favourite things and stuck them within the same walls. She could only imagine how lively it must look in the sunlight.

“God, guys! This is lovely,” Matty gushed. “You shouldn’t have shown it to us, though. I think Este will just be mad that I haven’t let her decorate our whole house like this.”

The look on her face confirmed his comment, as Este sheepishly stared. “Can I move in?” Everyone laughed.

Making their way back to where all of the guests remained—mingling and chatty—Georgia poured them another. Matty bopped his head excitedly at the tasteful music and the loud conversation continued. Smiles were bright. The drinks were drank. But as the hour grew late, only the guests who were up for a fun night stuck around; while the few who stopped by to see the house and congratulate the couple began to fizzle out.

So, Este’s parents started to bid their goodbyes. They were planning on making a trip down to London to meet Keiko soon enough, so parting wasn’t as difficult as usual. Some last embraces were squeezed in as they prepared to take off, but before they could, the song erupting from the speakers caught Matty’s attention and encouraged him to hold Percy’s arm back for a moment.

“I don’t know what it is that you’ve done to me,”

SWV’s velvety vocals sung their classic song, Weak, and since Matty had always bonded with Este’s mother over their love for 90’s R&B, he couldn’t let her slip out before dancing with him first. She smiled giddily and took his hand as he guided her to an open space in the kitchen. Their socks on the spick and span tile allowed them to move freely, swaying and tapping their feet to the beat. He twirled Percy around, raising her hand that lightly gripped his up above her head.

They took turns serenading the lyrics to each other, Matty’s eyebrows furrowed with passion, fingers still laced together. Laughter was shared between them whenever the other did a particularly funny dance move or embarrassingly messed up the words. The smiles never left their faces, while Alfonso and Este watched from the door, smiling likewise.

“Can’t explain why your love, it makes me weak.” sounded the final line of the tune, Matty diverting his attention back at his girl as he sang it quietly. He sent a quick wink Este’s way afterwards, making her roll her eyes initially, but inevitably forcing a wide grin out of her while her stomach fluttered. Percy watched silently as her and Matty’s brief kitchen dance party came to an end, heart warm with adoration, physically feeling the love he had for her daughter—and vice versa. With her hand now folded in Alfonso’s, the couple wrapped up with a new round of goodbyes, and Cate showed them out.

When a handful more of drinks were eventually downed, it was shocking to suddenly hear the conversation turn professional. Cate found herself sitting next to Matty, her current higher up (the new album called for some extra brains for art direction and graphic design—so onto the team she came), discussing the importance of typography.

“I really like the idea of keeping the really simple and sophisticated serif text, even with tour merch. It’s chic.” she rambled.

He nodded, agreeing. “It’ll fit with the aesthetic, for sure. I did want to incorporate a couple of more grungier designs though. Maybe something hand-drawn or messy. More abstract, maybe.”

“Sure, sure. That makes sense to me. Patty may have some good material for those types of designs. A good balance between both should work out well, since—”

“You know you guys aren’t on the clock, right?” Este butted in, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

Cate snapped out of it and her cheeks grew rosy. “Sorry,” she apologised, “But honestly, the North American tour starts in less than 3 months, and what’s already done for the singles and for festival season won’t even fill half of a headline merch table… So we’ve gotta crack on with it asap.”

“Then talk about it when you’re sitting in an office and can click around on your iPad, not when you’re pissed off champagne and hosting a house party!” exclaimed Georgia. The small circle of guests erupted in chuckled at her fair point. “I bet you two couldn’t quit the work-talk for more than 45 minutes,”

Matty raised his hands in the air defensively. “Hey, my work is my life. You know that, Georgia.” he said with a grossly confident and purposefully pretentious tone.

She rolled her eyes in response. “God, you’re the worst.” But, her hard and sarcastic facade broke when the two erupted into smiles and shoved one another in the shoulder gleefully. “Speaking of work though, why didn’t you bring any of the guys along? Don’t think I’ve seen them since we came down for Este’s birthday. Shame,”

“They’re all very busy boys,” answered Este. “And were gutted that they couldn’t make it tonight.”

Matty nodded, wrapping his arm behind Este’s shoulders and letting his hand find the back of her neck. His fingers weaved through the hair that covered it to gently caress the soft skin right below her scalp.

“They usually jump at the chance to come up to the city whenever they’re given a reason, so I guess they just don’t like you lot enough…” he joked.

“You better watch yourself, Healy. G might cut you off if you keep at it.” warned Cate humourously.

The warm conversation continued, though the couple of the night left frequently to mingle with the other guests. Any time it was just Matty and Este—when they knew nobody’s eyes were on them—he snuck small kisses onto the skin behind her ear. She sat her palm dangerously high up on his thigh, making her giggle after seeing how quickly his muscles tensed in reaction. The alcohol helped escalate the heat between them; but also allowed them to cool off almost immediately whenever Cate and Georgia ducked back into their attention.

Despite their consistent touchiness that persisted even through the Uber journey back to the Airbnb, they passed out cold as soon as they squeezed into the double bed that wasn’t theirs. The fact that they never seemed to party as crazy as they expected themselves to became increasingly frequent. Este liked to make fun of his age, always teasing that he had been handling his alcohol worse and worse (and going to bed earlier and earlier) as he progressed into his thirties; though she only trailed a couple years behind. So, Matty rolled his eyes when they snuggled tightly into the white sheets—both on the extremely tired comedown of being tipsy—and Este interrupted the silence filling the room.

“Is grandfather too sleepy or can I give you a kiss goodnight?

“Not after calling me grandfather, you can’t.”

13 August, 2022

Este awoke early the next morning, and Matty followed not long afterwards. He was still snoring when she first looked over at him, eyes peacefully shut and mouth slightly agape.

When she scooted upwards—now sitting with her back against the headboard—to scroll away on her phone, he felt her movements and internally whined at their lessening contact. To gain the comfort he craved at the start of each day, he rolled over to her and nestled his cheek next to her arm. Este quietly chuckled at his neediness and pulled her arm away; but only to use her hand to pet the stubble growing on his jaw, moving slowly up and down then back up into his messy hair.

Stopping for a second to quickly push her own hair to one side, not liking the sensation of it crowding her neck, she heard a low hum from Matty. He was clearly enjoying her touch.

“Morning, love.” said Este.

He groaned with exhaustion as a response, throwing his arm around her lap.

“You sleep okay?”

His eyes still hadn’t opened. “Surprisingly very well.” Matty squeezed out of his dry throat, words coming through with a low rasp.

She set her phone back onto the bedside table to give him her full attention. “Me too. I think it’s the tiny bed—forced us to cram closer together, and you keep me warm. Maybe we should downsize at home,” Este suggested, half-joking.

An eye finally peeled open, and then the other, and he saw her for the first time that morning. Este’s untamed hair was his favourite, immediately studying its waves and smiling to himself.

“It was cosy,” agreed Matty, sitting up to match her position, “Don’t you like having more room, though, You know, for other things?”

There was a twinkle in his eye, and a tone in his voice that she could recognise anywhere. So, she egged him on.

“Like… What kinds of things?”

Matty suddenly felt very awake. “Just the things I dreamt about last night,” he teased.

One step ahead of him, Este swiftly swung her leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Then tell me about them.”

He had the feeling she didn’t want him to actually tell her anything, as the very moment her words slipped out, Este’s mouth was on his. Slow, and gentle. Her hands cupped either side of Matty’s jaw, while his grazed under the hem of her shirt and felt up her back. She moaned into his mouth at his tender touch—rolling her hips back and forth lazily.

Matty peeled off the oversized tee that covered her, leaving only the thin cloth of his briefs and the lace of her knickers between their bodies. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see her grinding into him while he pulled his lips away from hers. Mouth wide and jaw slack, whining. He throbbed at the sight of it.

The feeling of his eyes on her turned Este on. How they were glued to her in a daze, with pure voyeuristic pleasure, as if it was the first time they were laid on her. She wanted to please Matty. Put on a show. So that he wouldn’t dare look away.

To do just that, Este continued using his crotch to get herself off, the bulge in his pants making perfect contact with her still clothed clit. She steadied herself—hand on the headboard—and whispered his name with desire while Matty’s hands inched forward to work at her chest. Her hardened nipples rolled between his fingers, making her shiver.

Reconnecting their lips, he slipped his tongue against hers while her hand trailed down the centre of his chest. It moved painfully slowly. But soon enough, Este took her hand into his underwear, gripping him boldly. The friction between them left him hard, and leaking. Matty gasped and shuddered when she pumped him a couple of times.

“Baby—“ he said against her mouth, his words hesitating to let a groan lowly, “The sheets. Will we have time to run the laundry before we have to leave?”

“They’ll wash ‘em.” Este threw out the short response, her head hazy and preoccupied with determination.

“What happened to wanting to be a ‘good guest’?” he taunted.

She climbed down his torso to slip his only piece of clothing down his legs, and he helped by kicking them off.

“Oh I’m a good guest alright,” she defended, kissing his upper thigh and still stroking his cock, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you nice and clean,”

Matty twitched at her words, not getting the time to think before her lips sunk down on him. He held himself up by his elbows, the muscles in his stomach making it hard to stay steady.

She took him in liberally, her nose almost coming in contact with his pelvis as he hit the back of her throat. “Fuck,” he moaned, watching Este’s eyes lock with his as she looked up through her eyelashes.

Swallowing around him and beginning to bob her head up and down, she squeezed her legs together. It grew increasingly wet in her panties, as she tasted Matty’s precum and witnessed his face twist in euphoria. A moan escaped and vibrated over him when she attempted at relieving some pressure by rolling her hips down onto the bed.

Este found a lazy rhythm, teasing him cruelly, making his hips rise with eagerness. Every time he buckled upward and his length grazed her throat, she moaned, driving Matty even crazier.

His chest heaved up and down when she pulled back, swirling her tongue around his tip, and using her hand to stroke his shaft. Este could see his eyes squeeze shut, brows furrowed in pain as she took him deeper once again.

“Stop,” Matty begged, “I don’t want to come alone,”

She didn’t protest. He dragged Este back up to straddle above his cock and kiss her hungrily, her face messy with spit, lips swollen from sucking him. His hand then found her clit, rubbing with perfect speed and pressure, drawing pornographic sounds out of her mouth.

“Matty,” she praised.

“Are you this wet just from taking me in your mouth?” Matty whispered against the skin on her neck. He licked and nipped at it, surely leaving a mark. The taste of what was left of last night’s perfume transferred onto his tongue.

“Always, for you,” Her voice was breathy and desperate. She couldn’t stand another minute of being empty, clenching greedily around nothing. “Just fuck me already.”

Este’s command had him obeying immediately, guiding his tip to her entrance and allowing her to slowly sink down onto him. His mouth fell open, feeling the tightness of her cunt envelope him in pleasure.

She sat there for a second, eyes shut in concentration. Matty filled her up graciously and hit every spot just the way she needed. Raising back up, then lowering down, Este began riding his length with her knees buried in the sheets. She rested her palms onto his inked torso to stabilise herself and persist at her skilled movements.

Matty watched her chest bounce repeatedly and bit his lip at the view he had from beneath her. The pink started shining through on Este’s cheeks, face hot and flushed from the pressure building in her lower stomach. Her skin glistened and was sticky to the touch. So was his. She brought up a hand to comb the hair out of her face, leaving it there and tugging at her own locks near her scalp.

“You look so fucking good—feel so fucking good,” Matty intensely complimented, through a groan, seeing her smile briefly and open her eyes to gaze down at him.

She felt her climax building as she continued using him to fuck herself. Este brought her right hand up to her clit, indulging in as much pleasure as possible to bring her there. Her pace was sufficient, especially for Matty—who sat, fucked out and a moaning mess below her—but Este wanted more. So, she began speeding up, still fingering furiously at her bundle of nerves, pushing hard and panting.

Wanting to make her feel good and give her knees a rest, Matty wrapped his arms around her to make her hips stationary. And without warning, he fucked upwards. Repeatedly, and relentlessly.

“Shit,” Este cried, “Keep going.”

He listened, twitching inside of her as he chased his orgasm too. The sound of his hips snapping up into hers boomed loudly through the room; now full of hot breath and the smell of sex.

Este gasped as he hit a spot deep within her that sent rushes of unwavering pleasure through every inch of her body, over and over. The combination of that and her fingers on her clit sent her over the edge, chanting a string of Matty’s name sensually into his ear, along with every word of profanity her mind brushed by.

She shuddered on top of him, beginning to go limp with exhaustion, but Matty didn’t stop. There was no chance for her to come down from her orgasm when his thrusts only grew harder and deeper.

His lip remained pinned between his teeth, pain written all over his face. With Este’s face now buried in his neck, overwhelmed by the sheer bliss of her climax and how Matty’s cock incessantly pounded into her sensitive post-orgasm core, he shut his eyes to bask in the sensation.

Every stroke brought him closer, and it grew harder and harder to keep up at his pace. Matty felt her tighten around him, making his thrusts grow distraught.

“I’m gonna come, E,” he muttered, voice shaky.

But right before he could (she knew his body so well that he didn’t even have to warn her for her to know), Este pulled off of him, springing downwards to take his whole length past her lips.

The sudden warmth of her slick mouth and vibration of the hum she expelled had Matty coming up her throat. She rose to let it spill onto her tongue, letting him watch the cum string out of his tip; but quickly closed her lips around him again, sinking back down and bottoming out.

Este kept him there for a couple of seconds as his moans slowed to a stop and he caught his breath. Then, she tightly pulled her lips off of his cock—cleaning up his seed, and swallowing it as promised.

“See? No mess.” Este said, a sheepish yet exhausted look on her face.

Matty forced her back up to lay on his chest, bringing her in for one last sloppy kiss. She tasted like him.

They then forced themselves out of bed, for the first time yet that day, to wash up and gather their things for the eleven o’clock checkout time. The shower ran only once, to bathe them both and save time, followed by Matty stuffing his dirty clothes back into his duffle bag. He then flipped on the kettle and sunk some pieces of bread into the toaster while Este pottered around, trying to leave the house exactly how they found it.

Matty carefully spread a thin layer of butter and then another of Marmite on each slice, setting aside two for Este and nibbling on the remaining two himself. They’d initially been rushing, thinking that what they had left to sort would take a while, but their single night in the Airbnb remained a fairly simple and effortless stay. There was still over an hour before they had to be out. So, Matty pulled open the book he was reading, actively trying to do so instead of spiralling on Instagram or chatting shit on Twitter (as of lately).

He waited for Este, assuming she’d hear the kettle go off and join him at the small kitchen table, but her footsteps creaked on the floor between the bedroom and through to the toilet instead of coming nearer.

“Darling, you should eat,” called Matty, listening for her response. He knew that by this time of the morning she’d be hungry.

Este’s ears perked, grabbing one last used flannel and throwing it into the dirty laundry hamper. Her empty stomach drew her round the few corners to reach the kitchen from the bedroom, seeing Matty sat with one leg folded over the other. He sipped on his tea, flipping a page to his novel, then felt her come into view.

She smiled at the small plate and cup of tea he arranged for her. “Look at you, making me toast.”

Matty chuckled, watching her take a bite. He then uncrossed his legs, welcoming Este to reach one of hers from her own chair and drape it across his. Crunches of toast could be heard, along with the swipes of his fingers across the pages of Mayflies.

“How’re you finding it?”

“It’s a beaut, so far. Feels sort of silly reading about stupid young lads causing trouble round Manchester. Bit too familiar. It’s like reading a caricature of my own life,” he responded with a laugh.

“Gorgeous writing though, don’t you think?” posed Este, leaving her bitten crusts on her plate with no plan of eating them.

Matty picked one up and tossed it into his mouth. “Oh, 100%. I mean, this one—where is it?” He began turning back to try and find a certain quote. “Here it is; ‘For a second I floated into privacy: the faraway mood of exhilaration that comes with excess, and I loved the excess, and loved the seeming permissiveness of that night. Who would I call, I wondered, if I stepped into the phone box? And the answer—so free of regret—was no one. I had no one to call and was quite glad about it.’ ” He braced his heart with his hand while reciting the text aloud.

She stood up and picked up their now empty plates, quickly rinsing them in the sink and setting them to dry.

“Absolutely lush,” Este reacted. “There’s a line that I haven’t stopped thinking of since I read it, where it says ‘They say you know nothing at eighteen. But there are things you know at eighteen that you will never know again.’ A quote like that can feel random with a moment that isn't necessarily retrospective—and this one isn’t—but something about its placement was so effective. Blew me away,”

He agreed, and went on. “I loved reliving the naivety of feeling like you have everything and everyone you need right where you are. Pure, proud friendships. How young and freeing is that? God, almost makes me emotional.”

A grin sat on her face. “I’m so tired of you being so profound about literature. Like, this is literally my job.” she complained. “Want to write for the column this week instead of me submitting my write up?”

“Pfft,” Matty shook his head. “You’re forgetting that I didn’t even pass my English GCSE.”

Wrapping up their small breakfast and doing a couple of rounds to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything, they eventually packed their stuff back into Este’s car boot and took off. Matty drove this time, agreeing before the trip that she’d do the journey in and he’d bring them back. But, before cruising onto the A5103 home to London, they headed into the city, to the northern quarter. There was one more stop to make.

Familiar pubs and shops filled them with nostalgia as they drove past and found a spot to park. They stopped a ways away from their destination, wanting to soak up the surprisingly tropical (for England, at least) weather and walk the rest of the way. Left, right, left, right, stepped their feet on the pavement in unison.

The silence they moved in encouraged Este to think about how rare the leisurely and quiet moments between the two of them would get as the year went on. She was grateful that she at least had the time off work to come along for their comeback shows in Japan for Summer Sonic. But, after that, Matty’s busyness would snowball, and by autumn, he’d be gone for months at a time to tour the new album.

“It’s sad that we won’t be able to do this for a while. When everything starts.”

Matty looked over at her, letting go of her hand to pull her into his side, wrapping her shoulder now enveloped by his arm.

“We’ve still got another week until Japan,” he pointed out.

“That’s no time at all, in my head. Plus, you’ll be swamped with more rehearsals all the way up until the day we leave.” she pouted.

“I know, I know,” said Matty, squeezing her briefly. “It’s going to be weird, too. Since we haven’t been on the road for quite a while. Been coddled by getting to have you around all the time.”

He wasn’t making her feel any better. “I’m going to miss you.” Este told him, even though he already knew.

“Don’t start missing me yet. I’m right here.” he said with a laugh as Este snuck her arm around his waist. Left, right, left, right. “Think of it like this—what did you say that one time, ages ago? We’ll be under the same sky, or whatever. Something cheesy like that.”

She bumped his hip at the sound of Matty teasing her, making him stumble slightly out of rhythm. But their feet found unison again.

“That was what, three years ago now? More? Your memory is scary.” Este commented.

“Hey—to be fair—those first days we spent together were like the best days of my life at the time. I thought about you saying that line to me for, like, months after it happened.” he added.

“Sap.”

A Starbucks rounded the corner and an elderly couple walked out. Este studied them as they approached; the man holding out a hot cup for the woman after propping the door open for her. She took it, linked her arm within his, and then took a sip.

Este expected to see her smile or thank the man, but instead a grimace appeared on her face.

“Taste’s shite, Harold.” The old woman complained.

Matty and Este held in their laughs and pretended that they didn’t hear it. Probably was the earl grey, Este thought, replaying the time she first introduced Matty to her grandmother, and how she talked of its flavour in distaste, much like the woman in front of them.

Their feet then carried them across the road. One of the signs on the corner of the intersection read Gore, the other Piccadilly. And they stepped into Greenhouse Books.

The orange carpet screamed with familiarity. Luckily, it was the time of day where Sam was still in—though preparing to head out upon the closer’s arrival—so he greeted them both with a warm hello (a tight hug for Este and firm handshake for Matty).

It was nearing three years since she bittersweetly resigned from the job she held dear to her heart, but also over eight since she’d first been hired. So, her and her ex-boss remained in touch, always up for a chat whenever Este was in town and eager to keep up with where her writing had taken her thus far. The shop was empty; so there they stood, hands still laced together, catching up with Sam. Though reminiscing and thinking of how long she spent revolving her life around Greenhouse made her feel a bit old.

Then, Matty and Este ventured into the shelves, separately, carrying out the purpose of stopping by; to buy a couple of books.

Matty sifted through each book carefully, picking one up with a loud green cover. Its art was charming and the poetic words across it jumped out at him, so he began to look further into it. But, after reading the blurb on the back cover, it seemed familiar.

He remembered that Este had reviewed it, back in June. Matty read every piece she wrote. She’d called it ‘cocky’, and claimed that the author wasn’t interested in his own characters. So, he shoved the lime coloured novel back into the gap left by him picking it up in the first place. One of the perks of loving someone whose opinions on literature were not only trusted by him, but also by a good chunk of the country who read the paper every morning, was that it helped him know which books to shove back in the gap and which books to give a chance.

This time of year was when the shelves were the fullest. Knowing that, Este felt eager to see some different titles instead of the ones she’d gotten to know so well. But truthfully, she realised that it had been a while since she actually knew the shop at all.

Its charm and ambitious spirit never changed—but plenty of books she remembered staring at years ago had inevitably sold, now no longer there. That’s how stores tend to operate, Este thought to herself embarrassingly. A couple of bays had swapped places. And her system for keeping the stationery supplies behind the counter organised had clearly gone out the window (which she noticed every time she came to visit and peered at its mess).

As much as being there made her miss the simplicity and comfort that Greenhouse served her for so long, it also only made Este prouder to be right where she was. How something so peaceful and passion-driven could grow to such a large scale. How it led her to the love of her life.

It felt liberating to have to search to find the poetry section. She couldn’t even recall where it had been back when she was still employed there.

Coincidentally, it was stationed right beside the small shelf of literary criticism that Matty had his eyes on. Her hand trailed horizontally along his lower back when she passed by to get to the desired genre, and she planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. They silently stood—side by side—with necks tilted to the right to read what each spine entailed. They browsed for a while, eventually witnessing Sam take off and leave the shop under one of his employee’s supervision.

She was a polite, bookish girl in her mid-twenties who had Matty and Este plenty of times over the years. So, when they finally had their picks in hand and walked up to the till, she sneakily (and as per her boss’s instruction) gave them a hefty discount. Este knew she would, and didn’t have the heart to protest, so she just purposefully paid in cash and rushed out of the door while shouting a grateful goodbye—not allowing her to give back any change. Chimes were heard as it opened and then shut again, one novel in each of their hands.

Then, with no exchange of conversation, they handed their book to the other. Matty’s for Este, and Este’s for Matty. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them—buying books with the other’s interest instead of their own—the endless stacks of novels upon novels living with them in their London home showing as evidence.

And as they walked away, Matty’s free hand found Este’s, the way it always did, and their once divergent stories continued to blend into one.

The End

#matty healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x oc #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 #matty healy fic #tbsg #matty healy smut #smut #Spotify

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hellomynameisbisexual · 1 year

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“I’m not even sure bisexuality exists. I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown,” Carrie Bradshaw famously said in the offensive, misinformed 1998 episode of Sex and the City in which she dates a bisexual man. These words are still painfully seared into my brain. How could a sex columnist, a character written predominantly by gay men, have such a limited view of queer identity? Nearly ten years later, a 2016 episode of HBO dramedy Insecure sees Molly (Yvonne Orji) finding out that the man she’s seeing, Jared, nonchalantly had a sexual encounter with another man. After exposing her biphobia to her friends, another character declares Jared to be gay. Ultimately, Molly and Carrie both decide, despite the chemistry and their attraction, that they could not get past their own compulsory monosexuality to continue dating a bisexual man. Why does television, a medium primed for long-form character development and storytelling, continuously fail at representing bisexual men?

Twenty-five years after that infamous Sex and the City scene, bisexuality (for the purposes of this piece, I am using bisexuality as a term that encompasses all people with the capacity to be attracted to more than one gender, including those who identify as bisexual, pansexual, fluid, queer, and more) on television has made significant strides—from young-adult programming like Euphoria, Riverdale, and Gossip Girl, to adult dramas like Game of Thrones, The Magicians, and obviously, The Bisexual. Bisexuality is no longer relegated to a very-special episode, and is slowly leaving the realm of bad, misinformed jokes. According to GLAAD’s 2021-2022 Where We Are on TV report, queer representation on television is at an all-time high. After two consecutive years of decreases, bisexual representation increased by one percent over last year: nine non-binary characters, 124 women, and sadly, only 50 men. Fifty may seem like a solid number at the outset, but consider the quality of these representations. Aside from a few stand-out examples, like Nick Nelson (Kit Connor) on Netflix’s much-loved Heartstopper, many are relegated to supporting and recurring characters, at best, and stuck in tropes, at worst.

Maria San Filippo is an associate professor at Emerson College whose research focuses on screen media’s intersections with gender and sexuality. In 2013, she published The B Word: Bisexuality in Contemporary Film and Television, a pathbreaking monograph on the state of bisexual representation in both mediums. “Bisexuality was only beginning to be central and recurring, rather than peripheral and episodically one-off or short-lived,” she said over email. “Bisexuality’s representational legibility has been expanded; it’s less easily deniable as ‘just a phase’ when bisexuality becomes an ongoing character trait.”

Broadly speaking, on-screen storytelling has struggled to construct bisexuality in ways that reach beyond the word landing at the butt of jokes or framed through the lens of disgust and abjection. Nowhere does it fail bisexuals more than television, a site of endless discursive possibilities. Television’s long-form narrative offers unique opportunities to watch sexuality unfold over time, but rather than exploring and showcasing every permutation of bisexuality, bi men on television are far and few between.

“Bi+ male representation has always been the biggest challenge,” San Filippo said. “Bisexuality threatens heteropatriarchy and phallic authority, and so must be hidden or, if acknowledged, desexualized and disparaged through mockery or else hypersexualized as in porn (and even then bisexuality is rebranded as ‘gay for pay’).” She said it’s not unlike the uncommon sight of male frontal nudity on screen, which she explores in her 2021 book, Provocauteurs and Provocations. “Dan Levy’s character David on Schitt’s Creek is one high-profile example of recurring, more nuanced male bi+ representation,” she said. “We need more.”

The phallic authority, as San Filippo calls it, is not as threatened when it comes to the representation of bisexual women characters, who were more than double as numerous in the 2021-2022 television season. Nate Shu, a bisexual comedian based in Boston who spoke with me over Zoom, suggests that feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey’s work on patriarchal ideologies in film still applies here. Mulvey’s seminal 1975 essay, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” uses a psychoanalytic lens to look at the way women have been depicted in film primarily for the pleasure of the male viewer. She coined this theory the male gaze.

“Lesbian and bisexual characters are more attainable when they’re female because there’s something for male viewers to hold on to,” he said. “A bisexual woman is still an attainable woman to a straight man, whereas a bisexual man is both a threat and an anomaly.”

These conventions are sewn into the fabric of on-screen storytelling, a part of the canon of cinema that queer storytellers are working hard to reform. But despite this hard work, bisexual stories are still too-often made palatable to viewers through a handful of storytelling tropes: the coming out story, reasserting the status quo of a relationship or identity, or hinting at a character’s dishonesty or shiftiness (it pains me to bring it up, but Frank Underwood on House of Cards is a great example here).

The CW’s 2015 musical-dramedy Crazy Ex-Girlfriend showcased one of the more fleshed-out bisexual men on television, Darryl Whitefeather, played by Peter Gardner. His unapologetic musical sequence on how he’s “Gettin’ Bi” was an audacious and refreshing moment for a middle-aged character embracing his sexuality—despite his entire storyline being framed around coming out. We tend to see these coming out narratives again and again, to the point where it begins to feel like viewer manipulation. The coming out scene will only lead to the catharsis of Heartbreaker-level tears if it feels earned through a character’s arc of self-suppression and pain. However, the gay blueprint has already been established, and thus the coming out story is relatable and palatable, rather than depicting a character already living their truth.

Shu, who identifies as bisexual and biracial for the sake of alliteration in his comedy (as opposed to pansexual, a term to which he more closely relates), asked me poignant questions: “What is queer representation? Having a character make an off-hand comment and it’s never acknowledged—that is a queer character, but it’s not a queer story.” His ideal bisexual representation allows characters to be authentic people living outside of constructed narratives that are more viewer-friendly like the coming out story. He could only name one example of an Asian bisexual character on television that he felt somewhat seen through—Magnus Bane, played by Harry Shum Jr. on the Freeform supernatural drama Shadowhunters. “It’s tough to get out of the boxes of what culture, film, and TV have defined for decades,” Shu said.

Marvel has been a site of critique around its inability to flesh out queer characters in an authentic way, awkwardly suggesting that all superheroes are heterosexual. The 2021 Disney+ series Loki made headlines for a 20-second scene where the titular character confirms his bisexuality after admitting he has been with princesses and princes in his past. This kind of casual bisexuality has become more commonplace in the streaming era, to the point of forgettability: Bill Pargrave on Killing Eve, playing Eve’s MI5 boss until he was eventually stabbed by murderess Villanelle, also identified as bisexual in a passing conversation. Other examples include Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace) on Halt and Catch Fire and the titular character (Tom Ellis) on Lucifer. Does the off-hand knowledge of a character’s sexual fluidity, without an in-depth exploration of his sexuality, qualify as queer representation? Perhaps a better question would be, does it make bisexual viewers feel seen and understood, and add to monosexual viewers’ understanding and empathy of bisexuality?

At the end of October 2022, Kit Connor came out as bisexual in a bitter tweet after months of being hounded and online bullied by Netflix Heartstopper fans, some of whom accused Connor of queerbaiting for playing a bisexual character. The fall-out made me wonder why any actor, let alone a bisexual actor who may still be processing or figuring out his sexuality, would want to play a bisexual character in the social media age. “I think some of you missed the point of the show. Bye,” his tweet read.

Not to center myself in the discourse, but I can’t help but wonder how a more thorough cultural understanding of bisexuality would impact my own dating life as a gay man, what the dating pool might look like if there was a more rigorous acceptance and visibility of bisexuality and fewer “discreet” men refusing to send you photos of their faces on dating apps with fear of being outed in their real life. The latest 2021 Census data coming out of the United Kingdom suggests there are currently nearly as many bisexual-identifying individuals as gay and lesbian survey respondents combined. These numbers feel hopeful, to me. Previous generations grew up dissatisfied by the range of representation on television, leading to iconic shows like Pose that shifted the course of television at the intersections of queerness and race. I can only imagine what the landscape will look like in 10, 20 years as the bisexual-identifying Gen Zs—the queerest generation yet—make their way into creative fields. We’ll have to watch and find out.

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foxsippingtea · 15 days

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these r fun so i will do more. request things and i’ll do them lol.

helluva boss characters’ reactions to their s/o saying “i love you” for the first time! i’ll make more in the future if you all like this one.

blitzø:

“oh. um. you said what now?”

doesn’t know how to handle this. this poor guy believes he is ultimately worthless and undeserving of anything positive. so you saying this… was a surprise, to say the least.

it takes him a minute, but he does say it back. it makes him tear up a little. he really isn’t used to this, but it’s okay, because you can learn together!

stolas:

omgomgomgomg he is SO HAPPY.

he literally freaks out for about five minutes before actually returning to his senses and saying it back.

“did you just say what— you— well— ahem. i love you too, dearest.”

this man’s face is so red the entire time. it’s actually pretty endearing. he’s craved love forever, since he never got it from his arranged marriage, so by god is he eating your words up rn.

striker:

*blinks*

“…how and why?”

yeah, so it takes a minute to settle in. striker is sort of absorbed in his bad boy aesthetic and therefore believes everyone would be afraid of him, or expect him to he invulnerable. he’s actually relieved that you said it first, because now he can drop the facade and actually be with you.

“well, i’ll be a son of a gun, sweet pea. you’ve got some interesting tastes. i share the sentiment, though.”

you’d better believe the hat is comin off for the cowboy hat-hidden kiss.

it takes him a little to learn how to say it back. he’s still sort of stuck in that cold exterior. but you can warm him up no problem!

stella:

(seriously): “it’ll pass.”

moxxie:

“OMGILOVEYOUTOO. I DIDN’T THINK I’D HEAR YOU SAY IT, BUT YOU’RE SAYING IT, AND I’M JUST SO HAPPY, I JUST-“

he’s going to go on a lil ramble because he is so elated. he might even sing about it.

he gives you a kiss on your cheek and smiles ecstatically. “i love you too, so, so much.”

he is so sincere with it. so in love.

millie:

“well, i love you too, baby!”

she’ll kiss you and hold you super close, probably going in for a nice cuddle sesh.

she is really happy that you said it, even if she seems casual at the time.

she feels like she found the right person and wants to settle down with you in the future, but tries not to get too carried away with that thought.

loona:

she acts like it isn’t a big deal and says it back nonchalantly, but it is. a big ass deal.

loona grew up having no one to love her, no one to care about her; she was viewed as a pet to be sold and treated with no respect.

until blitz took her in, and even then, we see how she acts around blitz. she believes she’s undeserving of the parental love he provides her, so it would be the same scenario with romantic love.

overtime, she’d probably start to understand how to handle it. but the first time her s/o says it, she probably cries when no one is looking.

chaz:

alr we know this guy is a fuck boy but he did date both moxxie and millie, so i think he does know how to love? just not well.

probably feels like a jackass deep down for screwing them both over the way he did, especially moxxie. he probably thinks he’s not worthy of being trusted by someone again, so he just hides it all beneath the f boi attitude.

however, when you say it, his entire demeanor shifts for a second. at first, he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. then you say it again, and he visibly just. softens? like he doesn’t feel the need to act like a total idiot for once?

“i, uh… i love you too, babes!” and then the f boi attitude returns after that small moment of shock. he’s like, “i knew you’d say it at some point, who could resist me?”

verosika:

she would be a little stunned. she’s a succubus, after all; she feeds off of lust, not love. it’s not a concept she’s familiar with.

she’d look at you very flirtatiously, as if you just said some sort of magic words she’d been hoping to hear from someone one day (even if she’d never admit it.)

“love you too. let’s go to a club.”

y’all get crunk and make out, the end <3

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #helluva boss imagine #helluva boss headcanon

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3tabbiesandalab · 2 years

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Top Gun Nine-Nine

This could possibly be the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. But I kind of love it!

A Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Reader with a bit of SMUT because why not?

Based loosely on Brooklyn 99. With the mention of a heist. Thank you to @butaneandthebeast for her enthusiasm with the idea. Fingers crossed you like it! Gonna also use it as a mutual pining prompt that I was tagged in by @coyotesamarchado. I hope that’s ok!

Chocker block full of quotes but not true to who says them in the show, they’re all mixed up between characters. You can still read it if you haven’t watched the show, but it will seem pretty weird!

For this fic I kind of imagined Reader (call sign Mac - because she’s obsessed with Die Hard duh) as Jake. Bob is obviously Amy and Phoenix is absolutely Rosa. Rooster and Hangman are Charles and Gina respectively but are a bit of both characters plus Jake of course. Fanboy and Payback are both Scully and Hitchcock. Coyote is Sargent Jeffers. Maverick is Captain Holt. And Cyclone is Wunch.

Anyway. I hope you enjoy it!

It was 07.29am and the Dagger Squad all sat around pool table at the closed Hard Deck. They had been summoned on their off-duty time for what they assumed was another of Maverick’s bizarre training exercises. The whole team were here, except Maverick, which wasn’t too surprising. But also Bob was yet to arrive, their bespectacled teammate was uncharacteristically late.

“What are you eating man?” Payback questioned Rooster, as they waited for Bob and Maverick.

Rooster chomped down on something colourful looking. Fanboy looked closely at it “Are those gummy bears wrapped in a fruit roll-up?”

“Breakfast burrito, but yeah.” he replied simply.

Phoenix laughed lightly. “I pity your dentist.” she said.

Rooster smiled widely at them; teeth coloured red from his snack, “Joke's on you. I don't have a dentist.”

“Wait for it, wait for it… Boom 0730 hours. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd is officially late for the first time ever!” YFN called out excitedly as she checked her navy issued watch. “Right who’s got theories?” she asked.

Coyote shrugged and said, “His alarm didn’t go off.”

“Really Coyote. He’s trained to rise with the sun. Plus all three alarms have battery back-up. Any of you fuckers want to take this seriously?” she criticised.

“He slipped in the shower and knocked himself out.” Rooster offered nonchalantly.

YFN chuckled “Super dark Roo. But way more plausible that Coyote’s idiotic alarm clock idea.”

Phoenix smirked and chimed in “Couldn’t get rid of his one-night stand.”

“Yes! Best sex of his life so he went back for seconds this morning.” Hangman drawled, both him and Phoenix making fun of YFN.

She crossed her arms and huffed. Everyone laughed. They all knew that she was not-so-secretly in love with Bob. Problem was, he was completely oblivious to it.

“Whatever Bagman. You and Rooster pull each other’s pigtails all day long trying to get each other’s attention. You guys need to fuck already.” she taunted him in response.

“Oh I know. I look good. I look real good. Rooster can’t help it. All men are at least 30% attracted to me. My father cried on the day I was born because he knew he would never be better than me.” Hangman boasted dramatically.

Rooster rolled his eyes sarcastically, then winked at him. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around. I swear last night, you were the one begging for my dick in your…”

YFN gasped and interrupted the confession.

“What are you gasping in surprise for Mac? You’re the one who suggested it” Coyote guffawed.

“I’m a happy surprised! I’m sorry. It just slipped out.” she replied with a shy smile.

Hangman’s shoulders shook while he laughed “I’m sorry. It just slipped out: Title of your sex tape.” And he high fived his boyfriend without looking.

YFN snorted. And the rest of the team cracked up.

The door opened and Maverick walked in the bar. “Good morning aviators.” he greeted as the team laughed at her.

“Welcome to the party pal!” YFN joked and everyone groaned. The squad were well aware that her favourite movie was Die Hard. There was a reason her callsign was Mac.

“So how are we all? What’s the gossip?” Maverick asked as he joined them at the pool table.

“What’s the gossip?” Who are you?” Hangman stared at him like he’d grown two heads.

“I'm just curious about your life. I like to gab. So, uh, tell me about ... boys.” Maverick said awkwardly.

Rooster cracked a smile. “Well speaking of boys. They all just found out that we’re a thing.” he revealed, gesturing between himself and Hangman.

“Oh that? That’s old news. I must say that it seems to be going better than when Ice and I came out as a couple in the navy. People were not, as the kids say, ‘awake’ back then.” Maverick mused.

“Do you mean ‘woke’ Mav.” Fanboy suggested.

“I did mean woke. But it’s grammatically incoherent.” he said chuckling.

“Okaaay. You caring about syntax is actually more surprising than Hangman and Rooster being boyfriends.” YFN offered sarcastically.

Phoenix smiled widely at the couple. “So tell us. How, what, when?” she probed.

Rooster leant back and grinned like the cat that got the cream.

“Oh my god Roo. You went ‘Full Bradshaw’ on him, didn’t you?” YFN laughed breathlessly.

“Oh yeah. The works. My best Hawaiian shirt, piano serenade, moonlit blowjob on the beach. Poor guy didn’t know what hit him.” he purred as he put his arm around a blushing Hangman. And the group catcalled them both.

“Noice. Maybe that’s what you’ve got to do with Bob, Mac. When you finally get the balls to tell him you like him. Just be yourself.” Coyote offered.

YFN snorted “Be myself? Really Coyote?“

“How long did it take before you guys started liking me?” she asked tentatively looking around the pilots.

“Couple weeks.”

“Six months.”

“Jury's still out.”

“See Coyote! ‘Be myself.’ What kind of garbage advice is that.” YFN sighed crossing her arms across her chest.

Phoenix snickered as she looked at her phone. “Ooooh! It’s 7.36. Bob’s really late now and we still have to guess why.” she reminded everyone.

“Oh. I’d like to play. I’d say he… he misplaced his glasses.” Maverick proposed. “This is fun!” twittered.

YFN laughed at his enthusiasm. “Toit. It is fun! Payback, Fanboy. Your turn to guess. Any ideas?” she turned to the duo who shrugged at each other.

“He fell down a drain… On his way home from the amazing sex he had last night.” Fanboy teased YFN further.

Maverick’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and YFN stuck out her tongue at Fanboy. A tiny part of her also winced at the idea of the bashful WSO being with anyone but her.

Suddenly the door flung open loudly and a flustered looking Bob rushed towards them. “Well, well, well what do we have here? ‘Baby on Board’ where have you been? We’ve been worried sick.” Hangman chided, smirk on his face.

“Yes Bob Bob. Care to explain yourself?” Phoenix questioned with a wry smile.

Bob was less put together than his usual self. His face was red from rushing around, his hair was more curly than usual, and his shoelaces were untied. YFN smiled warmly at him. He was adorable.

“I-I… I’m only six minutes late. It’s… It’s no big deal.” Bob stuttered out awkwardly.

“Lieutenant Floyd. You will tell us, and you will tell us now.” Maverick ordered with a straight face.

Bob looked sheepishly at everyone and murmured softly “I couldn’t find my glasses sir.”

“Hot Damn!” Maverick shouted and slapped his hands together in celebration.

The group burst into hysterics and Bob looked confused and ruffled as he sat down next to YFN. He gave her a small lopsided smile and she practically sighed at it and his pretty blue eyes. She was relieved that Bob wasn’t out all night screwing some woman because she wanted to be with him romantic stylz. She doubted he had any interest in her plus he was a stickler for the rules. And there were stupid rules in the navy about fucking your teammate.

Clearly Rooster and Hangman, and Mav and Ice had chosen to ignore them. Why couldn’t they? YFN thought as she gazed at Bob.

“Ehem.” Maverick cleared his throat to get the squad’s attention. “I suppose you’re all wondering what you’re doing here.” he started.

“The last detachment was rough on us all. So I thought you could all blow off a little steam in a friendly little competition. So I have devised a little game.”

“Like a drinking game? Please not truth or dare.” Bob said anxiously, as he fiddled with his glasses.

Hangman clapped his hands together in glee “Ooooh yes! The last time we did that, Bob got drunk and ended up telling everyone he had a crush on the tea pot from Beauty and the Beast.”

Bob blushed as everyone cackled at him. “You know I don’t drink much. And it's the way they drew her.” he sighed.

YFN rubbed her hand soothingly over his back in support and said “It’s ok. I think Mrs Potts has a lovely voice. Plus I think that was four or five drink Bobby who said that.”

“What?” Bob looked at YFN with baffled eyes. “I'm so confused I don't know what's happening right now.” he said.

"I'm so confused I don't know what's happening right now: Title of your sex tape!” Rooster called out.

“The Bob drunkenness scale.” Phoenix grinned as she held up a finger at a time in explanation. “First drink: Spacey Bob. Two drinks: Loud Bob. Three drinks: Bobby Dance Pants. Four drinks: You become a bit of a pervert. Five drink Bob: You’re weirdly confident. And six drink Bobby is just sad. No one likes him.”

“And don’t forget equestrian Bob or French-speaking genius Bob. Although he doesn’t come out very often.” Fanboy mused.

Maverick shook his head at the team’s idiocy as they all snickered at Phoenix and Fanboy’s assessment of the quietest member of it.

“Dagger squad!” he redirected their attention back to him. “It’s not a drinking game. It’s more like a heist.”

“A heist Mav?” Payback asked, his interest peaked.

Maverick gave them all a grin. “I’ve hidden my lucky leather jacket somewhere in Fightertown and the whoever brings it back here first wins.” he announced.

“But that’s so hard.” YFN whined, and Maverick shrugged in response.

“But that’s so hard: Title of your sex tape!” Phoenix shouted playfully.

“Care to put a little skin in the game?” Fanboy taunted. The suggestion was met with a loud round of groans.

“Care to put a little skin in the game: Title of your sex tape!” YFN laughed loudly.

A deep disappointed voice joined the conversation.

“For the winners of this, might I say stupid idea, there will be no paperwork for a week and Maverick, and I will personally call you ‘Awesome Aviator slash Genius’.”

The squad all turned to see Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson walk towards them with a box. And they all rose quickly from their seats to salute but he waved them off as they were all off duty.

“Sir. If you’re here, who’s guarding Hades?” Maverick quipped cheekily.

Cyclone gave him a disapproving look. “Sticks and stones captain.” he replied coolly as he set the box on the pool table.

“Describing your breakfast sir?” Maverick pushed the admiral further and Cyclone raised an eyebrow in question.

“Ah. Sir. What do we get if we lose?” Rooster asked tentatively, trying to break the weird tension between the two older men.

“This is the prize for the losers. They have to go back and fix all the errors in these reports. And file them into these new binders.” Cyclone said while removing the top file.

“Oooh! There’s binders? Why didn't you lead with that?” Bob giggled excitedly as he picked up one of them to inspect.

“Would you like us leave you two alone?” Phoenix teased her back-seater and Bob turned beet red which caused everyone to laugh hysterically. YFN smiled dreamily at the nerdy, stationary obsessed wizzo and they locked eyes, and she ducked her head embarrassed at being caught.

Cyclone opened a file and attempted to read the report. “Lieutenant YLN’s reports are especially atrocious. It reads ‘Crispy Mouthy Werewolf or Cowboy Mustard Oslo Norway.” YFN winced.

Hangman looked over the file and easily read it “Nose cold. Radar bent at angel 3 sir.”

“You can decipher her handwriting Seresin?” Cyclone asked sceptically.

Hangman hummed “Yes sir. Being able to read it is a gift. A useless, useless gift. Eye roll emoji.”

“What did you just say?” Cyclone questioned, clearly baffled.

“The English language cannot fully capture the depth and complexity of my thoughts, so I’m incorporating emojis into my speech to better express myself. Winky face.” Hangman said seriously.

Cyclone pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration. He walked away muttering “Fucking ‘best of the best’ my ass.”

Once the admiral had left Maverick spoke up “Right. Meet back here at 1200 hours. The two foxtrot teams work together. Rooster, Coyote, Hangman and Mac are on the other team. Please don’t fuck anything up around town.”

“Understood Dad.” Hangman said accidently, and everyone burst out laughing then proceeded to tease him.

Maverick: “Do you see me as a father figure, Seresin?”

Hangman: “No. If anything I see you as a bother figure, because you're always bothering me.”

Payback: “Hey, show your father some respect.”

Hangman: “I didn't call him dad.”

Maverick: “No, no. Hangman, I take it as a compliment.”

Bob: “It's not a big deal. I called Phoenix mom once.”

Hangman: “Guys, jump on that. Bob called Phoenix mom.”

Fanboy: “Old news. But you called Mav daddy.”

Hangman: “Hey, daddy is not on the table here.”

Rooster: “Well, you did call him dad, dude.”

”Shut-up Roo! He actually is kind of your dad.” Hangman called out exasperated, as he tried to stop the ridiculous exchange.

Coyote groaned “I can’t believe we have these idiots on our team.”

YFN laughed “It’s going to be fine.”

“That’s what you said about Die Hard 5.” Coyote moaned.

“Oh yeah. It’s not going to be fine.” YFN lamented. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a commiseration yogurt.” she offered.

He nodded his head accepting her suggestion “Coyote loves yogurt.”

Rooster grabbed Hangman’s hand and they started to walk out of the bar. Coyote sighed and followed them. YFN stood next to Bob, and he smiled sweetly at her, his gorgeous eyes shone at her from behind his glasses. God he’s beautiful. YFN was drawn to him and went to touch him to wish him good luck.

“C’mon Mac! Sexy train is leaving the station. Check out this caboose. Later, sluts!” Rooster shouted before she could go through with her plan.

YFN grimaced, gave Bob a shy smile and headed for the door. As she left, she swore she heard Phoenix say, “You two need to bone already.”

……

Around 3 hours later…

YFN, Coyote, Hangman and Rooster returned to the Hard Deck before time was up, completely exhausted. They didn’t manage to find Maverick’s lucky jacket despite an extensive search. A search that ended up with Hangman injured, Coyote grumpy and YFN and Rooster covered in egg.

YFN entered the bar first and she saw the others as they laughed loudly with Maverick. His jacket folded on the pool table. They sounded drunk, so she eavesdropped on their conversation.

“How many times do I have to say it! She’s like my sister.” Bob whined, sounding a little spaced out.

“That’s what Luke said about Leia.” Fanboy teased.

“Hey! Luke didn’t know. No one knew!” Bob claimed and threw his hands in the air.

Phoenix sighed at Bob “Dude, you like her. A lot. You can't go through life trying not to get hurt. You should try to be happy.”

“So you think I should look for someone I can have emotional intercourse with?” he replied earnestly.

“Eww. I wish you hadn't said it like that, but yeah.” Phoenix chuckled.

“I met my wife at an orgy. Well, she was leaving an orgy, and we bumped into each other on the street. Real meet cute.” Payback explained and the others scrunched up their faces at his weird confession.

“What? Well you might have met your potential partner at work. Much easier. You should definitely fuck Mac.” Payback raised his beer in support of Bob and passed him another drink.

Coyote, Hangman and Rooster loudly walked into the bar and gave YFN’s snooping position away. She turned bright red at being caught listening to them. But as Bob noticed her, he blushed a lovely shade of pink too.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Phoenix called out, taking in the state of them.

Hangman limped in wearing a hospital gown as Coyote helped half carry him. Rooster and YFN were covered in egg, and they wore ridiculous t-shirts they’d managed to find in the hospital lost and found.

“It’s like it’s Halloween out there. People are crazy! We passed a woman dressed as slutty tree on the way here. Who wants to have sex with a tree?” Coyote exclaimed, extremely annoyed at their morning.

“Was it a maple?” Bob called out; the volume of his deep voice elevated. YFN laughed at his stupid comment and was rewarded with a blinding smile.

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Two drink loud Bobby?” he questioned, and Phoenix giggled as she nodded.

Hagman sat down on a bar stool gingerly and grunted when he saw the jacket. “I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it.” he complained.

"I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it: Title of your or Rooster’s sex tape” Fanboy teased, and Rooster snorted.

“Noice. Well it took Bob all of ninety seconds to figure out it was in Mav’s car.” Phoenix chuckled, and Bob grinned at his achievement.

YFN smiled at Bob. He was so pretty. “Seriously Mav.” she whined at their mentor.

Maverick shrugged in apology “Sorry I kind of forgot to hide it.” And YFN’s team all groaned in frustration.

“No hard feelings. Seriously I hate you. Not joking. Bye.” Hangman scalded him and everyone laughed.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Payback asked, eyebrows raised into his hairline.

YFN had on a hot pink shirt read ‘What’s up beaches?’ and Rooster’s yellow one, which actually kind of suited him, had a pineapple wearing a thong and said ‘SLUT’.

“We got egged. Some of shell got in my contacts, and my hair, and my mouth, and my bra.” YFN whinged.

Payback mused “Can't tell if that's hot or not.”

“Not hot Payback. Egg shell in my bra is not hot.” she chided him.

“Well, it's kinda hot. Boobs go in a bra.” Bob revealed and stared at her chest and high fived Payback without looking.

YFN blushed at his appraisal and Rooster looked confused at his confession, “Wait did he just skip straight to four drink horny Bob? How is that possible?”

The drunk half of the squad burst out laughing.

Maverick shook his head and looked at Hangman concerned. “I heard you got injured?” he mentioned.

“I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal. That's where the blood supposed to be.” Hangman replied with a shrug.

Maverick hiccupped and didn’t bother asking for more details. “That’s good. Because my equilibrium is askew. My vision is partially impaired and I’m clearly slurring my words. To put the fine point on it… ya boy’s turnt!”

“What is happening right now?” YFN questioned completely baffled.

“Time to catch up.” Coyote stated simply and walked over to the bar and poured a bunch of shots for them.

……

A short time and a vast number of shots later, YFN, Coyote, Hangman and Rooster had joined the rest of the squad in various levels of intoxication. Fanboy and Payback argued over a single meatball sub they had got delivered. Rooster and Hangman made out in the corner and Coyote and Maverick danced bizarrely to ‘Push it’ by Salt ‘n’ Pepa playing on the jukebox.

Bob and Phoenix huddled together conspiring over something as YFN grabbed more drinks from the bar.

“Hey Mac. Get over here. Quick!” Phoenix shouted out tipsily.

YFN hurried over and smiled widely at them “Hey, what's up? I came as fast as I could.”

Phoenix snorted “I came as fast as I could: Title of your sex tape! Nailed it!” she shouted and put up her hand to high five Bob, but he just gazed at YFN with a dumb look on his face.

“Hey Bob. Tell Mac all that lame stuff about you said about the girl you love? Like how she’s a good pilot, how sweet she is and that she's a good listener.” Phoenix teased Bob, clearly drunk.

Bob guffawed, squared his shoulders, and didn’t blush. Looks looked like he was at confident drink five Bob. “Well what do yooou look for in a partner?” he said as he threw the question back in her face, slurring ever so slightly.

“I don't know, real stuff. Like the shape of their ass.” she shrugged.

“You know Bob Bob, rules are made to be broken. Especially the navy’s ones about fucking a co-worker. The pacific coast commander is screwing Mav. And just look at those two.” Phoenix said motioning to Rooster and Hangman as they practically dry humped in the corner, Hangman's bare ass barely covered by the hospital gown.

YFN snorted loudly as she wondered what happened to his clothes and underwear, he only went to the hospital for a sprained ankle. She turned to Bob and his intense gaze was fixed on her.

“Technically. Rules were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.” he murmured and Phoenix and YFN argued with him by listing things.

“Uh, piñatas.”

“Glow sticks.”

“Karate boards.”

“Spaghetti when you have a small pot.”

Bob took a deep breath, his eyes searched YFN’s. “So Mac. Do you think the navy’s rule can be broken?” he almost whispered.

YFN sucked in a breath, licked her lips, and nodded. Bob was so hard to read, and she was worried he could be slipping into sad six drink Bobby.

He studied her and the tips of his ears turned red. Bob rose out of his seat without a word and walked in the direction of the bathrooms. Fuck he had such a good ass. Phoenix was right about your partner needing a shapely butt.

YFN watched him before Phoenix snapped her out of her blatant voyeurism of him. “So you’re obviously going to go after him, right?” and YFN nodded dumbly at her.

“Right. I never understood why people cared so much about their stupid friends until I got Bob. I've only had him as my back-seater and friend for a little while, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. Do you understand?” Phoenix said lightly threatening her.

“I understand.” YFN replied, slightly terrified of the petite woman beside her because she was sure she always carried an axe.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go get him!” Hangman encouraged, as he took a breath from having his tongue down his boyfriend’s throat.

YFN laughed. She didn’t even know they’d been listening. “Okay I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna get in there are spread my…”

“Legs.” Rooster sung out interrupting her.

“No! Wings. Spread my wings! Spread my legs?!” YFN choked out.

Rooster shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly “Well either way.”

Well he wasn’t wrong and she turned on her heel and started to walk away. “Good luck Mac!” Phoenix cheered, beer in the air.

YFN quickly moved towards the bathrooms and when she turned the corner, she practically ran in to Bob.

They stood there and stared at each other before YFN spoke. “Ah, should I do this in an accent to undercut some of the awkwardness I’m feeling?” she asked.

“No.” he said simply.

“Yep, good call.” YFN said looked at her feet before taking a deep breath. “You know how you are a real stickler for rules of all kinds…” she started nervously, and she chanced a look at him. He wore a shy lopsided smile on his face and that made her brain malfunction.

“Dat really bums me out maaan!” YFN dragged out in a stupid accent.

Bob raised an eyebrow at her. “Jamaican?” he questioned.

“Yeah, that was a bad choice. I’m much better at German.” she sighed.

Fuck it. “Bobby. God. I-I like you. Like romantic stylz. Shit. I can’t help it! I think your gorgeous and smart and funny and you have a nice butt. I c-can’t stop thinking about you.” YFN stammered out.

A wide grin broke out on Bob’s face. “I really like you too YFN. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Inside and out.” he said confidently, his voice filled with tenderness.

YFN let out a long slow breath. He was still five drink Bob. And he liked her! They smiled at each other; eyes full of promises.

“We can just keep it light and breezy for now. See what happens.” Bob offered a suggestion on how to move forward.

“Yeah okay. That sounds good. But how do we do light and breezy?” YFN questioned, a little dazed.

“Ooh. I know a comprehensive set of rules.” he offered energetically.

YFN laughed at his suggestion “How am I attracted to you? Doesn’t matter. I am. Go.”

“Well let’s not tell anyone in the navy, so we can figure out what this is first. Although that might be tricky with the squad. I’m pretty sure everyone knows how I feel about you.” Bob mused.

“And let’s not have sex right away.” he said quietly.

YFN’s eyes bugged out of her head. She was ready to get on her knees and blow him right there now she knew how he felt about her.

“Right. No sex. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. No doubt. No doubt. No doubt. No doubt.” she wheezed.

Bob smiled at her rambling and stepped closer to her, put his large hands on her jaw and lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss.

The kiss escalated very quickly. He kissed her deeply, his plump lips moved expertly with hers, their tongues tangled, and he worried her lower lip with his teeth. Fuck the boy could kiss. YFN pulled Bob’s body close to hers by the back pockets of his jeans and squeezed his full ass. She whimpered as his hard cock pressed into her belly.

“Screw it.” he whispered, and he dragged her into the bathroom, which thankfully Penny had kept clean, locked the door and pushed her against it. Bob got down on his knees and gazed up at her asking for YFN’s consent, which she enthusiastically provided. He lowered her shorts and panties and went to absolute town on her pussy with his talented mouth and fingers until she was a moaning, quivering mess.

Bob then picked her up in his strong arms and fucked her fast against the door with his hard, thick cock as he whispered filthy things against YFN’s neck until he came with a deep grunt.

“Wow. So, we ah already broke a rule.” YFN laughed dreamily, as she wiped the excess cum off her with toilet paper.

Bob blushed “Yeah. Hope it wasn't a mistake.” he murmured, but with a big dopey smile on his face as he pulled up his pants.

"Hope it wasn't a mistake: Title of your sex tape. Oh! Title of our sex tape!” YFN declared in wonder and blindly put up a hand for a high five which he returned.

They both burst into a fit of tipsy giggles. It was no mistake.

After they tidied themselves up, they exited the bathroom hands entwined and grinned like fools at each other. They turned the corner to find the entire drunken Dagger Squad just outside the entrance to the bathrooms.

“What the hell are you doing?” YFN laughed at the welcoming committee.

Maverick just shrugged and said, “I asked them if they wanted to embarrass you, and they instantly said yes.”

Phoenix smirked “I knew you had it in you Bob. You gave it to her good!”

“Oh my god.” Bob whined and put his hands over his face.

“So Bob and I talked…” YFN started seriously.

“Pillow talk alert! Set the scene. Spooning or face-to-face?” Rooster excitedly requested details.

“Roo. Please. We were in a toilet cubical.” YFN sighed.

‘Spooning’ he mouthed.

YFN ignored her idiot friend and continued “Please just keep this between us. You know Bobby loves to follow the rules. It’s one of the many reasons why I adore him.”

Bob removed his hands from his face and smiled widely at her and she winked at him.

“Toit” Hangman grunted out. “But I just discovered a new drug. It's called ‘your relationship’, and I'm high on it. Love heart eyes emoji.” he giggled.

“Bagman, I'm gonna need you to back off, man.” Bob warned good-naturedly.

“Roger that.” and he saluted him.

YFN chuckled. “So Bobby. I know you were on the heist’s winning team and all, but what do you think about taking the box of files and binders’ home with us…” she said seductively, guessing stationery and organisation was a sure-fire kink for him.

Bob moaned deeply at her suggestion and gave her a passionate kiss in front of the whole team. He grabbed her hand and quickly dragged her towards the box on the pool table.

The rest of the team laughed. Mavericks fucked up training exercise had obviously come to its conclusion, so they got ready to disperse as well. YFN barked as Penny, who had been at the Hard Deck for who knows how long, gave them all an angry stare at the mess they’d created.

They helped clean up of course. The squad would never disrespect Penny. After they were finished, Maverick said to her “I gotta go.”

Penny, hands on hips, asked him “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Maverick looked incredibly confused but gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“No! Pay your bill you idiot. Damn. Who raised you?” she chided and shook her head admonishing him.

The group dissolved into a round of hysterics as they got ready to walk out the door and leave Maverick with the no doubt massive bill.

YFN looked at Bob who had the box in his eager hands ready to leave and she got down on her knees. “Hey Bobby. Will you go on a date with me?” she asked sweetly.

He snorted “Yes Mac. Of course I will.”

“Did you hear that? He said yes! He said yes!” she squealed as the Dagger Squad cheered.

As they stood outside the Hard Deck waiting for ubers, Rooster looked at the time on his phone and whined “Darn it. I had a belly dancing class. It was Egyptian undulation.”

“Oooh, show us some moves.” Hangman said, and encouraged his boyfriend.

“Sure.” Rooster replied excitedly and thank god their uber arrived right then and there, it saved them all from being a witness to it.

Sweet, helpful Bob left to help Coyote and Phoenix into their transport as YFN and Maverick looked on.

“Hey Mac. Do you want to know what I did on the weekend?” he asked her simply.

YFN looked confused and shrugged “Yeah, sure.”

“I was hula hooping. Ice and I attend a class for fitness and for fun.” he said pointedly.

“Oh. My. God.” she breathed in surprise.

Maverick got out his phone and showed her photos of him in lycra, spinning a rainbow hula hoop around his hips. “I've mastered all the moves. The pizza toss, the tornado, the scorpion, the oopsie-doodle.” he offered candidly.

She looked at him in wonder “Why are you telling me this?”

A twisted, smug smirk overtook his face “Because no one will ever believe you.” And he proceeded to delete the photos from phone.

As Maverick walked away and left her in the carpark, YFN’s jaw dropped. Their mentor with his weird training exercises and well-hidden taunts, was a sly fucker.

“You sick son of a bitch!” she called out. And he gave her a signature grin and flipped her the bird.

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

On and Off

Two sides are having a pissing match. The other four (and maybe Thomas) try to get them to chill the fuck out and/or apologize. It goes about how you'd expect. - diamond-blade

also! did a quick look and realized that I've posted consistently every week for going on three years now which uhhhhh wow time is passing

but I've realized that i want to work on some of my original projects and i'm struggling right now to find time to do both fics and do that so i wanted to ask and see how y'all would feel if I took a bit longer to post stuff or took a brief hiatus

nothing firm yet just casting my net

Read on Ao3

Warnings: an argument/possible unsympathetic logan and/or janus but nothing major

Pairings: none

Word Count: 2377

"Thank you, Logan."

"Of course. I'm happy to help out both on and off camera."

And that could've been the end of it, had Logan not caught Janus trying to hide a scoff.

"Well," Logan says as the Sides rise back up into their own living room, "I'd say that went well."

"Yeah!" Patton rubs his hands together, smiling gleefully around as the rest of them shake off the 'personas' they wear for filming with Thomas. He adjusts his glasses and claps his hands. "Oh, it's so nice to be filming with all of us again, it's been so long!"

"Wait, has it really?"

"I think so, I mean, it's been since…"

"Oh, shit—"

"Language!"

"Sorry, Pat," Virgil apologizes, "but yeah, I think it's been since…Remus's introduction?"

"No, no," Logan corrects, "technically the five-year anniversary is the last time we were all involved in a filming process."

"Wait, but weren't we technically all involved in—you know what, I'm just gonna look it up."

Janus rolls his eyes. "Regardless, Patton is right. It's been…not unpleasant."

Virgil slowly raises his eyes from his phone. "Was that sarcasm or no?"

"I don't think it was, kiddo, but—"

"Oh, for crying out loud, yes, I had fun."

"I don't know, Patton, it still seems like—alright, alright, hey, hey!" Virgil holds his arms up to defend himself from Janus's pillow-wielding arms. "Enough! I give, I give!"

Janus sniffs as he sets the pillows down, trying and failing to hide the fond smile on his face, when his attention catches on the twins. "Roman? Remus? Are you two alright?"

Both of them startle, as if they'd forgotten everyone else was in the room. Roman recovers first, quickly putting on a bright smile and waving his hand nonchalantly.

"Yes, of course, my dear snake, we're both alright."

Virgil narrows his eyes. "You know we're done filming now, right? You don't have to keep doing…that."

"Maybe that's just how he feels," Remus shoots back as Roman blinks, "how about you keep your nose out of it?"

Patton raises his hands. "Whoa, kiddos, let's take a second."

"Remus, are you…good? Is something wrong?"

The twins exchange a quick look before Roman takes a deep breath. "Character bleed."

Logan makes an ah sound as the rest of them look around in confusion. "The twins—as Creativity in general—have a harder time 'leaving the filming space,' so to speak, and so it can be harder for them to leave the 'characters' they portray for Thomas's videos."

"Thank you, Logan."

"Of course. I'm happy to help out both on and off camera."

And that could've been the end of it, had Logan not caught Janus trying to hide a scoff.

"Is there something you take issue with, Janus?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he says in a tone that belies just how much there is, "just…marveling at your capabilities."

"Okay," Virgil mutters, "that was definitely sarcasm."

"Indeed." Logan draws himself up a little taller. "Speak plainly."

"Oh, and I'd never dream of disobeying an order from you." Janus holds a hand to his chest and gives him a look. "After all, we all know just how important you are."

"I am important. We all are. Has that not been the crux of the latest discussions we've had with Thomas?"

"Mm, yes. Important. Invaluable." Janus examines an imaginary speck of dirt on his gloves. "Where would we be without your priceless font of wisdom?"

"Okay, guys—" Roman steps forward, raising his hands—"I don't know what this is about, but—"

"I also don't know," Logan interrupts before Roman can finish, "Janus, why don't you tell us what this is all about?"

Janus mock-gasps, holding his hand over his mouth. "Logan? Doesn't know something? What a travesty!"

"Janny," Remus says, voice oddly serious, "don't do that. What's your beef with Logan?"

"Have you seriously not noticed?" Janus gestures around, mock attitude disappearing in a flash. "All of you, you're just letting him get away with it?"

"Get away with what?"

"He keeps insinuating that he's the most important character! On and on about how much we don't listen to him, or overlook him, and all of this and it's insufferable!"

"Whoa, wait, hang on—"

"No," Janus interrupts, "you know it's true."

"We're building up to his character arc," Roman says, "of course he's going to have a bit more prominence in the videos, we've been over this, we did the same thing for you! And Patton! And Virgil!"

"Oh, please, I never spent an entire meeting all smug with a stick up my ass about how important my character was to the narrative."

"I have never once," Logan says gravely, "attended any of our meetings with Thomas with a stick up my ass."

"But you don't deny being smug about being important!"

Logan's brow pinches and he straightens his tie, standing to his full height. "There is a difference between being smug about one's own self-importance and being confident in one's worth. Though I wouldn't expect you to know the difference."

Janus's expression twitches. "And why not, O Wonderful Logan who Knows All Things and Can Do No Wrong?"

"Simple. You embody the sense of self-preservation that only seeks to protect, defend, and better itself. Your very existence prompted the Selfishness versus Selflessness arc to begin with. It follows that you wouldn't recognize the difference between a healthy sense of self and an unhealthy one."

"Logan," Patton says, "that's not fair, he—"

He falters when Janus starts laughing.

"The truth," he crows almost triumphantly, "at last! God forbid we have nuance, god forbid anyone express themselves differently to you, god forbid someone try and offer insight when they're not you."

"If you'll recall," Logan says, voice sharpening, "all of your attempts at teaching something have ended in failure or other disastrous consequences."

"Because they were scripted to be that way. And oh, look, let's remember, who argued for that? Oh, that's right, it was you!"

"The closest you got to succeeding was when you impersonated me."

"And yet I managed to accomplish something that you didn't in all the episodes beforehand."

"Do you now understand how building stories works? It takes time to resolve issues, it takes work, you need pacing—"

"And a villain to defeat, right?"

Logan's silence is telling.

"That's what you've made of me, isn't it? Just some bad guy to be redeemed? A snake, tempting you all away from the path of righteousness," Janus hisses, glaring around at all of them, "while he gets to stand there unquestioned?"

"My role is to provide clarity. Yours is to obfuscate. Or have you forgotten, Deceit, the way in which you were introduced?"

It's Janus's turn to fall silent as Logan raises his chin.

"You impersonated Patton, Morality. You manipulated both Creativities to your own end, using Roman to ingratiate yourself with Thomas and Remus as the consequences for disobeying you. You held Virgil's past and secrets over him and yes," he finishes in a near growl, "you impersonated and attacked me."

He takes a step closer.

"You have always used us as a scaffolding to climb to get closer to Thomas, closer to the center of the videos. Don't forget that."

"And what exactly have you been doing?" Janus stares defiantly back at him. "Do you know how many videos are just you versus another Side? Do you know how often you're defined by your disagreements with all of us? Do you know how often you are the one who needs to be taught instead of teaching?"

He scoffs.

"You talk about what I've done to Roman and Remus but at least I know what I've done. You, you just pretend to be the impartial one who never takes a side, always about what's logical, what's right, never acknowledging the nuance in what you pretend is unquestionable."

"What do you want," Logan asks suddenly, "we finish filming and immediately you pick a fight with me, what are you getting out of this?"

"Because you're creating the very situations you keep decrying!" Janus throws his hands up. "Your whole arc, the things we've been seeding into the videos, they were by and large your ideas! Half of the things we pitch and script have come from your brain and then when we film and release the videos, you sulk about how much you're being overlooked and how frustrating it is to have us not listen to you!"

Logan draws himself up but remains silent.

"You can't construct the narrative to do something and then be all 'boo hoo, the narrative is ignoring me and overlooking me,' that's not true! Don't act like some terribly mistreated tragic hero when it's you who's put yourself in that situation." Janus glares at him. "I'm sick of you acting like you're the overlooked and underappreciated character when you're the one advocating for the plot points in the meetings like you're the most important character!"

"Well, maybe I am!"

The room goes quiet in the aftermath of Logan's shout. He steps even closer to Janus.

"You said it yourself, we don't examine how Logic can be subject to bias even though it claims to be impartial. We've yet to explore how important it is to examine your own biases that you don't even know about yet. So yes, maybe I am the most important when it comes to that, maybe I'm the only one who can do that."

"How dare you," Janus says lowly, "how dare you accuse me of being nothing but selfish when you gladly stand here and appoint yourself the most important?"

"I've never had to claw my way to importance using the misfortune of other Sides that I myself inflicted."

"And yet it's taken you this long to have an arc of your own?"

"You don't start with the biggest arc, you—"

"Oh, the biggest arc? Getting a bit self-aggrandizing, are we?"

"You would know! Was there a boundary you didn't cross on your quest to be featured more prominently?"

"No, because if you'll remember, we all participated in making sure my arc would work for everybody. I asked—"

"You're a new character! You needed to fit with all of us, you needed to—"

"Conform to what you wanted, I see, I see, oh, it's all becoming clear now. You're right, Logan, you really do provide clarity."

"I will not be blamed for the ignorance of others!"

"Oh, you're calling me ignorant now? You really do just devolve into insulting others' intelligence when you don't get your way, don't you?"

"It's not an insult if it's true."

"So I could call you an egotistical hypocrite and that wouldn't be an insult?"

Logan's eyes flare with orange. "Don't you dare—"

"Enough!"

A blinding flash of light fills the room and everyone winces. When it fades, Roman and Remus are standing between the two of them, Roman's arms out to Janus to hold him back, Remus's feet braced to keep Logan at bay.

"Both of you stop it," Roman says firmly, "you're both being ridiculous."

"Looks like we're not the only ones suffering from character bleed." Remus stands up, giving a warning look to Logan as he lets him go. "You two need to remember that we're not actually fighting each other, we're all working together on a project where we play characters with opposing viewpoints."

"But he's—"

"Stop," Roman says, raising his voice and cutting Janus off, "you just picked a fight for no reason. I don't care if your concerns were valid or not, there was no reason to act on them like that in front of everyone."

Janus glowers but lowers his head.

"If you felt like you weren't being heard in the meetings or if you wanted the opportunity to have a teaching role in upcoming videos—" here Janus's head snapped up, for he didn't realize Roman had realized— "you can bring that up at the meeting in a way that isn't this."

"And you," Remus says before Logan can look too smug, "can get right off that high horse of yours."

"But I—"

"You're not blameless in this either," Remus says, "Janus is right. You've been acting a bit too big for your booty shorts recently, especially in scripting meetings. You talk all big about how you want to write your arc and make sure that this story gets told and then you mope about how your character is getting ignored on camera. And then you treat us, not our characters, us, like shit because of the narrative that you wanted to write. You can't have it both ways."

Logan avoids Remus's gaze as he fiddles with his glasses.

"Now," Roman says, "we're all going to go get out of character and decompress for a while, and then when we're all ready, we can have a discussion about the videos. Whether or not we go to Thomas can be decided later. Yes?"

A small chorus of 'yes's from around the room. Patton and Virgil make eye contact and sink out quickly, probably to go decompress together and talk about what just happened while they redo Virgil's nail polish. Roman gives one last warning look to Janus as he opens his mouth to say something.

"I'm sorry, Logan."

Logan looks up.

"I shouldn't…I shouldn't have picked a fight like that. That was rude."

Remus looks at Logan who swallows. "I'm…sorry too. I…I've been excited about getting an arc after so long and I guess I...got over-excited."

"Go decompress," Remus says to both of them, "we can talk this out later."

Both of them sink out, each giving apologetic and hopeful looks to the other. As they go, Roman shakes his head.

"It feels fitting that we're the ones with the most fraught dynamic on camera and the least fraught off camera, doesn't it?"

"You're telling me. Part of me wants to send them to therapy before we keep working on Thomas's fake video one."

"Is that the Logan part of you or the Janus part of you?"

"The part of me that wants to go fuck around in the Imagination before we have to sit through another 'I feel' meeting."

Roman groans sympathetically before a manic gleam comes to his face. "Race you there!"

"Hey, no cheating!"

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