#I LIVE FOR ARROGANT ASSHOLES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

severepink · 10 months ago

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Observing Adam

Where I go way too deep into something that probably isn't that deep. It's long, it's long as hell.

Okay, so you'd think with how Adam talks he's just a typical misogynist, right?

This man worships pussy. So much so, he's named a whole ass angel, one of his best, Vagina. You'd say that he objectifies them and thinks of them as being lesser, but I don't think that's the whole story. In fact, I think he might be the original simp.

All of these exorcists so far have been women. All of them. He refers to them as ladies or bitches interchangeably, he sees them as being completely capable of absolutely decimating leagues of some of the most vile beings who have ever existed, and they have, to the point it was only after thousands of years that there's been a risk to this hierarchy.

He's a self-centered, egotistical, loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole, no doubt about it, but I'm beginning to suspect something now.

If Adam and Lilith were created from the same dust, if they were created as equals, I am more than willing to bet... Lilith is also a self-centered, egotistical, arrogant asshole. But, she's likely far more intelligent, composed, and duplicitous.

Lilith was allowed to refuse Adam and leave of her own free will and garnered her own independence. A new wife was created for Adam, she was replaced. My guess, is she thought Adam wouldn't be able to live without her, to come back and find herself replaced entirely, she was enraged.

I believe both Adam and Lilith were both incredibly dominant individuals who fought over ideas, thoughts, and ultimately in the bedroom as well, if we take into account the creationist stories.

I'm willing to bet she likely manipulated Lucifer into twisting humanity against its original concept. What if Lucifer's intention truly was to just spark something within Eve, like independence and thought and creation, but it was Lilith's poison within the fruit that tainted her, then subsequently Adam, with sin.

Lilith thrived in hell, while Lucifer's dreams of creation were dashed. She didn't suffer as he did, instead the power of her voice grew with hell. Her voice grew so powerful that heaven found it to be a threat, her actions instigated the beginning of exterminations.

Charlie said that when she was a little girl, she didn't know Lucifer at all. I don't think this was because of Lucifer, he's seen here, picking her up, inviting her to share in his thoughts and dreams, showing her something wonderful. Something she could see within herself.

Charlie says that it's this moment that sparked her will to fight for her dreams. Which is strange, because at the very beginning of the story, Charlie says it was her mother's dream that was passed down to her.

Lilith took Charlie away. In this scene, Lucifer wasn't done showing Charlie his thoughts and dreams, he's still yearning to show his daughter these things at this point.

Lucifer loves his daughter. He loves Charlie so, so, so much. So why wasn't he allowed to build a relationship with his daughter for the longest time? He was waiting for the opportunity to get to know her, but with how much he adores her why didn't he do it sooner? He didn't comment on 'It took you a while-' he just said he missed her smile. They don't want to be pulled apart, again.

Now, we know Vivziepop has said that Lucifer and Lilith love each other, but Lilith 'wears the pants' in the relationship. We see all of the pictures all over the walls of a supposedly happy family. I don't think the relationship was as loving as originally portrayed and Lilith is a woman who desires control above all else. She likely tried to mitigate what influence Lucifer had over their daughter when she thought his angelic thoughts and behaviors became more than what she approved of.

Lets take it back to Adam and Lute for a moment. Again, Adam is a loud mouthed idiot, he's a jerk. The moment he realizes there are demons in heaven, he's ready to go on the attack. It's only because of Lute that he didn't end up doing something absolutely idiotic.

I gotta say, Lute and Adam's relationship is an absolutely fascinating one. He's a disrespectful dick head in how he talks, but how he acts is a different story. He allows Lute to man-handle him. He does listen to her, even if he's a whiny bitch about it.

Look at him, this is the face of a man listening, a dumb one, but a dude listening all the same. He doesn't manhandle her back, he doesn't even pull away until she lets go of his collar. Of all the shit he complained about, between being grabbed and being told what to do, his biggest complaint is that she's telling him to shush.

We know that Adam is the one who suggested the exterminations to begin with, so Sera says, and this was because of the power that Lilith was amassing. To him, Lilith is a threat. Even when he was willing to move on, to go to another wife when Lilith didn't want him or want to submit to him (fair babe, he's a bit of an idiot), she came back with an angel and proceeded to manipulate his new wife Eve. This is the supposed progenitor of man-kind, the original dick (hilariously enough), the reason civilization even exists at all. He and Eve had to fight for their lives after being tempted with the fruit. They had immortality, they had no ideas of shame, they were supposedly 'innocent' creatures before Lilith and Lucifer came along. He and Eve had to fight tooth and nail to survive after being cast from Eden. I think it shows in how willing and ready he is to take lead and do what he believes needs to be done, now out of a need for entertainment rather than a need to defend or protect. But, he still stopped to listen to Lute's advice. In the mythological story of Adam and Eve, Adam is the one who has to tell Eve that god said don't eat the fruit. Eve never heard god speak to her, so she was vulnerable to the snake's manipulations. She will now die because she ate it, and because she did not want Adam to take another wife, convinced him to eat it unknowingly. Funnily enough, Adam tried to explain to god that 'she lied to me and gave me the fruit' and in this actual mythology, Adam was punished for listening to his wife. Even without mentioning Lilith in the original mythology, Eve didn't want Adam to take another wife, so when we consider it within the context of Hazbin Hotel, it may be likely that's how it went down. Eve knew of Lilith, knew that she could be replaced, and decided that she would take Adam with her.

I believe that Adam does and did rely on the women in his life to help him with direction. I think Adam knows he can be an idiot and is willing to listen, even if he doesn't agree with what he's hearing. He did listen to Charlie in the beginning, he just didn't believe in her, like everyone else and he, out of anyone there, probably had the most reason not to. Cain and Abel were his and Eve's sons, his own child became the first murderer. Out of jealousy, the same kind of jealousy that no doubt has caused Lilith to act how she did. Adam isn't going to have empathy for sinners. His family, his legacy, were filled with the original sinners. He probably had to kill his son Cain in hell during the first exterminations. What do you think he would have had to feel, if it came to be a fact that sinners could be redeemed? That maybe his son, could've been redeemed? Or any of his progeny for that matter? How did it feel when his sons, his progeny, weren't given the same mercy as the Hellborn that Lucifer managed to keep protected through some deal with the angels or god? Not to mention that Charlie could've been his daughter. Charlie is the product of the people who completely and totally destroyed the paradise he'd been born into. She's the daughter who is protected and immune from the slaughter while all of his sons and daughters are judged and killed. I believe, even though he was a dickish prankster to Charlie, he was surprisingly patient and even somewhat amicable, willing to even ask her how her weekend was like he was just trying to get to know her.

Adam could just see all of the angels under his employ as being disposable. He doesn't have to name them, or think about them in any individual fashion. But, he knows Vaggie, recognized her instantly. Thought she was badass. Lute's the one who saw her, tore her wings off, and walked away. I'm surprised they even let her live, because this just goes against everything they're doing. They're an army and they saw one of their own showing empathy to the enemy.

Look at this dumb ass. He's being a shit-head, a dick, a bastard. But, he admires Vaggie's ability to pull Charlie, congratulates her, this dude isn't even judging her for being a lesbian. I don't think it's because he objectifies women, this dude loves women, he just does. He respects fellow vagina lovers. I don't think he respects liars in the slightest though. He's being underhanded, he's trying to be manipulative (he's not very good at it). I think he's brutally open and honest about everything and that's probably one of the reasons he's such a bastard anyways, because sometimes you just need to shut-up and he's not good at that.

I don't think he respects Sera for that either, he's more than willing to let others know what the hell he's doing, but under Sera's lead, he can't be open about it. I don't think it's his jam to act this way, it's why he sucks so bad at it and I think that's why Lilith is so antithetical to him. I also think that's why he's possibly even being manipulated.

It's kind of crazy that Adam is the only one who tries to come up with what allows someone to get into heaven. So here's his list: 1. Act Selfless: Maybe at one point he was! He had to have been, to be one of the progenitors of mankind, he would have had to work, sacrifice, and give to his wife and children for them all to survive. Eve would have had to do the same, no doubt. He may not seem selfless, due to his raunchy behavior, but he's served heaven since he's been there. He's served humanity in some kind of facet. 2. Don't Steal: Considering the only other humans are his spawn, he likely had to try and get them to not steal from one another for them all to have an equal opportunity of survival. He and Eve likely both knew they would need to work together to survive.

3. Stick it to the man: This, however, is interesting. Who is 'The Man' he speaks of? God? The only other people over him or were equal to him were women. He speaks like a rocker, and I think in this case he's using the term 'The Man' in a gender neutral way. I think he allowed some amount of Authority to Lilith when they were supposed to be seen as equals, it comes so naturally to him as a character when it comes to the other women he's been interacting with. I think she is the 'man' that he's been sticking it to- Pun somewhat intended. ((This third one may also simply be a tongue in cheek reference to when Alex Brightman played Dewey in School of Rock on Broadway! Thank you to the user who brought this to my attention!))

Adam is a bit of a hypocrite, isn't he? He likes to fuck, he's made that abundantly clear. Full of lust you could say. It was his original purpose after all, and he is judging Angel Dust for something he probably would've done himself at one point or has considered doing (maybe not the having sex with men part). Angel Dust does all of these things, Adam doesn't even deny it. He even looks nervous. He's angry, but doesn't deny that Angel has done those things. He doesn't explain it away or try to lie or move the goal posts, he's just asking what is an actually very valid question.

Why isn't Angel Dust there if he can do things equal to what Adam himself hasn't done? Serenity continues that line of thought. It isn't until Charlie is realizing no one knows what it takes to get into heaven.

Adam is more than willing to let Lute take the lead here, he's willing to give her the stage to clap back, he's giving her back-up antics. By all means, they could be pushing and fighting one another, there could easily be body language expressing something other than their general comfort around one another. They aren't fighting for a spotlight like you'd expect Adam to try and do considering his egotistical attitude.

Adam fucking sucks at keeping his mouth shut and he sucks at lying. He nearly blew the secret out of the bag once, this time, Sera is the only one who tries to stop him and to be honest? Lute looks a bit too thrilled at it. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn't think it's a big deal that anyone would know. For fucks sake, they've already condemned souls, his progeny, to suffer. What's the big deal if he kills them?

I have to re-iterate what's happening here. Charlie is proud she caused this chaos, that she caused these angels to fight amongst themselves, even if in this case it's a good thing. But, this is like history repeating itself to Adam, the reflection of his ex-wife, entering his domain, causing strife among his people, being happy about it.

And the venom he expresses when it comes to the 'liar' portion, god Alex Brightman destroyed when he got to this portion specifically. There is some vehement disgust in his tone when he says liar.

Adam isn't a good person now. But, I think he used to be a good person. By all means, Adam himself could've been the first murderer when his wife made her mistake. He, at one point in time, had to have been good enough to foster civilization itself with Eve. Both good and bad. Adam's original purpose was to be fruitful and multiply. Ordained by god (or maybe just angels) himself, divine power directed and created him to fuck. He didn't chase his ex-wife down, he was given a new one, Lilith was allowed to leave. When he left things alone, when he tried to move on, his ex-wife and a scorned angel destroyed the paradise he was in with Eve. He had to struggle and toil, he had to feel shame in his own body. He had to find out his first born son was the first murderer. His second son killed. We don't know if this is going to be canon in the story, a lot has changed, and if Adam is the first soul who reached heaven, then what did happen to Abel? Was Abel considered a sinner? Or did Cain kill Abel after Adam had passed? Either way, he had to witness his children kill, he had to watch his descendants behave in a range from saints and monsters. He's seen genocides, he's seen famine, war. Adam is desensitized to the plights of his descendants. Maybe he even saw it as a duty to cleanse the universe of their existence at one point, because they were his responsibility.

At the end of this episode, he is properly scolded by Sera and does seem ashamed of himself. He isn't huffy, he is reminded that he should be ashamed of acting that way.

I love Lute's enthusiasm, she's absolutely brutal when talking about Vaggie and with how she handled Vaggie. I think it's funny that Lute is so brutal she's even made Adam uncomfortable. It's cute that he's made uncomfortable by the excitement and all he does is tell Lute, the premier hype woman over here, to chill. She's so proud of herself too, look at her.

He fully expects these exorcist bad bitches to go in there and fuck shit up. But, you know it's hilarious that he's throwing horns? This dude, this angel. First human soul in heaven, loving rock n' roll, the devil's music, and throwing motherfucking horns. It's poetic really. I think we can probably assume where things are going.

Now, this is the first point we've seen Adam being a real piece of shit to Lute. I don't think Adam likes it when people think he's too dumb to notice something, especially something so damn obvious. This is such a drastic moment of vitriolic, uncontrolled anger directed towards Lute. Adam knows he isn't the brightest tool in the shed. He likely knows he's obtuse and misses shit. It's why he sucks at lying, he knows he's not smart. That is why I think he's afforded women opportunities to direct him without fighting back against their advice and their choices. I'm sure Lilith made it obvious how dumb she thinks Adam is. I'm wondering if this might be where their ground breaking fight might've come from. Who's to say he didn't allow Lilith to take the lead, or listen to her like he's done with Lute here and now? Perhaps to an even greater point? He listened to Eve and ate from the fruit of knowledge and he was punished for it. Being seen as so dumb he can't formulate a simple fact is a sore spot for him.

Adam is incredibly powerful. It took a bit out of him to exercise that power, probably because he's out of practice just like Lucifer said. At one point, he probably wasn't so sloppy and weak willed. He's gotten lazy. Sloth like.

I think it got real personal here. How viscerally and personally he attacked Charlie. No one but Charlie truly thought sinners could be redeemed, or that they were even worth it. Not even one of the original sinners. Maybe he never considered the possibility, maybe what happened really did make him see the world as black and white to cope with that happened to him, his wife, his children. Charlie's desire to fight this idea would destroy the foundation for all of his coping through the years. He stopped seeing them as family, even though he's grandiose about his founding role in humanity. Does that itch the guilt that may lurk under the surface?

I don't think Adam thought much of Charlie at all. I don't think he had any intention of coming to kill her in the beginning, despite seeing her, despite who her parents were. But, I think with the constant push, with how eager she was to disrupt the pre-conceived idea of order, it reminded Adam and reflected her parents so much, he was eager to kill her for revenge against them. I think this electrical interference on the mask is a direct reflection of sin. Namely, wrath, in this moment.

Now, this. THIS. Is something that made me want to write this whole fucking essay. Is Lucifer implying that he not only gave Eve the Fruit from the tree of knowledge, but FUCKED HER TOO? Homies, I'm sorry but holy shit. That is some hydrating tea. I'd be pretty pissed too, fucked over twice by women who were supposed to be literal soul mates, who you were made for, who were made for you?

I knew he would have a goatee, I could almost hear it. I gotta say, I'm a sucker for how he looks. I think he's hot. He is a bastard, but so are a lot of the hot dudes in this show. It's just a theme.

This exact series of lines prompted so many of the thoughts that I had about Adam and why he thinks or acts the way he does. At one point, Adam did have to work himself to the bone and learn to survive from scratch alongside Eve. He isn't entirely without cause to not think that he deserves some respect or recognition from his descendants.

But, that doesn't give him the right to act like god himself. It's... well... Blasphemous. Isn't it? One of the worst sins is to think yourself to be worthy of worship, as if you're a god.

This is the moment that gave me empathy for them both. You could probably see the kind of loving person Adam could have been at one point with how he looks at Lute, even as he's laying there, dying. He's not crying like a bitch, just looking at Lute softly. Lute screaming for him, screaming his name. They cared for each other deeply.

And this... and this.... and this. WHAT DEAL DID YOU MAKE, LILITH? Did you make it with Sera? Did you make it with Adam? Did you make it with Lute? Did you really just want a little 'vacay' away from the hell you helped create? Left her husband, depressed and lonely. Left her daughter without any care or guidance. Maybe Alastor was sent in her place, perhaps? Seven years since he was seen after all, but why wouldn't he show up sooner if Lilith did care? Did she make a deal with Lute and Adam? Did she let Adam smash it so she could stay in heaven? Did Lute let her stay in exchange for getting Adam out of a position of power? Or was it maybe Sera who commissioned Lilith with a deal? Either way, I'm in full belief that it wasn't Adam's idea to move the extermination day up. I think he's a patsy, a scapegoat. I think Lute may have been manipulated, potentially, into manipulating Adam into this position. Was it even really Adam who came up with the idea to do the exterminations? Or was he the one who simply decided to fight originally because he was told heaven was at risk due to Lilith's rising power? The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions. I think it could be any number of these. Either way, Lute certainly does think she had authority over Lilith. Is it Lute just having hubris? Or is Lilith truly bound, just like Alastor, Husk, and Angel Dust?

Of course, now that we know a soul can be redeemed... and we certainly know that angels can fall. I don't think this will be the last we see of Adam.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #adam hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #eve hazbin hotel #lilith hazbin hotel #lilith morningstar #character study

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 4 months ago

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(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader 7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens twisters #x reader

2K notes · View notes

rafesangelita · 1 month ago

Note

rafe + voyeurism

warnings: pervy!handyman!rafe, flirting, pet names, rafe watches you in the shower, masturbation, oral (m. & f. receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, shower sex, slight fluff, rafe answers the door when your date knocks >:)

a/n: inspired by the small piece i wrote here <3

wc: 2.4k

“what’s the problem now, pretty?” rafe answered the phone, popping open a can of beer as your sweet little voice sounded on the other line. “rafe, my shower is out!” you whined, adjusting the pink fluffy robe around your body. “well, what’s wrong with it, babe?” your cheeks heated at the name. rafe knew exactly what was wrong with it, he’s the one who messed it up last time he was there so he had a reason to come back. “i twisted the knob for it to turn on, but i think the handle is loose..” you explained. rafe hummed, getting up from his recliner. “i’ll be there in five.”

rafe lived in the same apartments as you, just in a different complex not too far from your own. it wasn’t long before you heard his heavy footsteps outside of your door, opening it before he could knock. “are you wearing anything underneath that?” he motioned towards your pre-shower ensemble. you whispered a ‘no..’ dragging him in by his large arm. “i have to be ready in one hour!” you were frantic as rafe followed behind you, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “it’s nearly seven o’clock, where are you off to?” you moved aside to let rafe through, taking a seat on the edge of the sink counter.

“my friends set me up on a blind date, ‘said they were tired of me being single.. so.” rafe couldn’t help the way his jaw ticked. “a blind date, huh? is he picking you up here?” rafe set his toolbox down as he got on his knees. “yeah, he insisted on doing so, too. which i thought was a little weird but.. it’s okay i guess.” you shrugged, crossing one leg over the other. rafe looked back, the opening of your robe exposing your bare legs and thighs. thankfully, you were too distracted by something else to see rafe’s tongue glide over his bottom lip. “so.. uh, tell me about this guy..”

rafe let you ramble on, feigning interest as he learned your date was just an arrogant asshole. fortunately, you had a habit of veering off track when it came to having conversations, which lead to you now telling him about a recipe you saw on a late night cooking show. “i’ll make it and you can come over and taste test it, how does that sound?” rafe nodded. he would much rather taste test something else. “i think that sounds great.” he sat up, tossing the last tool in his toolbox with a clank! “alright, moment of truth,” rafe twisted the shower knob, and sure enough the water came out perfectly.

you hopped off the counter, not realizing your robe had come undone a little bit. the valley of your breasts were peeking through, the sight making rafe let out a breath. “thank you!” you grabbed his hand and helped him off the floor. “it’s no problem.” the man in front of you shamelessly stared at your chest, your eyes following his. you gasped at the amount of cleavage that was out, spinning around to cover yourself up. “i’m so sorry, i don’t know how that happened!” you covered your face in embarrassment as rafe laughed to himself. “i’m not complaining.”

rafe walked around you, making you topple forward a bit when he landed a playful smack on your backside. if it was anyone else, you would’ve kicked them out of your apartment with a threat to make a police report.. but it was rafe, so you offered him your fridge instead. “you could take whatever you want! i’ll be out in a sec!” rafe took you up on your offer, grabbing a beer that you specifically bought for him whenever he made a surprise visit. popping it open, he took a swig, reaching for his phone in his pocket only for it not to be there. “shit.” he put the beer down, checking the rest of pockets.

realizing it must be in the bathroom, rafe cursed under his breath when he heard the shower running. “y/n?” you couldn’t hear him over the water, your eyes screwed shut as you washed your hair. opening the door slightly, rafe peeked in and saw his phone on the floor. he swallowed thickly, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses. don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up, rafe chanted in his head, failing miserably when he ultimately zeroed in on your naked form. he knew you were perfect already, but seeing you like this was next level.

he watched as the suds from your hair dripped down to your tits, the clear glass growing foggy with shower steam. he wondered how you’d feel in his hands, wishing so bad he could take a tit in his mouth. rafe’s chest rose and fell, his cock stirring in his pants as you turned around and bent down for your body wash. luckily for you, the steam obstructed the view rafe ached so bad to see. without a care in the world, rafe palmed himself through his work jeans, his head tipping back at the much needed friction. “fuck, yeah..” he whispered to himself, thumb gliding over his sensitive tip.

you lathered yourself up, turning around so your back was facing rafe. with hungry eyes, he watched you scrub down your legs, catching a glimpse of your sudsy folds. pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe refrained from letting out a groan as his hand jerked himself with vigor. he wondered if you knew just how bad he wanted you. if it was up to him, you’d be more than just the pretty tenant he likes to bother, and him more than the handyman, but he could dream. rinsing yourself off under the stream of water, you stood there, relishing in the hot water pattering against your skin.

rafe could make you so so happy if you’d just let him. he’d treat you with so much love and care everyday, and fuck you until you were in hysterics. he imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with you, how waking up next to you would look like. he was so tired of envisioning these things, he shut the door behind him, startling you. “rafe?” you peered up at the man standing in the middle of your bathroom, his hand in his pants as he looked at you with dark eyes. “w-what are you doing?” he didn’t say anything as he started undressing, his shirt falling to the floor.

“tell me to leave.” his jeans were next to go, the imprint of his length making you swallow thickly. rafe smirked at your lack of response, internally singing as you slid open the glass door for him to join you. you had butterflies fluttering in your tummy when he took off his underwear. rafe was so tall, he had to lean down in order to get in without hitting himself, his broad shoulders barely fitting through. once he was in, your cheeks heated as reality hit you. here you were, standing naked with the man who’s been a pervy flirt for nearly six months now.

“you okay?” rafe’s hands found your hips, pulling you close until his cock sat heavily between you two. you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. he groaned when he felt your nipples against his chest. bringing his head down, you let out a yelp when his hands snaked down to your ass and squeezed. you reached up on your tippy toes and kissed him, his mouth moving perfectly with yours. rafe wasted no time, backing you up into the shower wall where he grinded his hard-on between your thighs. taking the base of him in your hand, you gasped at how hard he felt in your palm.

“can i?” you were already getting on your knees before him, rafe groaning at how eager you felt to please him. rafe grabbed a handful of your hair, staring at you intently as you stroked him before meeting his eyes. you looked gorgeous like this. eyes sparkling up at his face, rafe admired your features under the soft light of the bathroom. you kissed his tip, licking a stripe up from the underside of his cock before he pushed himself between your lips. your pink nails dug into his skin, your eyebrows knitting together as he forced his length down your throat.

you moaned, the sensation making him shudder. “fuck,” he grunted through gritted teeth, “feels’ so fuckin good.” he balanced an arm on the wall, his eyes screwing shut as you worked your magic on his cock. the way you bobbed your head up and down made him want to shoot his load all over your face, your hands cupping your tits as you squeezed the sensitive swells of your breasts. rafe was mesmerized, his mouth hanging open as he watched you pull off of him with a pop! you smiled up at the man above you, rubbing the head of his cock across your lips.

deciding he couldn’t wait any longer, rafe picked you up like a ragdoll, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed you roughly. you whimpered when your back met the cold tile on the wall. spreading your thighs apart, you looked down when rafe guided himself between your slick folds, your clit aching to be touched. you two exchanged looks, as if he was asking for permission. placing your palms on his shoulders for leverage, you practically melted in his hands when he thrusted into you. whimpering his name, rafe urged you to lock your ankles around his back.

“y’have no idea how much i’ve thought about doing this to you.” he spoke into the curve of your neck, his body glistening from shielding you from the shower head. you recalled laying in bed one particular night, thinking about rafe and those rough hands of his. needless to say you fell into a deep slumber imagining your fingers as his own. your mouth opened and closed a few times like you wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. watching you struggle was easily the hottest thing rafe has ever seen. “talk, baby, i need to hear that voice so i can dream of it later.”

soon after he said that, you were whining and blabbering about how much you thought about him when you were alone. “yeah? ‘touching yourself to the thought of me?” he taunted, hips slamming into yours as the heels of your feet dug into his back. “yes! oh, god— i just wanted to feel you inside of me..” rafe cursed at your words, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. “show me how you did it, ‘pretty. let me feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you let out a shaky breath, the pads of your fingers finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. you gasped, your back arching off of the wall.

rafe watched you rub delicate circles on the little bud, your body jolting every now and then when the feeling became overwhelming. “can’t!” you shook your head when you were close, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his hips. rafe moved your hand out of the way and replaced it with his own, his fingers working mercilessly on your puffy clit. letting out a scream, your forehead fell on his shoulder as his release teetered on the edge of pure euphoria. he was going to fill you up soon, the thought alone making his hips stutter as you cried out in bliss.

rafe held you against his chest, his hot seed filling you up with every moan that left his mouth. you were jelly at this point, your orgasm hitting you in intense waves of ecstasy as rafe twitched inside your soaking cunt. slowly but surely, your highs subsided, both of you panting against each other’s lips. “think you could walk?” you shook your head, your thighs still visibly trembling at his sides. he nodded, reassuring you with a ‘okay, don’t worry baby.’ still holding you against the wall, rafe pulled out of you with a groan. whimpering at the feeling of being empty, you watched as he twisted the shower knob off.

holding you bridal style, rafe stepped out of the shower and placed you gently on the sink counter. he quickly grabbed two towels from the little shelf you had in the bathroom and dried you off, wrapping the soft cotton around your shoulders. you licked your lips, the sight of the water droplets dripping down his abs was making you ready for round two. wrapping the towel around his waist, rafe carried you once more to your bed. “again.” you looked up at him with a pout. rafe laughed, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “yeah? you want more?” you nodded, pulling him on top of you.

slotting himself between your thighs, he kissed you deeply before there was a knock at the door. pausing for a second, you wondered who it could be before your eyes widened. “that’s my date! well— was, my date.. oh, god!” you giggled, covering your face in embarrassment. glancing at the clock on your bedside table, rafe smiled. 8:00 PM. “wow, he’s just in time.” he got up, making you gasp. “don’t be mean to him!” you called out as rafe answered the front door. the poor guy’s smile faded quickly when he saw a shredded, over six feet tall of a man answer the door.

“sorry, i must be at the wrong apartment..” he blinked, about to leave before rafe stopped him. “you’re here for y/n, right? she’s inside.” rafe reached for the flowers in your date’s hand, flashing him a wink. “she’s a little preoccupied right now, though.” shutting the door in his face, rafe hid the flowers behind his back before stalking back inside your room. bless your heart, your towel was gone as you laid naked and pretty, waiting all for him. “i hope you like pink roses, ��cause i just got you a dozen of ‘em.” you sat up, a gasp leaving your lips as rafe kneeled down on the side of your bed.

“aw, how pretty!” you gave them a sniff, pecking rafe’s cheek. “can you put them in water for me?” you batted your eyelashes at him, the action sending rafe into a frenzy. you were so cute. doing as you asked, rafe came back and got on his knees once more. “i was thinking.. you were so gracious enough to take me in your mouth, it’s only right if i return the favor, yeah?” he hooked your thighs to the tops of his shoulders, excitement pooling in your belly. “yes—” you were cut off when you felt rafe’s tongue delve between your folds. “you’re so fuckin’ sweet, i can eat you all night.” and he did.

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mattsfavoritestar · 3 months ago

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I'M YOURS, chris sturniolo

midnight snack mini series.

synopsis… you started to grow tired of chris playing with your feelings so you decided to hang around matt instead. let’s just say he did not like that.

warnings… brothers bsf!chris, mean!chris (he’s such an asshole), toxic!chris, jealous!chris, possessive!chris (bros a walking red flag atp😭😭), sex tape, couch sex, creampie, no protection (WRAP IT B4 YOU TAP IT), big dick chris, rough sex, overstimulation, chris lowkey has a dacryphilla kink, and a breeding kink, kinda public sex (also kinda got caught)

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

the door opens to a sleepy matt rubbing his eyes. you couldn’t even look at him, but you still mumbled a small ‘hi’. you knew matt felt bad for you. he shook his head as he walked back to his room leaving you to close the door on your way in.

did you really sneak out your house to see the one person who despises you? the second you saw his contact flashing on your phone you immediately left. your heart was racing as you made your way to his room. of course the door was left open for you. of course he was laying in his bed scrolling on his phone with zero care in the world.

he looks up at you with those piercing blue eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "you're late," he says, voice dripping with arrogance. you roll your eyes as you took off your shoes,"i had to make sure he didn't notice," you muttered.

chris motions you to come closer. by time you reached within arm's length, he pulls you close, his hands rough against your skin. "he doesn't own you," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. it felt like it had a double meaning, but you shrugged it off.

you were pulled onto his lap. chris immediately attached his lips onto yours. your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly. he groans as he melts further into your touch. to him you were intoxicating. a drug. he wanted to pull you closer, but he didn’t.

then his phone rang. at first, he ignored it and continued molding his lips with yours but then messages started spamming his phone. you pulled back and sighed, “just answer it” you say. you got off his lap to sit on his bed. chris stands up then answers the notifications. his fingers moved quickly, and his face grew more agitated.

“go home” he stated. you look up at him with a confused look painted on your face. you exhaled, didn’t even want an explanation so you just left. as you made your way up the stairs you saw matt leaving his room as well.

“want a ride?” he asks. you nodded then followed him out the door. it wasn’t the first time matt took you home after chris kicked you out. matt was also well aware on how your clueless your brother is with you two sneaking around. the ride was silent. but silence with matt was never awkward. it was peaceful.

“no the insane part was the graveyard scene” you laughed. you and matt were sitting in the living room of his house. you’ve been hanging out with him for the past week to clear your head to avoid chris at all cost.

“you should’ve seen your face” you were practically crying how hard you were laughing. matt just smiled at you, he jokingly shoved you making you fall on your side laughing even more. the sound of the door opening stopped the two of you causing you to look up. nick walked in followed by chris.

“i heard you cackling from outside by the way” nick comments as he makes his way upstairs. chris didn’t even glance your way when he walked past. the room felt tense. suffocating. “ m’gonna go get ready for bed” matt mutters as he gets up to leave.

now it was just you and chris. it was so silent you could hear him breathing heavily from the kitchen. instead of saying a smart remark or pouncing on you, he left. he went to his room leaving you alone. you had so many thoughts running through your head. you didn’t even notice the drowsiness taking over your body till you curled up and closed your eyes.

you woke up to the sound of the tv playing and the smell of an all too familiar cologne. he was sitting right next to you. it was almost taunting.

“had fun with matt?” he asked. you wanted to pretend you were sleeping. but of course, chris just had to look down right at you. “still not talking to me?” he smiled mockingly. you sat up then pulled you knees to your chest, resting your chin on them. you heard chris shuffle a bit then felt him staring at you.

you didn’t know if it was your nerves or desperation that led to your body heating up. you felt him caress your cheek for a second before he grabbed your jaw and made you look at him. “my dick wasn’t enough for you? had to go see if matt would fill you like i do?” he asks in a taunting matter.

you felt the familiar burn of water pricking in your eyes. chris squeezes your face into a forced pout then pulls you closer. “s’the matter baby? you wanted my attention so bad before” his focus was on your lips, chris didn’t even seem to care about the tears dripping onto his hand.

you pulled back with full force causing you to fall backwards slightly. “m’not doing this anymore” you say trying to wipe your face. chris kisses his teeth then smirks. it wasn’t a playful or sexual one. he was pissed.

“yeah?”

he crawls on top of you, “you really think he can fuck you the way i do?” he snarled. his eyes looked darker than before. one of his hands gripped the top of the couch while the other pinned right next to your waist.

he was leaning down, practically hovering over your lips. that same hand that was by your side now shifted to your thigh. “tell me to stop and i’ll go” he whispered. you shook your head as you took his hand and guided him beyond your waistband and further down. chris closed the gap, interlocking your lips as you gasped at the feeling of his fingers sliding down your folds.

he was going at a slow pace, savoring the feeling. then he stopped and pulled his hands out. “why’d you stop?” you whined. chris smiled at you, “why don’t you go ask matt to play with your cunt?” he taunts. just as the previous tears finished drying, warm fat ones rolled down your cheeks. your emotions were heightened, a mixture of sexual frustration and anger.

you tried pushing him off you, but he barely budged. “why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” you cried. you tried to wipe your tears again but this time chris pins your hands down, stopping you. “s’not fair you get to talk to other girls but i can’t even be friends with matt” you sobbed.

chris says nothing. instead, he peppers your face with kisses, making sure to kiss ever tear that fall. you tried squirming away, but he had you pinned down with his legs on both your sides. “wanna be my only girl?” he stopped to question. you hesitated before slowly nodding.

chris then fully sits up and pulls out his phone. he turns on the camera then props it on a pepsi can which stood on the coffee table. you watched as he positioned your legs to the side then take off both your pants and underwear. you closed your legs quickly as you looked back at the camera then to chris who was still smiling like a psychopath.

“trust me?” he asks. you replied in agreement before he flipped you over leaving your whole ass on display. a slap to your ass before his fingers dipped into your throbbing cunt. you moaned into the couch while your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“c’mon baby show them how much better your pussy is than their’s” chris groans as he curls his fingers. he was stretching you, preparing you for his cock. his fingers slipped out of you and was replaced by a slap on your cunt. chris pulled himself out of his pants. he teases your clit with his tip then leaned to hover over you.

“don’t think i forgot about you ignoring me all week” he whispered into your ears before roughly buried himself deep into your cunt. you let out a choked moan. you had no time to adjust before chris started rutting his hips making sure you feel every inch, every vein.

“chris- “, you could barely get words out your mouth, “matt- room”. chris pulls you up by the neck, holding your stomach in place with his arm. “let him hear how good i’m making you feel” he kisses your neck, “maybe i should send him this video too. show him how much of a whore you are for me” he taunted.

you could feel him kissing your cervix with every thrust. the pain was overthrown by delicious overwhelming pleasure that made your head fuzzy and blank. it was like he was fucking you as hard as he could. you couldn’t even hear him mocking your hiccups or telling the camera how he owns your pussy.

“all yours baby m’all yours. only you” he groans into your ears. you reach to grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. it was wet and sloppy; you were drooling and couldn’t focus on his lips. you couldn’t even tell him that you were close, but the constant clenching told him already.

you whined as you felt yourself grow more sensitive. “go ahead baby, cum on your dick” he says onto your lips. you tugged at the hair the curled on his neck as your vision went white and your legs started shaking. chris didn’t stop his pace. instead, he went faster.

he let you drop back onto the couch and grabbed your hips. this time he put one of his legs up causing him to hit a whole new angle. the overstimulation was a mixture of torture and utter bliss. he looked to the camera then let out a breathy laugh. “look how fucked out you are” he coo’d, “your dick feels this good, yeah? fucking speechless”.

chris’s rhythm finally starts to falter but his grip on your waist grew tighter. “m’gonna stuff my pussy so full, not gonna waste a drop” he groans. a final harsh thrust followed by pumps of a thick warm substance filled you to the brim.

he pulls out with a soft whine. chris then goes to stop the video before pausing. he noticed you haven’t said anything nor made a sound. he turned around to see your face smushed into the couch, drooling pooling by your mouth. your eyes looked heavy as if you were falling asleep you were were falling asleep.

chris pulled up his pants, turning off the tv, then picked you up not even bothering to pick up your clothes. as he walks towards the stairs, he smiles to himself noticing matt’s door wide open.

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sumechiayuu · 2 years ago

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Censoring so doesn't appear in tags (I'm not pure evil) but the only reason I don't like t*g*f*ka is because one I keep getting second hand embarrassment everytime they interact (Toko seeing him in the library for example) and every fan version I see of it just erase every flaw the two have like 😭😭😭😭

#Sumechiaspeaks #I'm not mean I swear but like 😭😭#They would NOT be a fluffy couple be so fr rn #They’d be toxic lol #Arrogant rich asshole vs self-hating asshole #That's a combo waiting for disaster yet I only ever saw fluffy stuff #WHERE’S THE BLOOD SPEWING EVERYWHERE!!!!!! I'm insane #But really I just don't like it because it’s so embarassing #It's not good chemistry for me btw this is just my opinion I won't kill you if you differ lol #I could not live with myself if I ever got into shipping discourse in this fandom

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slytherinslut0 · 1 year ago

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enemies w/ tension. | slytherin boy headcanons

author's note: feralism inside. readers be advised. eighteen plus.

- your enemies reaction to you bending over in front of them.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, as your enemy, was an absolute arsehat.

He’d purposely go out of his way to make your life a living hell whenever he bloody could.

The teasing and pranking was relentless; from accidentally spilling a particular shimmering potion on your white uniform blouse, rendering it perfectly see-through and exposing your bra to everyone in potions class, to pulling out your seat when you weren’t looking; he’d done it all.

He was an absolute menace, but you also knew there was something more to it than that, something possessive, something obsessive.

And you thought this for a multitude of reasons, but the main one being that he admitted he was into you while drunk at a common room party. which of course he denied the next day, and every other day since, choosing instead to be as annoying as ever.

but on this particular late evening, assigned as partners for a class project, you found yourselves alone together; the tension high and the banter relentless.

“Draco, please stop acting like a bloody child for five seconds.”

He’d roll his eyes, fighting a smirk. “Pleading for mercy are you? How adorable.”

You’d huff, staring at him with your arms crossed out of frustration as he held your quill above his head, just out of your reach.

“No, I’m pleading for you to stop being so goddamn insufferable. Give me my quill.” You’d hiss, entirely irritated.

Of course he’d just laugh, wetting his lips as he analyzed your frustration, revelling in the fact he’s so clearly gotten you going.

“Here.” He’d sneer, all before tossing it half-way across the room. “Go fetch.”

by this point, your blood was boiling, but you wouldn’t miss the glint in his eyes, the one that told you he was enjoying this a little more than he should be.

With a frustrated sigh, you pivoted sharply, seizing the perfect opportunity. As you closed in on your quill, a deliberate hair flip cascaded over your shoulder. Slow and sensuous, you bent at the hips, hands trailing down your sides, tracing the subtle sway of your body reaching for the quill. Picking it up achingly slow, on the ascent, you locked eyes with Draco over your shoulder, a sly smirk playing on your lips.

Draco’s typically poised demeanor faltered as he watched, an involuntary pause freezing his features. His steely gaze, usually cloaked in arrogance, softened into a momentary bewilderment.

The realization hit him like a revelation, and before you could even process it, he was up and out of his seat, one hand gripping the back of your head as he loomed over you.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice was torn, shredded. “Quite the fucking tease, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You blinked, grinning. “I simply picked up my quill.”

His grip on the back of your head tightened, his pupils blown wide with lust. All his restraint was gone.

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing “ he leaned in closer, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. “Do that again and I’ll fuck you right here, right over this desk.”

Blaise Zabini.

Blaise fucking Zabini. Your enemy? You guessed you could call him that.

Mainly because all the guy ever did was sabotage your bloody love life. Every single damn chance he got.

And not even in a traditional asshole type of way, like by scaring dudes off or threatening their livelihoods--oh, no.

he scared them off by just being himself.

You’d known Blaise since first year, being that the two of you are from the same house and share the same friend group,

but, all the two of you have ever done, since day bloody one, was banter and bicker like a pair of fucking first years.

But as you matured, that friendly banter slowly transitioned into something more, something that neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Something that you knew was about to boil over, at any given moment. and perhaps, that moment was today.

you sighed in frustration, watching as the guy you’d been talking to all night began to make his way through the crowd, finally taking the hint and excusing himself after Blaise had just ever-so-kindly invited himself into your conversation.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You took a sip of your drink, glancing at a smirking Zabini through narrowed lids. “Do you not want me to find love? Do you truly hate me that much?”

“I did you a favour, trust me,” he’d quip, flashing those perfect pearly teeth at you. “Dude would have bored you death.”

“The great Zabini, doing me a favour?” Your eyes widened, and you’d stifle an amused scoff. “Sure you’re feeling okay?”

As Blaise was poised to respond, you fumbled with your wand, inadvertently dropping it onto the wooden floor of the common room. Acting on instinct, you bent down to retrieve it, sensing Blaise's eyes lingering on your backside for an unnecessarily long moment as you slowly straightened up.

And when you finally looked over, you watched as he brought a hand up to his mouth, attempting to hide his grin as he shot you a knowing, wide-eyed glance, his body tensed as though he was fighting to restrain himself.

but after only a few seconds, he’d step closer, his hand grazing your arm as he leaned in.

“Excuse me miss, but I think you’ve made me drop something,” he’d pause, watching your eyes as you met his.

“I’m sorry?” You snorted. “what are you-“

he’d pull you closer, bringing his mouth toward your ear. “you made me drop my fucking jaw…”

you’d blink, caught off guard. “Blaise-“

“That ass is fucking perfect,” he murmured, wetting his lips. “cant hide it anymore, princess…i want you bad.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

“Enzo-earth to bloody Enzo,” you emitted an audible groan, sinking back down into the chair beside him.. “can you please at least fucking attempt to help me?”

Enzo was uninterested in your pleas, truthfully, he was uninterested in anything you had to say. Paying no heed, he sat slouched, head nestled in his arms on the desk, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

you sighed. this was going to be a long damn class.

“Enzo, please? you can sleep after class-“

He grumbled softly under his breath, neglecting to raise his head from the desk. However, he pivoted it towards you, his bleary brown eyes meeting yours.

“can you knock it off?” his voice was a shredded rasp. it was clear he was exhausted. “don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?”

You scoffed, irritation evident on your face. This was the typical Enzo conversational experience--a constant exchange of snark and jabs. It baffled you how a man so fucking attractive could also be so damn daft at times.

“i don’t, actually,” you huffed, trying to keep your composure. “but i certainly get tired of your ignorant attitude.”

that managed to get at least a chuckle out of him, even if it was a half-assed one.

“spicy today, i see.” his lids fluttered back closed as he muttered, “bite me, darling.”

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice taking on an arrogant tone. “masochist.”

Enzo emitted a snort, a hearty chuckle escaping from his chest in response to your suggestive jab. Progress was evident, and you sensed the need to elevate things to the next level if you intended to secure his assistance.

Making sure his eyes remained closed, you slyly nudged your quill, sending it tumbling off the table and onto the floor. A mischievous smirk played on your lips as it hit the ground, and Enzo's eyes snapped open, fixing on you.

Maintaining the intense eye contact, you slowly leaned over in the chair, letting the seductive sway of your movements accompany your reach for the fallen quill.

you could feel Enzo's gaze following your every movement as you retrieved the quill with a lingering touch--all while a subtle, suggestive smile danced on your lips.

the second you straightened out, Enzo sat up straight, clearing his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he fought to collect himself.

“what’s the matter, Enz?” you quipped, unable to control yourself. “thought you were tired?”

“don’t play with me, angel.” he muttered, leaning closer. “please, Merlin, don’t fucking play with me.”

you’d snicker. “help me with this assignment and i’ll let you touch it.”

“deal.”

Mattheo Riddle.

you and Mattheo were enemies for one reason, and one reason only--his suffocating arrogance.

perhaps you were the only girl in the school who called him out on his bullshit, perhaps you were the only girl in the school who didn’t fall flat at his feet anytime he simply breathed.

and Mattheo, well, he wasn’t used to this type of treatment. and he certainly wasn’t keen on the fact he couldn’t get you in his bed with a mere second long glance.

of course, you were fully conscious of the fact he was hot as fuck, but your self-respect and dignity outweighed your sexual desires, which in turn, created fiery spats every-time the two of you were near each other.

And so, here you were, paired with him for a research assignment; the two of you alone in the library on a Sunday night, while he was totally hungover. And as insufferable as ever.

“Mattheo, give my fucking textbook back.”

He’d groan, rolling his eyes as he tucked the book under his arm, hugging it to his chest while seated sluggishly.

“Come and get it back, then.” He’d utter, smirking. “I promise I don’t bite…hard.”

You fought back a scoff. “You won’t be able to bite at all if you don’t cut it the fuck out…it’s almost ten o’clock we need to start this.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, again, his tongue piercing the inside of his cheek as he pulled the book out from under his arm, and stood up, moving over to the bookshelf behind your chair.

With suffocating snark, he knelt down, shoving the book onto one of the shelves lowest to the ground, all before turning back around and smirking at you, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging casually as he cocked an eyebrow.

“You told me to give it back.” The arrogance in his tone was nauseating. “You didn’t specify where.”

“First of all, that’s the wrong shelf,” you’d mutter, watching his eyes follow you as you pushed up from the chair, veering closer. “And second of all, you’re not funny.”

Mattheo poised for a sharp retort, ready to counter with his usual biting wit. However, his words stumbled into silence as he observed you drawing near.

With a swift, almost calculated movement, you bent at the hips to retrieve your book beside him. The fabric of your skirt dared to venture higher up your thighs than convention allowed, leaving Mattheo momentarily entranced and rendering his intended response obsolete.

But the second you straightened out, meeting his eyes, lips teasing a knowing smirk, he was on you.

Your back slammed against the shelf as he grappled your hips, shoving you back. he towered over you, his lips pressed directly against your ear as he growled;

“You shouldn’t be bending over like that in front of me,” his voice was torn, shredded, and he finished the sentence off with a sharp “ever.”

your heart was hammering. “Why not, Matty? Didn’t enjoy the show?”

“You have no idea what that ass of yours does to me,” he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Every fucking day I imagine railing it--I imagine fucking the attitude right out of you…you should know better than to tempt me.”

Theodore Nott.

“Look at that,” Theodore quipped, his snarky grin practically evident in his tone of voice. “top of the class again. how does that L feel, huh?”

you grumbled, rolling your eyes so far into the back of your skull that you were seeing white.

“don’t get cocky, Nott.” you nearly snarled, the frustration seeping from your lips like breath. “it’s not a good look on you,”

theodore merely chuckled, knowing that was a complete fucking lie.

cockiness was an infuriatingly good look on him, and that was solely due to the fact that the objects of his arrogance were damn impressive achievements that could make anyone green with envy.

the man was unfathomably smart for an arrogant jock whose life was dedicated to being the best quidditch player to ever exist.

clucking his tongue, he’d shoot you a knowing glance. “you sound jealous, bella. what’s your grade?”

as he tried to lean over to glimpse your mark, you pulled your paper away from him, scowling. “how about mind your own business, hm?”

he’d chuckle. “never been known for that, have i?”

Before you could formulate a response, Theodore snatched the paper from your hands, leaning away to sneak a glance at your mark. Your groan of irritation resonated, signaling your exasperation with his antics.

Annoyed, you reached over to grab your paper back, your low-cut blouse exposing more of your chest than you’d intended.

As soon as Theodore’s eyes fixed on your chest, noting your breasts practically spilling out of your shirt, he paused; his fingers involuntarily releasing the paper without further fight, his lips parting and eyes darkening.

“merlin,” he’d breathe, his voice torn. “you trying to give a lad a fucking heart attack, wearing a shirt like that?”

your cheeks grew warm, his eyes not once breaking from your chest as you straightened back out in your chair, adjusting yourself.

“it’s rude to stare, Nott.” you’d say, fighting a grin. “didn’t your mommy ever teach you that?”

Theodore let out a low groan, edging his body closer to yours. His lips dangerously neared your ear, and he couldn't resist sneakily glancing down your shirt, unable to control his wandering gaze.

“it’s rude to tease, Bella,” he’d purr, his voice a dark murmur. “and truth be told, i can’t quite help myself…”

you huffed, unable to stifle your smirk. “sounds like you need a refresher in manners.”

“Oh, principessa,” he’d retort, his voice laced with need. “you can refresh me in anything you want as long as i can see more of those perfect tits of yours.”

Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was an absolute brilliant genius;

a good man. a private, by-the book type of student.

and if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was precisely why the two of you didn’t quite get along.

it seemed as though Tom had it out for you, as though he had some sort of personal vendetta to make your life a living hell.

At every opportunity, he wielded his prefect powers to land you in trouble for something. Perhaps, in all fairness, you should have known better than to sneak into the restricted section of the library or prowl around the castle late at night,

but, gods. couldn’t he just cut you some bloody slack for once?

Admittedly, you were afraid to cross Tom. You weren't eager to be on his bad side, but at the same time, you weren't prepared to entirely abandon breaking the rules and having fun just because you were aware he could catch you.

so instead, you learned his schedule, where he’d be and at what times, knowing how to effectively avoid him.

the man was a cunning genius, you knew he could effectively destroy you if he so pleased.

but, on this particular night, he was set to be patrolling the dungeons for at least another two hours, giving you plenty of time to sneak into the library and do a little research.

and everything was going extremely well, hidden in the restricted section, blanketed by the nights encompassing darkness, when you noticed your shoelace was untied.

Bending down to address the matter, a peculiar sensation tingled through your senses as you completed the task. A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an approaching presence, and just as you straightened up, the hushed cadence of footsteps drew closer.

Before you could pivot to face the intruder, their looming silhouette materialized behind you.

A towering figure, their breath, warm and palpable, brushed over your ear as they leaned in, setting your nerves on edge.

“you shouldn’t be bending over like that in public,” the voice was a deep, dark rasp in your ear, the arrogance in the tone unmistakable. “some people might think you’re a little slut.”

heat rushed you, your thighs clenched. “and what if i want some people to think that?”

immediately understanding your suggestive remark, Tom wasted no time before grappling your hips and spinning you around to face him, one hand slithering around your lower back and grasping a palmful of your ass.

“filthy whore,” he’d growl, his voice shredded now, barely restrained. “breaking the rules and showing off that perfect ass for anyone to see…calls for punishment i’d say.”

his teeth found your neck and you whimpered, clutching onto him. “i’m-“

Tom pulled back, meeting your eyes. “bend over the desk, now.”

#sorry #i got extremely carried away #18+ au.

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musclesandhammering · 10 months ago

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The only person in this entire movie who didn’t get done dirty was Heimdall and to this day that still amazes me

This is about the moment I regretted paying to see this movie:

This the moment I wanted to strangle the director for putting Jane’s ENTIRE EXSISTANCE smothered into one line: (Also, what have they DoNE to Loki’s hair? We JOKE about him being a Greasy Boi because we all KNOW it’s not true)

This the moment I realized the movie was not going to take Loki seriously:

And this is about the same moment I realized that for Thor:

Or treat Hela as anything other than Ms. Exposition and E v i l:

Literally the only one who took this film seriously was Heimdall.

Because I very much did not.

#don’t get me wrong I’m ecstatic that we finally got some well deserved Heimdall content #but also #they reverted Thor’s characterisation all the way back to what it was in the beginning of Thor 1 (arrogant douche)#they turned loki into a complete joke and took every opportunity to try to get the audience to hate him as much as the director did #they turned Valkyrie into the living embodiment of #‘give the only woman here the exact asshole dudebro personality as the male characters we all hate and call her a stronger female character’#bullshit #they reduced Jane down to 2 off hand sentences & didn’t even mention Eric or Darcy #they turned Bruce banner into a complete joke & made him ooc as fuck #they refused to show any of hela’s depth outside of Big Scary Villain #and they painted Odin as a flawed but ultimately Good & Wise ruler and father #in a movie that specifically claims to call out colonialism. SPECIFICALLY Odin’s colonialism #I am just. flabbergasted.#anti thor ragnarok #idgaf what yall say loki in season 1 of his series was not worse than this #thor ragnarok #anti taika waititi

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no-144444 · 2 months ago

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making moves- l.norris

a/n: HI AND WELCOME TO MY FIRST FIC-TOBER FIC I HOPE YOU ENJOY :)))))

Day 1 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Lando and you don't exactly get along and now you're quitting, he'll surely take it well, right?

pairing: lando norris x fem! mclaren publicist! fem! reader

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You turned the corner of the media pen with Lando’s arm in your hand. If he stepped one foot out of line, if one hair was out of place, one unnecessary giggle or joke, you’d lose your mind. You were getting sick of this, of him, of cleaning up every single one of his messes.

“I said I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you sighed. You hadn’t studied mechanical engineering and sports journalism for years in college to become a goddamn babysitter. “Just do your interviews and don’t say anything about your relationship status, please Lando.”

He rolled his eyes but obliged, moving past you to start an interview with some sports journal.

You watched the room around you. You would miss this, the buzz of the media pen, the entire paddock, being so close in the action of your favourite sport. You wished it hadn’t come to this. You didn’t want to quit, but you were being driven mad by a 24 year old man-child, and you couldn’t take it anymore. A year and a half ago, you were being driven crazy by how much you wanted him, now, it was his party-boy ways and arrogant smirk that set you off. Lando had always been a popular driver, you understood the attraction on every level. He was a pretty, sometimes funny, and rich man. He was on the younger side of the grid, and he was talented. Christ, was he annoying to work with. He was conceited, self-centred, a manwhore, and downright difficult the majority of the time. You disregarded almost every time he was kind to you, because less than 48 hours later he would do something dickish and ruin your weekend off, or make you cancel a date to come get him from a club because he was drunk and his friends left him alone, blah, blah, blah. You were excited to finally be free of Lando Norris and his asshole-ish ways, yet, maybe you’d miss his face. Anyways, just one race left, and your two-weeks are up.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ Team dinners were simple, you usually sat beside Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, and chatted with her about her course (the same one you took) and whatever else came to your minds. As the night came to a close, you walked Lily and Oscar back to their rooms with Lando trailing behind, texting on his phone.

Lily pulled you into a hug. “I’ll miss you so much!” she sighed. “It sucks you’re not even finishing the season with McLaren.”

You shrugged, hugging her back. “I’ll call you, I promise. And we have Greece in January,” you reminded her. She nodded and pulled back.

“See you in the morning,” she smiled, then disappeared back to their hotel room.

“See you in the morning,” Oscar smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “You better call her once you land in New York, or she’ll lose her mind,” he chuckled.

You nodded, smiling. “I will, don’t worry. And I’ll miss you too, Osc.”

He smiled, pulling back. “I’ll miss you too.”

You turned to go to your room, but Lando stopped you. “Why are you going to New York?”

“For my new job,” you explained calmly. “I’m leaving on Sunday night.”

Confusion flashed across his face, and you took the silence as a chance to leave. You brushed past him and continued on your way down the hall.

“What do you mean you’re ‘leaving’ on Sunday night? Are you going on holidays for the weeks we have off?” he asked, catching up with you.

“No, I start my new job the next week and I need to get my apartment unpacked and sort out my office,” you explained.

“What? Why are you doing that?”

“Unpacking my apartment? I’ll be living there-”

“No, moving? You have a job, y-you work here, you work with me,” he stumbled through his sentence and you raised an eyebrow.

“Did Stella not tell you? I’m leaving after the race this weekend. I sent in my two-week notice almost two weeks ago. I got a job offer from the New York Jets and I took it. Anyway, good night Lando, I’ll see you in the morning,” You continued on your way to your room.

“You can’t just leave! What will I do without y- someone to-”

“Get your laundry and fix your mistakes in the media? You’ll be getting a replacement when I leave. His name is Will, he’s organised, and he’s quite funny. I think you’ll get along.”

“What will I do without you?” he gritted out. “You’re meant to be here, with me, and now you’re leaving? How am I supposed to feel?”

“Imparcial I’d assume.”

“Imparcial? Y/n, come on, you can’t be that blind?” This was a different version of Lando than what you were used to. He was usually a brass and confident arsehole. Yet, here he stood in front of you, upset that you were leaving.

“Blind to what? The way you abuse your power? The way you make me do your bidding? The way you make me cancel important things in my personal life to fit your schedule of heavy drinking? The way-”

“The way I’m in love with you?!” He practically shouted. You clapped a hand over his mouth and a surge of panic ran though you. You pulled him into your hotel room after you and sat him on the bed, then proceeded to pace the room.

What did he mean he loved you? He hated you. He made your life a living hell. He made sure you’d have to see him everyday. He made sure you’d be in his apartment building. He made sure to-

Oh. Shit. He loved you.

“Y/n,” his voice was soft. “You need to calm down.”

You turned to him. “Calm down? What the fuck do you mean ‘calm down’? I’ve just spent the last fucking year and a half burying any and all romantic feelings for you, tried to hone in on all of your flaws to make myself hate you, quit my job to get away from you, and now you’re telling me you love me? What the fuck Lando?!”

“You had romantic feelings for me?” He blushed.

“That’s what you got from that?!”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, alright. We can work this out, just tell Andrea you don’t want to quit-”

“Lando I’ve accepted the job offer in New York, I’ve signed the contract. I can’t back out,” you sighed, putting your head in your hands. “You really have great timing,” you scoffed.

He smiled, placing his hands on your waist. “Then we’ll make it work,” he shrugged. “I want you, if you’ll have me.”

You looked up at him. Were you really doing this? Lando Norris was your typical male celebrity in his twenties. He had everything he could ever want, any girl he could ever want, and he wanted you? Every insecurity and logical bone in your body told you to run away. You’d seen what the internet did to girls he was seen in public with, let alone a girl he actually came out and admitted to dating. Was he worth being torn apart for?

“You’re killing me here,” he laughed to hide his fear. He’d waited a year and a half for this moment. He wanted you more than anything. He wanted to be able to call himself your boyfriend and get to call you his girlfriend. He wanted you around him all the time. Every time he’d found out about a date you’d been on or met a guy you’d been seeing he was filled with jealousy. He was yours, he just needed you to be his too.

“Lando, I don’t know if this is a good idea-”

He pressed his lips to yours and it was undeniable. This was what you had been searching for. That stupid ‘spark’ all those rom coms talked about all the time. Kissing him was like fireworks. He brought your hands up to wrap around his neck and smirked when you kissed him back. You fit together so perfectly, his lips against yours, your skin against his, everything.

You pulled back slowly.

“So can I be your boyfriend now?” he whispered, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Only if I can be your girlfriend,” you smiled back. He pressed his lips to yours again. Maybe he was worth being torn apart for.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris x reader angst #ln4 #lando x reader #f1 2024

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zyafics · 2 months ago

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PLAY FAKE | part fourteen

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and has a mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, an asshole, and has mood swings.

Rafe's gonna handle it.

But it isn't easy. His head is volatile and loud, screaming for him to choose a direction that seems intangible and difficult to comprehend. It also doesn't help that his anger simmers beneath his skin at the idea of meeting the person who terrified and threatened you. He doesn't know what he will do, but he promised you he won't take it too far.

All Rafe knows is that he can't do it alone.

"I need your help," Rafe announces with great unwillingness, just as JJ's about to turn his back to him. It wasn't a stroke of luck that Rafe happened to be at the Island Club, at the right time, sitting in JJ's section. But, JJ, despite his obligation to serve as a paying member of the exclusive club, wanted nothing more than to evade his duties to the Kook.

Until he spoke, of course.

It takes a second, then another, before the admission registers and JJ turns around. "What?"

Rafe stands from his table, and curious patrons at nearby tables watch the exchange between them. It isn't a secret that JJ and Rafe have a bitter rivalry, elevated by differing social classes and longstanding resentment that transcends their own lifetimes. It also isn't a secret that whenever these two are in close quarters, more often than not, their conversations end in fists.

But, as much as Rafe has adrenaline coursing through his veins and tension stiffening his shoulders that he would love to find an outlet for release, he didn't come here for a fight. Not with JJ, at least.

"You know where Aaron lives, don't you?"

JJ blinks at the Kook, suspicion shadowing his features as he takes his time before answering. "What about it?"

"I—" Rafe clenches his jaw, trying to soothe out his ego. "I need a favor."

"For what?"

"Are you fucking dense, Maybank?" Rafe snaps, his capacity for meandering questions reaching its all-time limit. It doesn't help that, typically, in these situations, Rafe tries to calm his nerves with his vices beforehand. But he can't. He has to do it unbearably sober. Gritting out, "What do you think?"

JJ narrows his eyes at Rafe, his own hands clenched by his side. Despite what the rest of Kildare believes, JJ isn't as stupid as people make him out to be. He simply didn't trust Rafe. Didn't understand his intent. Half of him is convinced that Rafe is in cahoots with Aaron because he knows this circles back to you and your bar.

It had to be about the note JJ collected that warned about Aaron's threat. JJ's concern with it was because of Sailor's ancestry. It's an institution for the Pogues; decades of families and tourists visiting the place to landmark what a great treasure it is to Outer Banks. It means absolutely nothing to Rafe.

Except for you.

Slowly, but surely, the corner of JJ's mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and Rafe catches the arrogant expression. Before JJ can open his mouth and instigate an actual fight, Rafe cuts him off. "Can you help me out or not?"

Normally, under any other circumstances, JJ would laugh in Rafe's face and walk away. It would serve as great ammunition against the Kook prince and his divine reign. But this concerns you. The person who took care of him growing up, who patched him up, who served as a beacon of safety for his troubles. If that means working with Rafe, JJ can do it.

"I can," JJ nods, before glancing at the clock hung over the oceanfront exit of the restaurant. "After my shift. I'll show you."

—

Truth be told, Rafe could've gone alone.

It wasn't improbable for him to discover the address of Aaron without JJ's help. He's resourceful, and with enough time, he would find it. But it was the fact that he didn't trust himself to go. He didn't know what he was going to do, what he was going to say, or how he was going to react. All he knows is his mind feels linear, sharp, and honed down to one single mission: pay your debts and be done with it.

It didn't matter the steps he'd take to get there.

"Are we going or what?"

JJ sits in the passenger seat of Rafe's parked car, the headlights turned off while they sit hidden from view. For the duration of the ride, Rafe had calmed down enough to steady his movements, take the wheel, and follow JJ's directions.

But, if Rafe lets himself think, and be reminded of how Aaron hurt you, frightened you, and nearly destroyed you, a cloud of red distorts his vision and guides his hand.

He doesn't answer JJ, staring out the dark window to discern the dark silhouette of Aaron sitting out in his yard, smoking a cigarette. His hands clenched in his lap, and when JJ repeats his previous question, this time, Rafe answers by going to the waistband of his pants and pulling out his gun.

"Woah, Rafe—" JJ holds both hands in the air, eyeing the lethal weapon as Rafe sets it on the dashboard.

"You take it."

JJ says nothing, studying Rafe's expression before cautiously picking up the gun and securing it. It goes unspoken, of course, but JJ understands what Rafe asks of him.

He turns back to Rafe. "How are we gonna confront him?"

"Follow my lead."

With a click of the car's door, Rafe steps out with JJ. He inhales a sharp breath before approaching the idle figure sitting on a lawn chair in front of his trailer, a bored-yet-curious look stretches across his face.

"Who are you?" Aaron asks, snuffing his cigarette on the ground before glancing behind Rafe to find JJ. "Hey, JJ. Here to bail out your old man again?"

JJ scoffs but says nothing. Aaron's gaze returns to Rafe. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"

Rafe doesn't want to answer, to give Aaron any sense of satisfaction of knowing his name. He doesn't know what he had expected—perhaps someone who used their fists more than their words and looked like they could follow through with their threats—but Aaron doesn't meet those expectations. All he sees is someone sleazy lowlife who deserves nothing of his time and efforts.

Going to the back of his pockets, Rafe pulls out a wad of cash and throws it to Aaron's feet.

"What's this?" Aaron bends down to pick up the money, leafing through the paper to determine its legitimacy. And he chuckles. "Okay, Moneybags, what is this?"

"To pay back a debt," Rafe answers. He can't believe how steady his voice sounds. He goes on to explain it's for you—to cover the cost of your remaining loans, and for Aaron to finally leave you alone.

When Rafe finishes his declaration, the loan shark takes a moment to process the information before a derisive smile spreads across his face. "She's got a Kook paying for her shit? Gotta say that's impressive, even for her."

"Shut up," Rafe warns, but Aaron appears unfazed by the threat. He merely stands from his chair, meeting Rafe's stare head-on, deciding to provoke further.

"To be honest, I didn't think she would be able to do it," Aaron clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. "Thought I had to burn down her bar to teach her a lesson."

Red-hot anger pulses through Rafe's veins, and his hands ache for a brawl. But he doesn't give in. Clarity still resides in his mind, telling him that he doesn't need to resort to violence. All he needs is to be done with this scumbag.

"That's all she owed you," Rafe spat. "And that means you'll leave her alone. Now and forever."

"Aw," Aaron mocks, playing a hand over his chest. "Her big bad protector comes in the form of Rafe Cameron," he raises a brow at the subtle shock on Rafe's face. "Thought I didn't recognize you, Moneybags? Your daddy must be proud you're funding a charity case from the Cut."

"Shut the fuck up," Rafe growls, stepping forward, but JJ's quick. He grabs a hold of Rafe's elbow, reminding him that it's not worth it. Clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring, Rafe reluctantly admits JJ is right.

He holds out one of his hands. "Give me back her necklace."

Aaron rolls his eyes, going into his pocket to pull out the chain and drop it into Rafe's palm.

"It's pathetic, you know," Aaron says as the pendant lands on Rafe's hand. "You going around and doing her bidding like a little bitch. Is fucking her that good that she has you in a chokehold?"

Grinding his teeth, Rafe meets his stare head-on. "It's better than being a little pussy who hides behind threats to feel important."

Rafe offers nothing more than a mocking grin in return, twisting around to head back to his car. JJ has his hand on Rafe's shoulder, guiding him, and Rafe is surprised at how he managed to leave the interaction unscathed.

Until Aaron decides to open his mouth one last time.

"Tell your little girlfriend that if she needs another loan, I'll be here, and next time, I'll even let her pay with her cunt," he laughs, and that's the final straw that made Rafe snap.

Before JJ can stop him, Rafe suddenly turns and swings at Aaron's jaw. The scumbag stumbles back, catching his face but, before he can recover, Rafe tackles him into the ground, delivering punch after punch until Aaron is nothing but a bloody pulp.

His rage is burning, his fury bleeding into each strike, and Rafe no longer cares. He's gone off the deep end, delivering violent justice to make up for the fact that Aaron has done nothing but terrorize you. Red glazes his vision until it starts to stain his knuckles and shirt too.

But Aaron is strong too. He manages to throw a hit of his own, splitting Rafe's bottom lip. They're wrestling on the filthy earth until somehow Aaron manages to produce a knife and puts it against Rafe's throat.

Harsh breaths turn to swallow as Rafe feels the cool blade digging into his skin.

"You think you're hot shit, Moneybags?" Aaron spats, his eyes wild. "You think you scare me?"

Rafe says nothing. He doesn't know what to do next. It's a dangerous situation he's in, the knife buried into the knot of his throat. But before he can formulate a plan, the familiar click of a gun sounds.

"Get the fuck off of him."

Aaron stills, the barrel of the weapon pressed against the back of his skull immobilizing every muscle. JJ roughly grabs his shoulder, hauling him off Rafe, and allowing the Kook to get on his feet.

"We're done," JJ declares firmly, the gun remains against the back of Aaron's head. "Do you hear me?"

Aaron nods, and slowly, JJ lowers the weapon. But that wasn't enough for Rafe. Snatching the gun out of JJ's hand, without a second thought, he fires—the sharp bullet piercing into Aaron's left arm, sending him tumbling back.

JJ shouts something indistinguishable at Rafe but he hears nothing but the harsh thumps of his own breaths. He steps forward, while Aaron grimaces in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and points the gun right at the center of his chest—where he had mocked Rafe moments ago.

"You won't do it," Aaron grunts tauntily, still trying to cling to any last ounce of power he has left. "You're not that crazy."

"You wanna bet?" Rafe warns in a deadly calm. "Don't talk about her, don't contact her, and don't even think about her, because if I ever hear you causing her any more problems, I'll fucking kill you."

Lowering the gun, Rafe marches over to his car with nothing but the buzzing of his skin. He can't think of anything else; residual adrenaline courses through his veins like an electric current, sending his emotions haywire. And when JJ asks for the car keys—seeing Rafe unfit to drive—he hands them off without hesitation.

Inside the passenger seat, Rafe's hands are trembling. JJ glances from the corner of his peripheral but doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls out in reverse before shifting the gears into drive.

Rafe doesn't ask where they're going, concentrating on recounting the details of his memories. The blood, the bullet, and how the act he committed feels completely out of his realm—out of his head. He doesn't know what to feel.

The ride is eerily silent. JJ keeps sparing glances over to Rafe, but he's too numbed out to acknowledge any of them. When Rafe finally gains the ability to speak, he asks JJ where he's driving them. JJ answers vaguely, "You'll see."

By the time the car rolls to a slow stop, the familiar bar comes into view. The flickering neon lights welcome with an OPEN sign, and JJ kills the engine. He turns to Rafe, cautiously taking the gun back, and dropping it into the center console with the safety on.

They say nothing as they step into the bar. You're standing behind the counter, lifting your head when the little bell alerts new customers, only to discover the duo standing in the middle of the walkway. One of your brows raises at the odd pairing.

"Fuck. I need a drink," JJ announces, dropping the car keys on the table before steering behind the counter to grab a bottle. Your eyes follow JJ's movements with amusement until they return to Rafe.

He takes a seat at one of your bar stools, remaining quiet. Nothing in his head feels right, like he's in a dream state he doesn't know how to wake up from. You eye the fresh cut on Rafe's bottom lip and, unable to gauge what type of consolation you should give, decide to comfort him with one of his vices.

Pouring out a glass, you hand it over the counter. "Need a drink?"

He shakes his head.

"Need you," Rafe sets the drink down and grabs your hand, leading you out from behind the bar before stealing a kiss. He pulls you onto his lap, needing to close the distance, while roughened scraps of his callouses skim across your cheeks.

Rafe's kiss is depraved, clinging to you like you're the last breath of air. Like you're the only thing that grounds him. It's tangy and metallic, tasting his cut, which only adds to the delirium of his state and how desperate he is for you. One of his hands falls to your hips, while the other clings to your face.

He needs this. Needs you. Rafe's restraining himself from taking more than you can handle, and when you pull away, breathless, you press your forehead against his.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

No, but he doesn't want to tell you that. With the brush of his knuckles across your cheek, feeling the warm heat of your flushed skin, he rasps. "Now I am."

"What happened?" You ask, capturing his hand into yours, grazing the blood that stained his knuckles. Some of his skin is split, but most of them seem to be from somewhere else. "Did you kill someone?"

Rafe's jaw tightens. He doesn't want to scare you with what he's done. He doesn't want you to look at him differently. When he pulls his hand away from your grip, afraid of tainting you, it takes a moment before he speaks. "I went to see Aaron."

Your easygoing smile drops and your shoulders stiffen. Withdrawing slightly, you examine Rafe from the waist up, picking up the specks of dark red covering his shirt, the trail of dried blood down his arms, and the nasty yellowing bruise that lines his jaw. "Holy fuck," you breathe, roaming your hands over his body, checking for damages. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine,"

"You're bleeding," you repeat, tipping Rafe's head back to examine a small puncture wound at the column of his throat, running your fingers over the nick to discover the scab. You attempt to get off his lap, "Rafe—"

He catches your elbow, stilling your movements and your gaze rises to meet his. His eyes are dark, like a storm over an ocean, but there's tenderness when he looks at you. "It's not all my blood."

A beat passes before you ask. "What did you do?"

At first, Rafe detects disapproval, making him want to recoil and shut down. But, upon closer inspection of your features—the way your brows pull together and your eyes soften with indescribable warmth—he recognizes it to be concern. For him.

With that revelation, he squeezes your hips comfortingly. "Nothing I didn't promise."

You don't know what to make with that. Hesitatingly, you hold your breath before deciding to ask the next question. "Did you kill him?"

"I should've,"

"But you didn't," you say, recognizing the extent of what Rafe will do for you. It's terrifying to wield such a power. "...Right?"

"Right." He nods, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn't want him to get in trouble because of you, potentially going to prison. You need him too much.

JJ, witnessing the intimate interaction, decides it's time for him to go. Carrying a bottle in his arms, he's about to silently slip out of the bar when Rafe catches the blurring movements and calls after him.

JJ freezes.

Rafe didn't forget about how JJ had his back at Aaron's. How everything could've ended a lot differently had the Pogue not been there. But, he didn't know what to say. There's still a bitter rivalry between them, and he doesn't necessarily enjoy JJ's close relationship with you. But there's an understanding. With begrudging respect, "Thanks."

It surprises both you and JJ and he doesn't know how to take it. But JJ isn't dumb. With one parting glance in your direction, seeing you in capable and powerful hands that'll do anything to protect you, he nods once. "Anytime."

When JJ slips out, you stare at Rafe in disbelief. His eyes return to your face, as you raise a confused brow. "What's that for?"

"Nothing," Rafe shakes his head, pulling you in for another kiss when you slip off his lap. He grabs your arm. "Where are you going?"

"I need to clean you up."

He doesn't want you to go. "I don't need that."

"Rafe, you're bleeding," you declare, gesturing to his face, "I'll be right back."

With great reluctance, he lets you go. Moments later, you return with a box of first aid and set it on the counter before returning to his lap. Disinfecting the cut on his throat, you patch up the wound before moving to his jaw and lips.

Rafe watches you as you work. Your touch is gentle, and your eyes are concentrated. When you catch him staring, you lift your gaze to his, a shy smile spreading over your lips. "What?"

"Just waiting for you to finish so I can kiss you," he confesses, his hands roaming up and down your waist in impatient strokes. He needs to feel you again to ground him.

You tilt your head teasingly. "Is kissing me more important than taking care of yourself?"

"Clearly." He declares as if the answer is obvious. It makes your stomach flutter, cheeks warming with heat.

You return to tending his jaw, but Rafe can't wait any longer. Roughly, he pushes your hands away and pulls you in for another desperate kiss, capturing the nape of your neck as he practically devours you.

"Rafe—" You part to breathe.

"Need you," he repeats, just as anguished and desperate as before. "Stop taking care of me and let me have you."

You don't have a second say before he recaptures your lips, sliding his tongue into your open mouth. His touch is hungry, exploring every inch of bare skin until he goes under your shirt to pull down your bra and find the sensitive flesh of your breasts.

Raw, and full of passion, you're reminded of the times when Rafe needed to fuck you to channel his aggression into something productive. You don't know exactly what happened with Aaron, only that it's over and you want to offer him refuge in any way possible.

But Rafe is much tamer than before. He's careful not to hurt you, not to play too rough. When he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, his breathing is heavy but his words are firm.

"I'm not fucking you in a bar."

This surprises you.

"You weren't complaining when you fucked me in a dressing room," you whisper sultrily, planting kisses along the curve of his neck. "Or in the bathroom."

His jaw tightens with declining restraint. "That was different."

"How different?"

"I'm... I'm trying to treat you better."

You don't want him to. At least, not during sex. You want it rough, dirty, and filthy. This side of Rafe cosplaying as a saint feels wrong—especially when you know he's nothing but the devil. But you're fine with it. You need it.

"Maybe you shouldn't," you say, moving to the shell of his ear. "Maybe I want you to treat me like your own personal slut."

Rafe groans, his resolve cracking, and he stands from the stool. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to his car, throwing the door wide open to throw you inside the backseat.

He slams you against the back of the driver's seat, your legs straddling Rafe while he kisses you urgently. His hands grab at your body, unhooking your bra with a soft click and breaking the kiss only for you to shed your clothes.

Your core pulses with need; the open spread of your legs allows you to feel his hard erection, separated by a thin pair of panties and his jeans. You need it off.

Rafe trails his kisses down the curve of your neck, and you tip your head back with a soft moan, his hands fall under your skirt and between your legs. Long fingers brush against your panties, discovering the wet patch.

"Are you this wet for me?" He murmurs against the heat of your shoulders, his fingers teasing your core with your slick but refusing to slip in.

You let out a little whimper. "Hm,"

"You want me to do something about it?"

You nod desperately, a hand falling between your legs to guide him closer to your cunt, but Rafe pulls back. In one swipe, he snatches your wrist in one hand and pins them above your head, against the headrest of the driver's seat.

"Don't touch," he warns thickly, his dark eyes meeting yours and heat exploding in your stomach, your pussy aching to wrap around something.

"Please," you beg, and Rafe grins wickedly. Pushing your panties to the side, he thrusts two fingers in. Slowly, at first, to test your walls, until his penetration comes with a steady—but increasing—rhythm.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, just as Rafe captures you in another lustful kiss. Your wrists strain from the bound, but you love how you're held captive—physically and emotionally—to be controlled by his will. His fingers go faster, adding his thumb to rub your swollen clit as he swallows all the noises.

Rafe separates, kissing an arrow straight down your breasts before covering a pierced nipple. His teeth tugs the barbell, causing a whimper to add to your moans, elevated by the high you feel approaching with the slight twinge of pain.

"Come for me, baby," Rafe rasps, his voice vibrating off your skin, as he feels you fluttering around his fingers. His teeth pulls on your nipple, heightening your sensitivity and pushing you over the edge. You reach your orgasm on his hands, and Rafe guides you through the process by fucking you harder—through the tightening of your walls—making you mewl with pleasure.

Pulling out his slick-covered fingers, he pushes them between your teeth, hard eyes demanding you to lick them clean.

You do, not breaking a second of eye contact, and when Rafe retracts his fingers from your mouth, using the same hand, he cups your cheeks roughly.

You drive him wild, with the way you're so obedient, but with his face right in front of yours, just a breath away, he doesn't kiss you for reward. Instead, his words come low, in a warning and promise, "Fucking mine."

"Yours," you admit, and Rafe swallows hard.

His hands clench and unclench by his side, but he doesn't make a move to take off his pants, his bulge prominent as an outline under his jeans. Your eyes drop to it, licking your lips, and teasingly ask, "Are you going to do something about that?"

Rafe locks his jaw, teeth grinding against one another, before he follows your line of vision. Conflicted, Rafe doesn't know if he can be inside you, to fuck you, and you come to the dawning realization that Rafe's holding back.

"I'll help." You add in a whisper. "Let me feel you."

He doesn't know if he can handle it, but with the pleading look in your eyes, and the way your lips part, he breaks another one of his constraints and releases your wrists.

"Turn around."

You quickly listen, and Rafe unbuckles his belt to remove his pants and boxer-briefs, throwing them to the floor of his car. With all barriers removed, he hauls you back onto his lap, his hard cock pressed against the small of your back.

You feel a bit of his pre-cum leaking onto your backside, but Rafe makes no urgent moves to be inside you. You squirm, needing contact, but Rafe grabs your hips to still your movements.

"I don't want you touching yourself," Rafe murmurs against the shell of your ear, the lack of eye contact heightens your nerves to feel every sharp motion, every breath of air, as some form of action. "Do you hear me?"

"I won't," you promise, your cunt clenching around nothing with the idea of Rafe entering you soon. You shift closer to his cock, feeling the thick girth on you.

Rafe tsks. "I don't know if I believe you,"

"Believe me," you beg.

"Put your hands above your head," Rafe commands, and you obey. You reach towards the roof of the car as Rafe's strong arms—still stained with traces of blood—cages you in. He adjusts the headrest of the seat before you, widening the gap. Grabbing your wrists, he slotting them inside and slams the headrest down, locking you in place. "Now, you can't."

You wiggle your hands, but it's completely trapped. It makes your heart hammers with exhilaration, knowing you're at Rafe's disposal.

His hands wander over your backside, fingers tracing patterns over your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine at his feather-light touches. It's teasing, drawing out the seconds, and you sit in the weight of your exposure until you're left with nothing but burning desire.

Anticipation climbs up your chest as Rafe withdraws his hands, his warmth, and before you can utter a whine, something cold covers your collarbone. You look down to discover the necklace—the one Aaron took away from you—back around your throat, the R glistening with possession.

"You got it back," you say quietly, your stomach fluttering with pride.

"I got it back," he confirms, rescinding his hands. Again.

It's such a push and pull. You almost groan out of despair, needing him to do something, but he remains distant. Despite the absolute control, having everything he's ever wanted from you—your submission, you being completely his—Rafe is still holding back. His touch second-guessed, his conflict evident.

He doesn't trust himself.

It twists and buries you with need.

"Rafe," you breathe, but he doesn't do anything. "Rafe."

"All this fucking begging," Rafe grabs your chin, forcing your head to the side to meet his hardened gaze. "What?"

Your eyes scan over his features, the hard lines of his face, the discipline he carries behind his gaze. Everything is still within bounds. "Let go." You whisper. His jaw ticks. "Use me."

"You don't understand what you're asking for."

"I trust you," you murmur, closing the distance until his shallow breaths fan against your cheeks. "Let go for me."

Finally, his last chain of restraint snaps, and primal instinct takes over. Rafe tightens his hand around your jaw, pulling you into a rough kiss, only for you to reciprocate with the same ferocity, the same burning needs.

When he pulls away, you bite down on his bottom lip, tugging out the flesh until you taste a tangy metallic on your tongue.

"Use you?" He repeats, as a last line of defense. He's giving you one last chance to back down.

"Use me."

"All mine?"

"All yours."

Rafe releases your face and grabs your hips, lifting them in the air before dropping you on his cock, buried to the hilt. A guttural groan escapes his lips, and his hands remain securely around the fat of your hips, bouncing you up and down his lap.

Sensitivity courses through your veins, as Rafe uses you for his own pleasure. His aggression channels into how fast and vigorously he forces you to bounce, making the backside of your thighs burn.

He watches, as his cock slips in and out of your cunt, each time like the first. "Fuck, sweetheart," Rafe moans with pleasure, your walls fluttering around him. "You're so fucking tight for me."

"I'm so sensitive," you mumble, balling your hands into tight fists as you're trying hard to control yourself. You can't move, only up and down, and the lack of mobility makes you feel everything more. "Rafe."

"Keep saying my name, baby," Rafe demands, one of his hands coming up to grab a handful of your breast. "Remind yourself who's dick you're riding."

Rafe fucks you hard, allowing you to feel everything single twitch of his cock until the familiar heat blooms in your stomach and tightens. Your orgasm is on the horizon, you're certain Rafe is closely behind as your walls grip him in a tight vice.

"Fuck," he swears, making you go faster, the sounds of your cunt squelching with wetness. "Come on, come with me, baby."

You do, moaning wildly as you come for a second time, feeling Rafe's hot ropes of cum fills you. Your breathing is hard, coming down from this high, but Rafe doesn't let you take a second to break.

He unlatches the headrest, freeing your hands, but within seconds, he flips you over, forcing your face into the leather seats as your ass is positioned in the air.

Rafe positions himself behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass as the other strokes his hardening cock, readying for a second round. You're breathing heavily, trying to gather enough strength to pull yourself by your arms, but as you attempt, Rafe had other plans.

The crown of his cock lines against your entrance, his fingers stroking through your wet folds and, with little warning, slams into you. It makes you fall back onto your face, digging into the leather as Rafe roughly thrusts inside of you.

"Ohmygod," you murmur, delirious with overstimulated pleasure, needing a second to breathe, but Rafe allows none. You granted him permission to use you, to fuck you, and he's using it to his fullest power.

Everything is sensitive. All the nerves inside you are heightened to a frayed state, needing time to recover, but Rafe goes at a relentless pace. His rhythm is reinvigorated, going harder, faster, and more brutal than before.

"Rafe, Rafe," you moan, writhing with pleasure that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and Rafe's hand falls between the space of your legs, massaging the swollen nub. "I'm going to come again."

"Already?" He laughs tauntingly, "You truly are my little slut, aren't you?"

"Rafe," you whine.

"Say it,"

"Rafe, please,"

He abandons your clit to grab your throat, hauling you upwards by the limbs. Your breathing is constricted by the hard grip, shallowly taking in air, as Rafe murmurs hotly into your ear. "Fucking say it."

"I'm your slut," you concede, and you can feel the mischievous grin spreading across his face as he goes faster. "God, fuck, I'm your anything."

Rafe kisses behind your ear, mumbling, "Good girl," before thrusting deeper. He's hitting everything, bullying your cervix until you're seeing stars, and a third orgasm tips out of your body with a scream.

Yet he still doesn't stop.

He fucks you through this orgasm, with your legs shaking and your body trembling from overpowering until he comes inside you again. He fills you completely, not letting a single drop go to waste, and when he finally pulls out, his cum drips down your thighs.

You slump against the seat, needing space, but Rafe still has yet to let you go. He hauls you back to your knees and slots you between his legs, your back leaning against his chest.

Both of you catch your breaths, harsh breathing fills the air alongside the smell of sex. No one moves, exhaustion fills both your bones, until Rafe drapes one of his arms across your stomach, pulling you in protectively.

You, with your last bit of energy left, lift your head to meet Rafe's gaze. He's calmer, more at peace than before, and all the weight on his shoulders completely dissolves. With a small, tiresome smile, you ask, "I have one more thing to ask you."

He lifts a brow.

"Can you take us home?"

A small smile rises at the corner of his lips. Us, he hears. He likes the sound of that.

He nods, and with one last parting kiss on your forehead, Rafe gets dressed and takes you home.

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nadvs · 5 days ago

Text

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on your side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you��re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vice.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

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