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oosagua · a month ago
i’m sorry to ask yet again but i rly need help getting out of an extremely toxic house, i don’t currently have any other place to stay but any money that i’m making aside from car bills n rent will be saved to eventually move out as soon as i possibly can, even if u can’t help monetarily rbing helps as well thank u so much
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cashapp: $blindozwald
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plasticbanks · 14 days ago
right person, wrong time | rafe cameron.
authors note: yes! another one, maybe one day i’ll switch it up but for now, here’s a slightly sadder imagine. 3.5k words. fem!reader, angst, swearing. mentions of alcohol. 
soundtrack: summertime sadness, lana del rey. 
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you’ve never supported figure eight, you’ve never liked living on the north side. you loathe their elitist and superior attitudes. you don’t participate in how discriminatory they are towards pogues. the only person keeping you from ditching this side of the island is rafe, and even then, he makes it difficult to justify staying. it’s given you tough skin, to say the least.
it was a tedious process, for him to convince you that attending midsummers together is a good idea, as you much prefer to be the significant other no one knows about. you’re happy to stay in the shadows, not his, but your own. where the judgemental glares and constant moral debates stayed silenced, and where your couple arguments go unseen. you love him with every fibre in your body, but when the relationship waves get rough, it’s more like a storm. you’ve never met someone as stubborn as you, as willing to fight for what they want. and if there’s one thing rafe’s good at, it’s getting his way.
the thin strap heels on your feet click along the white linoleum floor as you step out of the change room for rafe, who’s slouched in a wicker chair. his thumb lazily swipes on his phone, and he’s lost in his own world of boredom. the lavish garment you have on is far from anything you would even consider trying, but you know it has to be in the triple figures to fit in with the kooks. 
“why is it so tight?” you complain, reluctantly stepping out of the dressing room, tugging at the delicate corset detail of the black silk dress that adorns your body. his eyes instantly snap up upon hearing your voice, and his phone drops out of his hand, suddenly undesirable. he's wide eyed, like the first time he ever fixated on you. he exhales a smile, washing his glance over you. your face is scrunched, irritated by the dress. 
“you don’t like it?” he questions, still mesmerised by the way you look.    
“i’m not used to it,” you sigh, placing your hands on his chest, falling into his body. he wraps his arms around you, leaning his chin on your head.
“it’s one night,” he reassures, rubbing your back soothingly. he leans back slightly to lift your face, his hand delicately cupping your jaw. you pout in the palm of his hand. he pulls your face closer and with a grin, mouth hovering over your ear. 
“i’ll make sure it won’t be on you for very long,” in a teasing tone, making you push him playfully. you know he’s being nothing but honest. Suddenly, he’s caught off guard by the store’s employer asking how everything’s going. 
“we’ll take it,” he smiles, reaching for the back pocket of his pants to pull his wallet out. you almost feel guilty, knowing the money he’s handing over isn’t his own. you also know he won’t let you leave the store without it. while you’re an advocate for money not being able to buy happiness, it does buy conformity. something you’ll need for where you’re headed tonight. it’s a bittersweet feeling. the lady packages it in an unnecessarily luxurious way, with a ribbon tied box in a euro tote. you thank her while being sure to grab the receipt, and find yourself back at the cameron’s house before sunset. 
the house is tumultuous, primarily with rose ordering people around, from makeup artists to assistants. it’s incredibly overwhelming the moment you walk through the front door. 
“you guys really go all out,” you comment, looking up to rafe who’s showing discomfiture at the chaos of his family, a side you’re never really exposed to.
“yeah, they’re insane,” he mumbles, ushering you methodically through the entrance to avoid being stopped. you rarely show yourself at the house. it’s either sneaking around or attempting to be subtle. there’s no shame in your relationship, but rafe often gets frustrated when too many people ask about the two of you. 
“get upstairs before rose tries to put a crown on you,” rafe’s voice is hushed, a hand on your lower back as you chuckle, racing up the spiral staircase to his room. 
once you’ve changed back into that black piece, you stand in front of the mirror to pin a final strand of hair. in the reflection, your vision directs to a view of rafe’s joining bathroom in his room. the moment you look into your reflection over your shoulder, you see the door open. revealing himself, he adjusts the cuff of his blazer jacket, an untied black bow loosely around his neck. you’ve never seen him in a suit before, and while baby blue wasn’t the first colour you imagined, you’re not complaining. he looks dapper, a true reflection of wealth. 
“hey handsome,” you turn around to stroll toward him. he’s a splitting image of the discomfort you displayed when first trying on your outfit. he exhales, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. “i can’t wait for this to be over,” he mumbles, finding comfort in resting his hands at your waist. you hum in agreement, reaching for the bowtie, fixing it for him. once it’s secure, you lock lips in a sweet peck, silently agreeing it’s best you meet everyone downstairs before you’re late.
you arrive at the club just before dinner begins, everyone dressed up to the nines. sarah and rose look phenomenal, even wheezie dressed to impress. you rarely speak to sarah, but exchange compliments in the car. she's always been relatively nice, but you can tell she keeps her distance, and bites her tongue when it comes to you and her brother. you opt out of the choice to wear a floral head wreath, finding it excessive, and wishing to stay as inconspicuous as possible. which becomes irrelevant the moment the staff line you and the camerons up behind glass doors like outer banks royalty. your arm is linked with rafe’s, nerves rushing through your body. despite knowing most people will be hypnotized by the hot pink of rose’s dress, you fear the gaze and gossip of debutantes.
“they like to make an entrance,” rafe whispers, and you grip his bicep tighter. 
cheers, whistles and hollering erupt the moment the doors swing open. ward and rose take the lead, and you hang back with rafe as he slides his arm to hold your hand. almost protectively, he’s gripping tight, as if he’ll lose you on the way down the stairs. 
“looking good ward!” 
“my man!”
deep voices and praise are almost unsettling as they scream out toward mr. cameron. it’s almost as if you can hear every single word around you, senses being both overburdened and magnified. you look up, past the scattered figures and applauding strangers, and short of the glistening view of where the caramel colour sky meets the glistening water. your eyes lock with a familiar face. kiara leans against a fence accompanied by a mystery man from across the garden. you know her from around the island club, especially when you were younger. she was the only person who made you nervous. whether it was how close she once was with sarah, or the fact rafe’s mentioned her a few times in odd conversations, a sense of unease transpires within you. you envy her ability to fit in both sides. getting caught up in your thoughts, suddenly you’re asking rafe if he could get you a drink. 
the stress subdues when everyone becomes distracted in their own world, and disperse at the instructions of the waitering staff. the sky shifts into a navy blue, the stars come out, and the night flies. it consists of sneaking sips of white wine, hors d'oeuvres that never seem to satisfy your appetite and losing rafe in the crowd by nine o’clock. 
it irritates you, his habit of assuming you can fend for yourself. even in a situation you explicitly mention makes you uncomfortable. the moment his boys are around is the moment he becomes the center of attention. the leader. it was the main reason your arguments ensued, and why you refuse to attend outings like this. the only thing keeping you distracted from being alone is eavesdropping, and focusing on everyone’s movements. you attempt small talk with overdressed strangers, smiling and laughing at prudish jokes you don’t care to understand.  
 “excuse me,” you dismiss yourself from speaking to the girl in front of you sweetly, rolling your eyes and dropping the fake joyful look instantly. you look around, hoping to find your lover. instead, a blond waiter with a bruised face catches your eye. you saw him speaking to kiara earlier, and you instantly know he doesn’t belong. your suspicions raise about the waiter who’s using trays full of drinks to hide behind, and flinches at the sight of other staff. 
you follow him curiously, something in your stomach telling you that he’s on edge, and seeking a purpose. he moves quickly around the porch, making you ditch your glass of gin and tonic on a random table to usher through, bumping into shoulders and having near misses with people carrying plates. your suspicions soon become clear as he approaches sarah, and you watch from a distance as he discreetly passes her a note. the action is completely ignored by the tipsy strangers around them who are immersed in the music. sarah’s face beams with a smile, and she checks to ensure no one notices her quick departure. suddenly, she’s gone.
your stomach drops the moment the nameless waiter turns on his heels, only to be met with the man you were initially hoping to find. rafe grips his shoulders, looking down at him with an arrogant smirk. you blend in with an older couple at a standing bar table, not caring at their confusion by your sudden presence. you can feel your eyebrows tighten as you listen intently, and watch the interaction that has you highly strung. 
“i’m wondering if you could get me a mai tai my friend,” rafe speaks, sarcasm seeping through his sentence.  
“pogue, how about you make that two?” kelce pipes up. 
“are you kidding me?” you murmur to yourself. it becomes a confusing blur the moment numerous bodies begin to gather around the one person, who’s mannerisms and eagerness to move inside intensifies. disturbance takes over the second the door swings open, and the waiter is spriting inside. rafe and his company are hot on his heels as a chase erupts. you cuss, knowing it’s not going to end well. 
running in heels isn’t how you expected the direction of the night to go, but you find yourself rushing through ornate hallways trying to keep up, but also keep a distance so you go unnoticed. it’s chaos, chairs used as barricades, guests gasping and their concerned yells bouncing off walls. 
you assume this is how cinderella felt when the clock struck twelve, except you were running after the prince.
you jump as a large hand grabs your shoulder. you’re stopped by a security guard, inches away from a changing room, and male bathroom that has two entrances. you’re frozen at the open doorway as he marches in before you, and you stay hidden behind the wall to listen. you’re horrified by what you can hear through the thin walls, and jump at rafe screaming, “shut up!” followed by threats and malicious laughter. 
this is the side of rafe’s life you often turn a blind eye to, or just aren’t around to see but hear about through the grapevine. you’ve fought about it before, but opening your mouth is like opening pandora’s box. the fight you put up on behalf of the pogues is exhausting, because it’s like arguing with a brick wall. in his mind he’s never in the wrong, and you fall into a deeper internal struggle about what you believe is right.
“very rafe of you, five on one,” you hear the wrestling outcast spit, and you sigh with sadness, but agree with him wholeheartedly. you finally peak past the wooden slab once there’s immediate silence, knowing the arrival of the security guard would cause them to stop. 
“you powerpuff girls have fun!” the voice is louder than the previous conversations, so you know he’s moving closer to where you’re standing. you inhale and exhale, waiting for the security guard to get him safely out before making yourself known to rafe. all you want to do is tell him you want to go home.
“tell kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue!” 
your stomach drops. there was no mistake as to who expressed that, knowing his voice. hearing him typically brings you comfort. a sense of home, but this time all it did was cement every concern you’ve previously had. your chest feels tight as you stand there, hand on your heart. you fall back onto the wall. it takes a lot for you to cry, especially with rafe. the non-criminal side of him is easy to get caught up in, so it can outweigh the bad. your relationship and love began prior to the never ending nightmare that is a war on superiority and money, so it’s easier to overlook the madness because you know what he’s like. you know the side of him you fell in love with. however, the tough skin you’ve built up over time is no match for this moment, it’s breaking you. 
“y/n would hate you if she heard that, man,” you hear kelce defend, and he was right. your hurt quickly shifted into anger.  
“yeah, well we’re not gonna mention to-” rafe drops the rest of his sentence upon noticing you standing in the doorway, staring blankly back at him. his merriment diminishes and the rest of the boys in the dressing room stumble backwards, leaving the spotlight on you.
“you can have her then.” you spit, hiking your dress up slightly to make the quick escape easier. you feel like screaming, hitting something, running without looking back. you can hear the patter of dress shoes behind you, moving to catch up 
“y/n!” rafe calls out as he follows you through the same hallways, the same crowd of guests, and out onto the deck. you hop down the stairs, stammering onto the grass as the tears welling warmly in your eyes begin to fall. you wander closer toward the banks of the lake, your hands angrily wiping your face to avoid tear stained cheeks, despite your mascara already feeling a mess. you’ve made it far away enough from the club that the chatter is white noise, but the lights dimly illuminate the patch of grass where you stand.
“y/n...” an out of breath rafe saunters toward you, desperately reaching a hand out.
“don’t- don’t touch me,” your shaky voice exclaims as you walk backwards, feeling as though all the space around you still isn’t enough to get away from him.
“baby i wasn’t even thinking when i said that, come on,” he insists. 
“you weren’t thinking?! i’m pretty sure you were thinking fine when you decided to hold that guy hostage in the fucking locker room!” 
“wait, what? how long were you standing there?” he keeps gesturing forward, genuine confusement on his face as he tries to piece together the events from his perspective. 
“too long,” you reply exasperated, and can’t even look him in the eyes. he stands there, rolling his tongue over his teeth with thought, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. he swallows hard, leaning all his weight onto one leg that he props forward.
“you weren’t supposed to see any of that, alright?”
“you don’t get it, rafe! even if i wasn’t there, you would have acted like that anyway, you were gonna hurt him!”
“you-you’re defending him? he’s a pogue, y/n.” his voice is calm. a sickening calm that only appears from him when he’s on the brink of lashing out. you’re mentally preparing to walk away, but with the risk of him following without closure, you stand your ground. 
“you make it so difficult to be in this relationship, rafe, you really do.” shaking your head, you feel a tear fall. you quickly swipe your face, playing with the material of your dress sheepishly. the grass crunches, indicating he’s approaching. you feel him standing close, and can see his shoes adjacent to you. 
“then why are you still with me? why are we still together if it’s so difficult for you, huh?” he’s animated when he speaks, using his hand in strong movements with every word he enunciates. you look up at him with sad eyes. he’s staring back at you with a begging glare, waiting for you to speak.
“because the only thing keeping us together lately is my ability to overlook everything you do.”
“that’s not true, y/n,”
“it is. deep down you know it too. i don’t think i can do this anymore,”
“what do you mean?” he panics, reaching forward to place his hand on your elbow but you brush him off.
“i need time to think, rafe.” you whisper, feeling miserable even having to say it.
“time, w-what do you mean time, y/n? a night, a week?”
“i don’t know! i don't know,” you cry, worn out. 
he sniffles, wiping his hands down his face with disbelief. the air feels so thick you could cut through with a knife, and your chest is palpitating as you try to regain a steady breath. he’s pacing around in a small section, only back and forth far enough to where his shadow reaches. whether it’s his movement or the stress, you’re becoming dizzy. you rest one hand on your hip, the other hand pressing a finger into your temple as you take a deep breath.
“leave then,”
“leave, y/n. please.” he’s desperate.
you look up him, biting your quivering lip hard. you nod at him, giving him one final hopeless look, and his eyes shift into a deep blue. he’s quiet, patient. he knows what’s coming next, and you make it real the moment you turn your back on him to walk away.
you don’t even attempt to hold the tears back as you cover your mouth. you’re on the verge of being hysterical, but too many thoughts are going through your mind to completely let go. no matter how upset his stupid thoughtless comment made you, the feelings inside have been building up for months. the only way you can convince yourself you’re doing the right thing is for the better of you both. for one reason or another all the factors don't come together to create the outcome you desire, leaving you feeling hostile, grieving someone you love and full of regret. the pain kicks in when you turn back along your walk to see him still standing there where you left him, hand cupping his jaw as he runs a finger along his lips, staring into oblivion with watery eyes. you pause, reaching for the buckle of your shoes to take them off, knowing the ache of running in them again would be a breaking point. 
once they’re off, you carry them as you sprint back to the person you love, and he looks up confused to see you on the path back to him. you leap over puddles, not caring about the dirt on the bottom of your feet, and your dress is most definitely getting frayed and torn at the bottom. you drop your shoes, hearing them tumble aimlessly onto the dirt as you approach rafe quickly.
you collide with him and his instinct is to embrace you tight. you cup his face and pull him into a desperate, yet simultaneously heartbreaking kiss. he melts into you, moving his lips with yours perfectly in sync. he grips your body like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you, and it possibly is. the material at your waist bunches in the palm of his hands and there’s no way you two could physically be closer. you break the kiss, and your foreheads touch.  
“right person, wrong time?” he whispers against your mouth, underlining hope as he speaks, and you smile sadly, swallowing back a shaky voice.
“right person, wrong time.” you agree, laying your own hands over his knuckles to delicately slide them off your body. he brushes your now wind impacted hair from your eyes before pulling away, before he has the urge to say something again. he sniffles, taking a step back.
this time, you both turn in opposite directions. the hurt in your heart is much less painful as you walk the same path. this time feels different. that small reassurance, feeling his sincere touch one final time, for now. you walk along the beach entrance, the sand in your toes and the cold air washing over you. 
maybe he is the right person and maybe the timing is off, but one day you’ll find yourself back to him.
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fuckit-poetry · 6 days ago
how do you want me to love?
you think so lowly of this boy
who has scraped his wobbly knees
to chase this omnipotent being
that you call your son;
worships brimming from my throat
and spilling from my wounded lips
because he is a god amongst mortals.
you think so lowly of this boy
who does not want your son to perish
even if he is forgotten through time,
because what good is his epic
when he is dust?
you think so lowly of this boy
who loves achilles
for what he is not allowed to be—
a boy.
so tell me goddess,
how do you want me to love?
how do you want us to love?
— prayers thrown at the sea
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andotherthoughts · 3 months ago
Do I have a dick? No. But do you make me wish I had one just so I could pin you down and rail you? Yes.
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lockblue · 3 months ago
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please read this apology before following
❤️‍🔥 CHERRY/PIKA ♖ <18 ♖ THEY/VAE ❤️‍🔥
tag: unsanitary + mass rbing the same post
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formerly @/finalwife, remade 26/5/21
ps the symbol in my pfp is a manji symbol not a n/zi symbol, matching pinned w mogu <3
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babyeilish · 3 months ago
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“When you’re happier than ever, that doesn’t mean you’re the happiest that anyone’s ever been. It means you’re happier than you were before.” -Billie Eilish
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oosagua · 5 months ago
long story short im gonna cry, i need a new phone, i cant get into my old cashapp so i had to make a new 1 pls help me im like on the verge of mental collapse :DDDD
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c*shapp: $blindozwald
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plasticbanks · 20 days ago
chasing highs | rafe cameron.
summary: you’re his lover, and he’s your brother’s best friend. both the secrecy and his addiction cause tension in your hidden relationship.
authors note: 2.4k words. explicit language, mentions substance abuse, angst and weaponry. 
soundtrack: sober, childish gambino.
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you struggle to support the grocery bags that are filled to the brim, and tearing at the seams. you use your elbow to pry the door open with a struggle and quickly dump the brown bags on the counter. you groan at the sight, the house is in disarray. empty glasses, crushed cans and powder residue scatter across the wooden table. the smell of dry grass that’s been tracked along the floors and a contrasting clean linen fills the small space. 
“at least he did the washing,” you run the back of your hand across your forehead, looking around with a fatigued sigh. you begin unpacking everything into cupboards. your arrangement is disturbed by a banging at the door that rattles the wall, it seems desperate. you turn around to pull the handle, revealing rafe. you roll your eyes, murmuring an acknowledgement before leaving the door open for him to let himself in. “country club,”
he steps inside, looking around and acting neurotic. “only barry calls me that,” he counters. “well barry’s not here, so,” you fade off the last part of your sentence, not entirely being interested in conversation. you strain your toes to place a cereal box on the top shelf. rafe silently stands behind you, his chest pressed to your shoulder as he takes it from your hand to put it away, being able to reach with ease. you feel his warm hand crawl around the side of your hip. you grip the edge of the counter that’s underneath you, feeling his breath trickle down your neck.
“i missed you, you know?” he spoke softly. he smelt like faded cologne and dirt, an overall musky scent. it was oddly comforting. 
you shrug him off and turn back to pull vegetables from the bags, excusing his body to reach the fridge. he follows your every action. 
“did i do something?” he looks confused by your dismissive nature, and sudden sharp tone.
“wanna tell me what you’re here for?” you place the packaged food in the cold drawers of the fridge, slamming them closed a little more dramatically than intended. you know his answer, you just need to reassure yourself.
“i just, i just need a little bit-” he speaks apprehensively. you quickly turn around to look at him, your eyes are heavy and filled with dejection. you lick your lips and bob your head with thought, letting out a bitter chuckle.
“he’s all out,” you look up at him, “house is empty.” and once again, you go back to the groceries. rafe stands still for a moment, rubbing his knuckles. you can hear the friction of his skin.
“i know he’s got something in here, y/n,” he looks around, and you can hear the shake in his vowels. his heavy steps take over the creaking floor, a cabinet slamming, making you jump slightly.
“did you not hear me, or are you not listening? there’s nothing in here,” you follow the noise to catch the sight of rafe rummaging through any door that opens. you to reach his shoulder to pull him away from a brown t.v unit, knowing he won’t give up until he’s been physically stopped. the moment you reach forward he pushes your hand away, grunting and bypassing you.
“are you fucking serious?” shock seeping through. he freezes, hands digging through his hair as he bounces back and forth between his feet. he releases air from his nose in frustration, taking a step closer to you.
“i’m sorry, i, i just need you to help me out,” he lends a hand forward in hopes of taking you into his arms, but you step back.
“help you feed the drug addiction that my brother started?”
“god, not right now,” he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“help you come to realisation that you have a problem?” you continue, knowing that it’s only getting to under his skin more.
“i don’t have a fucking problem!” he screams. not a yell. a scream with chest, an angry reaction. a reaction you could handle from your brother, arguments often occurring in the house. but not from rafe. not from the man you go out of your way to protect and love. 
“get out.” your voice is stern and your eyes are stinging. his tension quickly diminishes. 
“i didn’t mean- i didn’t mean to yell, alright?” he bites his words back, fighting that belligerent tone that previously lashed out. 
“i’m not repeating myself,” you shake your head, looking to the door. 
“sweetheart, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, okay? i’m just on edge,” he rambles on his justification but it only seems to dig himself a deeper hole. 
“yeah, that’s the only reason you’re here,” you mumble to yourself, looking at your hands while you squeeze the tips of your fingers. a distraction.
“what’s wrong with you today? talk to me,” he progresses a step closer, careful not to approach too fast, knowing you’d turn away.
“rafe, i know you have a lot going on but god, i don’t want you to pretend to want me if you care more about chasing a high,” you finally spill how you feel, wanting to take it all back the second you do, not because you didn’t mean it, because you truly didn’t want the confrontation. you look up to see his face drop, mouth open a jar and eye’s grave. 
“are you kidding me? you’re the only fucking person on this earth i care about,” he speaks with a bounce of a laugh, more out of shock and disbelief that he has to say it aloud.
“i know i have a problem, alright?” he hold his palms together and digs his fingers into his chest, the fixed intensity on his face. he licks his lips, rotating back and forth between his heels before pausing to take a deep breath. he tests the waters in stepping closer to you, and this time you let him. you allow him into your space, admittedly craving his touch. his hand cups around your upper arm, sliding down your skin before his index finger slips around the belt loop of your jeans. he pulls your lower half forward until you’re touching bodies, and his forehead rests against the crown of your head.
“i’m gonna try harder, i promise,” his voice is soft, and assertive. it’s difficult to feel indifferently about him. you want a reason to be mad, a reason to get him out of the house before you run into more trouble, but you know he’s being genuine. in that moment, there were no doubts or fears.
“okay,” your voice faint, letting yourself fully sink into his touch. you reach up to drape your hands over his shoulders, fingers playing with the dirty blond hair that falls messily past his ears. 
“i love you, you know that right?” he speaks, mouth now hovering over your lips. you laugh sweetly, pecking the side of his face. “yeah, i do actually,” your arrogant response prompts a poke from him into your side and you push his bicep with a giggle.
“shit, i think i fell in love with you the first day we met,” he pulls your body back to him, swaying you both back and forth. he moves when the gears in his head are ticking, can never keep still. so you allow your body to dance around with him while he ponders.
“you’re lying” you roll your eyes, assuming he was over compensating from the heat you put on him a few minutes prior. “no, i’m not,” he breathes out a smile.
“do you remember that day?” you dip your eyebrow at him.
“of course i do,”
six months earlier.
you slip into that grey shirt that hangs barely past your thighs, causing the shorts underneath to disappear. the heat within the metal surrounded home was intensified by the midday sun, making you irritated and desperate for a cold drink. you grab a can of soda from a cooler, not being your preferred means of refreshment, but better than warm tap water. 
as you wipe the corner of your mouth slightly, you simmer in the feeling of the icy feeling in your palm. your moment of serenity is quickly disturbed by the front door being pushed open harshly, making you freeze in your tracks. your first thought was that it would be barry, but upon realising it was a complete stranger, your next thought was to grab that gun barry keeps under the couch cushion. 
“barry, i need-” the tall mystery man speaks with heavy breaths, not being aware of your presence. 
“who the hell are you?” he sounds mad to be confused, and you’re almost amused by it. given you weren’t afraid of strangers coming and going from the place, it not being an unusual occurrence, typically they have courtesy to knock.
“who are you?” you respond, standing your ground comfortably. the tall male washes his gazes over your body slowly, but snaps out of it swiftly.
“ah, rafe, rafe cameron,” he speaks quick, almost as if he has something more important to say other than his name. you let it sink in for a while, being more than thrilled to waste the home invaders time as you sip your drink. the name sounded familiar, and judging from his attire, you put the pieces together.
“oh! country club, yeah i’ve heard a lot about you,” you chuckle to yourself, knowing barry and him have a love-hate relationship.
“what have you heard?” he probes, face now taut.
“that you have money. no wonder you hang around here so often,” you return that judgemental glance he pulled on you, noting the polo shirt, then back up to his face. his hair fell over it, and his features appeared almost too perfect. it was unnerving. “and yet i’ve never seen you here?” rafe responds, still lost at the interaction he’s enduring.
“you’re way better looking than i thought you’d be,” you try to mutter, but he’s engrossed in your exchange.
“pardon?” he nods his head forward. you smile densely, placing your drink down on the coffee table behind you then waving your hand toward the couch.
“i said take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” completely dismissing his question.
you’re seated on the sinking lounge, while he opts for the single armchair beside it. you’re able to see each other this way. he taps is fingers impatiently against the wooden armrests.
“are you like his girlfriend or something?” he strings together with scepticism. you bite your cheek with a chuckle.
“sister,” you assure. he nods slowly, giving a look that says, ‘my bad’ for getting that wrong.
“good to know,” the words were under his breath but you heard. and you’re sure he wanted you to.
“so did barry say he left something for me, or?” rafe rubs his thighs, shifting in his seat. it slipped your mind, his initial agenda for being there, but you quickly come back to earth. you huff, standing up silently to retrieve the bag that barry did in fact inform you was going to get picked up that day. you walk into the bedroom that has a curtain as a replacement for a door, reluctantly taking it into your hands.
re-entering the room, you throw it onto the table, falling back into your seat. rafe leaps toward it like it was his lifeline. you rolled your eyes, pulling your knees up to your body, hugging them. 
“that shit’s gonna ruin your life,” you voice. 
“yeah well,” he sniffs, tucking the white packet into his pocket.
“you can thank your brother when that happens,” he gives a hopeless response, with attitude. he stands from his seat, and you follow, making your way back over to the front door. 
you wanted to respond, but you’d be getting yourself involved in a sensitive topic. rafe halts between the door frame, his tall figure blocking most of the natural sunlight. you stand in front of him, one hand on the handle prepared to close it behind him, and this time lock it. you’re gazing up at him, wondering why he’s blankly staring at you. 
“what?” you question, toying with the handle, apprehensive of what he’ll respond with. 
“you’re nothing like him, are you?” his voice is gentle, almost like he’s only speaking loud enough for himself to hear it. your eyes are locked and it’s becoming an overwhelming feeling. you break eye contact, looking past him. there’s a sense of sadness that takes over. having always been a juxtaposition to your sibling, but often being associated, mean’t that someone seeing past the stereotype was a pleasant change. you shake your head, indicating a clear no. he nods, understanding. the silence spoke volumes.
“good. you’re too pretty for that shit,” and with that, his back was turned and he was slipping a black helmet on, momentarily returning to a stranger.
present day.
"and i still believe that,” he brushes a loose strand of hair from your eye. “so pretty,”
you’re fascinated by him. by the way you can tell that stash he was losing himself over has left his thoughts, and for a moment you remember the connection you two have. how powerful it was when he was with you, entrenched in your company.
“i know you’re trying, rafe,” you whisper, and his grip tightens. how much you believed your own words was uncertain, but the hope seemed stronger than any doubt.
“you’re the only high i wanna chase,” he uses his thumb to lift your face to him before he trails his touch along your bottom lip, gently prying your mouth open. he leans down and attaches your lips, yourself pushing toward him to deepen the kiss. you feel him smile against your mouth before you cup his jaw lightly to seperate.
“if barry comes home and you’re all over me, he’s gonna put a bullet in your head,” you look into his eyes. they’re glistening and bright, a drastic difference to how dark they were when he first arrived. 
“i’ll take my chances,” before wrapping his warm hand around the curve of your neck, pulling you into another kiss, lasting for what felt an eternity.
the body heat between you intensifies. rafe rolling his hips against you every now and then, urging a response from you, and though you’re aware of the risk of that front door flying open, you dig your nails into his shoulder blades. earning a desperate groan from rafe, you’re utterly intoxicated by his touch, becoming lost and unbothered by any risk or fear.
for a brief moment you understand what he feels when that substance runs through his veins and why he chases it. in your own way, you understand that high.
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tashiitashiitashi · a month ago
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hey look it's them :) !! reserve course trio by @trpicalala <3 asjhbakabf they've been on my mind recently,,,,,, also Sato's hair was a pain to draw ;;
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ovariation-from-the-norm · 2 months ago
Ngl, when you're struggling with anorexia, a suicidal family member, your one friend joining the military and your parents shit marriage, your future career, and social services, it's hard to see the people trying to destroy you as 'progressive' and open minded.
I have worked so fucking hard to be alive right now and no amount of aggressive, rapey activists in the world are gonna be able to tear me down.
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aainu · 15 days ago
megumi | she/it
carrd | prev url: ayny.
dont rb this post | spam like/rb is for mutuals only
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andotherthoughts · 2 months ago
Now shut the fuck up and choke on my strap like the good little toy you are
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rottedriot · 4 months ago
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i finally have enough for a photoset here :o i just think theyre neat ❤️
also the last one is from this post :D Soft vibes (pls ignore tht the flowers wrong tho i drew a hyacinth instead of a hibiscus 😔)
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plasticfilth · 7 months ago
nothing more, nothing less | frederik andersen.
inspired by this ask. 2.0k words. warnings: a tad bit angsty, explicit language. enjoy 🖤
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slipping on one of his shirts that fell like a dress on your body, you notice the clock resting on his dresser reads six in the morning. usually, he’s up before you, but on this particular sunday morning, he seemed to be fast asleep. his figure taking up half the bed which made you laugh to yourself softly, and the sun through sheer curtains created a white glow over his pale skin. his hair was a mess, at your own doing, and back lightly grazed with the reminisce of your nails. 
before you could lift yourself off the mattress to collect your things, you feel a hand wrap around your fingers. “stay,” you hear in his low morning voice, crackling like an old vinyl. 
“i can’t fred,” you smile sadly, peeling his hand of off yours to walk around the side of the bed to where he rests. caressing his cheek with your knuckles, you bend down to peck a kiss to his temple.
“i’ll see you next time,” you whisper, making a lazy smile tug at his lips.
it was another night of ethereal sex, leaving you sore but well pleased. on the other end of your strange dynamic, it was another morning of leaving him until he calls you again at three in morning, lonely and in desperate need of your touch. no strings attached. 
you slide your bag onto your shoulders, grab your shoes and strut your walk of shame out his apartment door, letting it click quietly behind you. a small sigh slips through your mouth, carrying yourself down the stairs and onto the street, cold air brushing over you. you tried to tame your hair in the wind, juggling your possessions while searching for your car keys. while doing so, your shoulder collides with another figure. their cologne seeming oddly familiar, you furrow your brows and look up to the stranger. 
“shit, sorry, i wasn’t looking- wait, y/n?” his voice flows like honey, a warmth you’ve only felt from frederik, but this man was different. he wanted more.
“john, hey,” you force a laugh smile, knowing your appearance reflects nothing more than a fresh hookup. he presses his lips together to a fine line and breathes a laugh out his nose, indicating he notices, but won’t acknowledge it.
small talk begins, he makes you laugh. only having met at a bar a few times with your friends knowing him, and the countless times they’ve tried to set you up, you’ve declined politely.  
“look, uh, i know this might seem a little random but are you doing anything friday night? i know this great place downtown and i was thinking we could go for drinks,” he seemed nervous, a contrast to the confidence he often displayed. you felt your cheeks heat up, taking an inhale with your chest. you thought for a moment, and in that brief time the man you just left wasn’t on your mind. friday nights were usually reserved for freddie, but your life didn’t revolve around him, and to your knowledge, he wanted nothing more. you repressed whatever it was you felt for him, each time you see him only throws another rope around your heart, and it connects to his.
“you know what, i’d love to,” you nod, giving him a smile that made his shoulder drop from being tense in relief.
“great, great, uh, okay i’ll call you?” he flashes those white teeth, dimples peaking through his beard. 
“i’ll be waiting,” your voice soft, a feature of yourself freddie has always acknowledged as music to his ears. you and your new date parted ways, allowing you to drive home with a smile on your face. 
friday came around much faster than expected, slipping into a long black dress, nothing too fancy, but enough to make you feel glamorous. a pair of pointed heels completed your look, slipping in some small hoops to accessories. as you shuffled around your room looking for your purse, your phone rings, and you assume it’s john as he said he’d call before eight thirty to say he’s waiting outside your apartment. you mindlessly avoid checking the screen before holding it to your ear, “hey, john, i’m almost ready,” you speak sweetly, underline of excitement in your tone.
“john?” freddie’s voice rings deeply, flat. 
“oh, fred, sorry i thought you were someone else,” you brush it off, a little shocked at not expecting his call, not this early in the night at least.
“yeah, i gathered.” he replies, not impressed. you’re taken aback at the venom in his response, curious as to why he’s one, calling you so early, and two, giving you an attitude.
“are you okay, fred?” you enquire, sitting at the edge of your bed, feeling as though being seated would help you hear better, focus more on the conversation.
“i’ll call you later, y/n.” and with that he hangs up. no further conversation. you stare at your blank screen, stunned. he used your full name, no sweetheart, darling. it wasn’t like him, despite not being anything more than ‘friends’ you knew him better than anyone else who’s been in his sheets.
after that phone call, your energy for the night decreased. you had to a force a smile with john, hesitantly order a cocktail because you weren’t really in the mood anymore. you were off from the moment you walked into the emerald green and oak wood themed restaurant. his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the table. time didn’t really set in until a meal was placed in front of you, no recollection of the journey, conversation. your mind was fuzzy.
“is everything okay?” he leans in from across the white table, a candle burning and rose petals floating in a decorative glass. 
“mhm, yeah, sorry, continue the story,” you encourage him, although you’ve heard absolutely nothing he’s said. you tried to stay focused, but your phone was buzzing in your lap. it rung out, and buzzed again. freddie’s name appearing with every call. john continued to speak, words slowing down as he noticed your eyes wonder and leg shake. 
“hey, y/n- ” he rests his hand over yours, snapping your eyes up to him sadly.
“it’s okay, go.” he finishes, head nodding toward the exit door of the packed restaurant. this man was good, almost too good. whoever was made to have him was lucky, but you were sure it wasn’t you.
“i’m really sorry,” you shake your head, slipping your phone into your bag, removing the cloth from your lap and placing it on the table in a crunch. your head was telling you to stay and enjoy dinner, but your heart was calling out to the tall red-head that somehow had you wanting more and more with every second you spent apart. it was torture. you place a kiss to john’s cheek and thank him for a lovely, short, night, before rushing to your car. 
your heels hurt your feet, in frustration you kicked them off as you stood on the sidewalk of the entrance to his apartment. the one you keep finding yourself at. shoes in hand you run up the stairs, skipping one or two steps to hasten yourself. usually you’d let him know when you’re coming over, but with the amount of calls you received you could only guess it’s what he expects. 
his door was unlocked, so you let yourself in. the open living room space was dark, a lamp being the only source of light. glowing a warm yellow.
“fred?” you toss your shoes beside the door, waiting for him to appear. he strolls out of the bedroom, shirtless, plaid pyjama pants hanging low on his structured torso. his eyes travel up and down your body.
“why are you so dressed up?” his voice taunts, a glass of an amber coloured drink between his fingertips.
“i was on a date,” you respond simply, making him bite the inside of his cheek and nod slowly.
“a date, huh,” he scrunches his face, placing the glass down onto the kitchen counter, standing roughly a few meters away from you.
“and you just, what, didn’t want to tell me?” he continues. you fold your arms cross over your body, raising a brow and taking a few steps forward. 
“i didn’t know you were so interested in my love life,”
“love life? you love this guy?” he steps forward, shoulders broad and hands moving as he speaks.
“oh please, i don’t even know the guy,” you’re almost amused.
“then why were you with him?”
“i was trying to get to know him, you know something people do on dates but you made it very difficult with my phone ringing every two seconds!” you spark back, walking closer and matching his energy in how animated you became.
“if you wanted get to know him so badly then why are you here, y/n?” he squints his eyes, bodies becoming inches apart. 
“me? freddie why do you want me here?” you’re yelling in frustration, trying to question something you’re unsure you even want the answer to.
“what do you think, sweetheart? sex, nothing more, nothing less,” he has bitterness in his voice, you know it isn’t in him. he was projecting an demeanour that was far from himself around you, and it was beginning to hurt. your jaw falls at his words and you freeze, looking up at him. you weren’t sure if it was the lack of blinking or tears forming, but you didn’t want to stay long enough to find out.
"you’re a fucking asshole,” you huff out, turning against him but he strides to the door to stand in front of it, looking confused.
“what the fuck did you want me to say? what else is this, y/n!?” his voice is loud, firing you up more.
“i don’t know! i don’t know, okay! maybe i want something more, i don’t just want to fuck, i wan’t love!” and it’s silent. you’re both silent, finally. you can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and takes a step back. he tilts his head, trying to find your eyes as you look down.
“darling, i’m sorry,” he’s soft now, but you’re sure you’ve already made a mistake.
“it’s okay, don’t. you don’t need to say anything, i know that’s not what this is,” you shake your head, slipping past him to grab your shoes but he’s not done. he pushes them out of your hand and spins you toward him, hand resting on the curve of your hip. it’s warm, he’s always warm.
“not yet,” his words are genuine, it’s what you’re used to hearing from him. no anger, nothing malicious. 
“freddie-” you try, but he hushes you, eager to exclaim how he feels.
“i wasn’t sure what you wanted until now. and honestly, i thought if it was just sex you’d keep coming back-” and you’re on the verge of rolling your eyes, thinking he’s wasting your time.
“but i want you to stay every time you go,” he slides down to take your hand. “i want more if you do,” he moves closer, an unexplainable warmth radiating from him and you just desire to be embraced by him.
“you don’t have to lie to me, fred. if you want me, say it, if you don’t, i’m leaving.” you give him a choice. you’re not willing to compromise your feelings for some silly agreement you made with a friend during a lonesome period of your life. meaningless sex is great, for only so long. you need more.
“i want more, i want you, y/n.” he ends, and you quite can’t tell but he’s dying to have you in his arms, he can’t keep still. you reach up to cup his cheek, his body naturally coming to your height to meet your lips. it was liking kissing for the first time, his arms pulling you close so you’re touching, his fingers dancing across the straps of your dress, letting it fall from your shoulder. you pull back slowly.
“i want you too.” and although truly unspoken, the way your words flowed to each other mimicked that of the first time you tell someone you love them. you weren’t there yet, but it was a start. it was more. 
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