#and his life is just too good for him to rock the boat

[thanks-obillma]

updated vito hc

he's very open about being an ally. except he gets pissy when people refer to him as non-queer, like come on, he shares his brain and body with a bunch of queer people, he's at least adjacent? or grandfathered in? or something?

and he knows he shouldn't be upset because he knows he's straight, he's not actually queer himself and he doesn't want to appropriate anything or whatever, but he still can't quite shake it. is he ace? no, no, he has some mixed feelings about sex but the attraction is still there. maybe he actually does like guys? nope, that's not it either. maybe it's just the others getting their emotions mixed in with his and they're actually the ones not liking the idea being excluded. yeah, that must be it. brain's done weirder things.

he's well into his 40s when he finally realizes he's transfem.

[nyan-bynary]

I'm gonna have to wait out a few weeks to be able to complain about jjk's ending bc rn half the ppl are bashing everyone who expected more as ppl who just wanted gojo back

[calypso-rt]

Your Favorite Dates...

With Rafe Cameron

-> Rafe x F!Reader

-> Pt. 1: When Rafe Realizes He's Falling for You

The Confession

The air between you was thick with something unspoken.

The two of you sat on the hood of Rafe’s truck, parked near the cliffs where the ocean stretched endlessly before you. The sunset painted everything in gold and pink, the last slivers of daylight dancing across his face.

It should’ve been peaceful.

It should’ve been easy.

But there was something pressing against your chest. Something you felt from him too.

You swung your legs, the metal warm beneath your palms. “You’re being quiet,” you murmured, stealing a glance at him. “That’s never a good sign.”

Rafe exhaled a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he tilted his head back, eyes fixed on the sky like the words he was looking for might be written somewhere in the clouds.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

Your stomach twisted at the serious edge in his tone. “That’s dangerous.”

That earned you a smirk, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. His fingers drummed against the hood, restless.

“Y/N,” he said, and when he turned to face you, something in his expression made your breath catch. It was raw. Honest.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He hesitated. Rafe Cameron, hesitating. That alone was enough to send your heart into a sprint. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he was about to step off a ledge.

“I think…” He stopped, shook his head, then tried again. “No. I know that I—” His jaw clenched, frustration flickering across his face. “Damn it, why is this so hard?”

You barely had time to process before he turned fully toward you, eyes locking onto yours in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words were simple. No grand speeches, no flowery declarations. Just quiet, steady truth.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Rafe…”

“I mean it.” His voice was firm now, certain. “It’s not just some passing thing. It’s not just because you’re the person I want to be around the most or because you’re the first person I think about when something good, or bad, happens. It’s not just because you make me laugh, or because being with you is the easiest thing in the world.”

You could barely breathe. He was still talking. Still laying himself bare.

“It’s because when you’re not around, I feel it. Like something’s missing. Like I don’t know what to do with myself.” He shook his head, letting out a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know when it happened. But it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the truck, grounding yourself. He was looking at you like this was it. Like he had nothing left to hide.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be with,” he admitted. “I know I mess up. A lot. But I swear to you, I—” He exhaled sharply, voice softer now. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The weight of his words settled over you, warm and overwhelming. He loved you.

And you?

You reached out before you even realized what you were doing, fingers curling around his. Rafe stiffened for half a second before his hand turned, gripping yours like he was afraid to let go.

“Say something,” he murmured, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard, heart lodged in your throat. “You’re an idiot.”

A laugh burst out of him, relief flickering across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because you just wasted all that time worrying when you could’ve just kissed me instead.”

His breath hitched. “Is that what you want?”

You didn’t answer with words. You just leaned in.

And Rafe?

He met you halfway.

First Date: Love on the Water

The sky stretched wide above youas Rafe’s boat glided over the calm water. The gentle rocking of the boat making everything feel light, like a dream neither of you wanted to wake up from.

Rafe, sitting across from you at the helm, looked completely at home: bare-chested, sun-kissed, his hair a little messy from the wind. But there was something different about him tonight, something softer in the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you teased, grinning. “Got something to say, Cameron?”

His lips twitched up into a smirk, but it was gentle, not cocky. “Yeah,” he murmured, steering the boat one-handed as his free arm stretched out to rest along the back of your seat. “I was just thinking… you’re kinda ruining every other sunset for me.”

Your heart flipped at the tenderness in his voice. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles. “Because no matter how pretty they are, I’ll always wish you were in front of them.”

You groaned, nudging his chest with your foot. “Rafe, that was so cheesy.”

He caught your ankle before you could pull away, grinning as he pressed a feather light kiss to the inside of it. “Maybe, but it made you blush.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you were blushing, and his knowing smirk said he definitely noticed.

Before you could retaliate, he tugged you forward, guiding you to sit between his legs as he leaned back against the cushioned seat. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re so clingy,” you teased, even as you melted into him.

“You love it,” he murmured against your skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

You did. And he knew it.

The boat drifted lazily in the water, the only sounds being the soft lapping of the waves and the occasional sigh of contentment from one of you. Rafe’s fingers absentmindedly played with yours, tracing the delicate lines of your palm like he was memorizing them.

“You’re my favorite,” he whispered suddenly, so soft you almost missed it.

You turned slightly, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his voice. “Your favorite?”

He nodded, nudging his nose against your cheek before pressing a barely-there kiss to it. “Yeah. More than the water. More than my stupid boat. More than anything.”

Your chest ached in the best way possible. “That’s a pretty big deal for a guy who’s obsessed with the ocean.”

He grinned, his lips brushing your jaw. “What can I say? You’re the only thing that’s ever made me wanna stay on land.”

You tilted your head back, laughing softly. “Okay, now that was extra cheesy.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, shifting slightly so his lips hovered over yours. “You gonna stop me?”

You shook your head, smiling against his mouth as you finally, finally kissed him, the sea and the sky and the whole world disappearing until it was just him. Just this.

Rafe hummed against your lips, his arms tightening around you. “I should take you on a boat ride every night.”

You grinned. “You’d never get tired of it?”

His forehead rested against yours, eyes shining in the golden light. “Not as long as you’re here.”

…

Cooking (And Failing) Together

It had started with the best intentions.

Rafe had insisted—sworn—that he could follow a recipe. “It’s just instructions,” he’d said confidently, grinning as he rolled up his sleeves. “How hard can it be?”

Ten minutes later, there was flour on his face, something was definitely burning, and you were clutching the counter, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

“Okay, maybe we missed a step,” Rafe admitted, waving a dish towel in front of the smoking pan while you wiped tears from your eyes.

“Maybe?” you gasped between giggles. “Rafe, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice.”

He groaned dramatically, leaning against the counter. “I was trying to impress you.”

You softened, stepping closer and dusting some flour from his cheek. “Babe, you always impress me.”

His eyes flickered to yours, warm and sweet. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just maybe not in the kitchen.”

Rafe huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. “Alright, so we’re terrible cooks. But you know what we’re really good at?”

You tilted your head, amused. “What?”

He smirked, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of your nose. “Ordering takeout.”

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting side by side on the kitchen counter, legs swinging as you ate straight from the containers. Rafe kept stealing bites off your plate, grinning every time you swatted at his hand.

“You have your own food, Cameron,” you scolded, laughing as he successfully swiped a piece of your sushi.

“Yeah, but yours tastes better,” he said with a wink, chewing happily.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

For a moment, you just looked at him: his hair slightly messy, his cheek still dusted with flour, his blue eyes full of something so soft and unguarded it made your heart ache in the best way.

“What?” he murmured, catching your stare.

You shook your head, nudging your forehead against his. “Just… I love you.”

Rafe froze for half a second before his whole face lit up, the most boyish, breathtaking grin spreading across his lips.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your thigh.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

He exhaled, like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear it. Then, without another word, he set his takeout container aside, cupped your face between his hands, and kissed you. Slow, sweet, like he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath still mingling with yours.

“I love you too,” he murmured, eyes shining. “Even if you’re a terrible cook.”

You swatted his chest, laughing. “We are terrible cooks.”

“Eh.” He smirked, nudging his nose against yours. “Guess we’ll just have to stick to takeout.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Surfing Lesson (a.k.a Rafe's Excuse to Hold You for an Hour Straight)

“You got this, baby.”

Rafe’s voice was warm, steady, as he floated beside you in the water. He had one hand resting on your board, keeping you balanced, the other brushing a reassuring touch along your arm.

“I really don’t,” you muttered, squinting at the rolling waves.

He smirked. “You just have to feel it out. Read the water. Be one with the ocean.”

You scoffed. “Are you a surfer or a fortune cookie?”

Rafe laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, but his hand on your board didn’t waver. “Alright, alright. Just trust me, okay?”

That was the thing, you did trust him. Maybe a little too much.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and tried again. The wave came, and for a split second, you were standing, wind in your hair, Rafe cheering in the background...

Before you wobbled, panicked, and crashed into the water.

By the time you resurfaced, Rafe was already there, arms wrapping around you before you could even get your bearings.

“Jesus, you okay?” he asked, pushing wet hair from your face.

“I think I swallowed half the ocean.”

His mouth twitched. “So what you’re saying is, you love surfing.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his voice softer now. “You don’t.”

You didn’t.

After a dozen more wipeouts, Rafe finally called mercy, pulling you out of the water and draping his hoodie over your shoulders the second you hit the sand.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, tugging the fabric tighter around you.

You rolled your eyes. “No way. It’s almost like I’ve been dunked in the ocean fifteen times.”

Rafe just smirked, taking your hand in his and pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it next time.”

You shot him a look. “You said that last time.”

“And I meant it.”

The two of you ended up at a little coffee stand, sitting side by side on the boardwalk, the scent of salt and espresso mingling in the cool morning air.

Rafe was unusually quiet, absentmindedly playing with your fingers as he stared out at the waves.

You nudged his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He glanced at you, lips quirking up at the corners. “Just thinking about how good you looked out there.”

You snorted. “You mean when I faceplanted into the ocean?”

He shook his head, tightening his grip on your hand. “No. I mean when you got back up every single time.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest.

You stared at him, the boy who never let you fall without being right there to catch you. And suddenly, it didn’t matter that you’d failed miserably at surfing.

Because if Rafe Cameron was by your side, you’d try a thousand times over.

You squeezed his hand, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Next time,” you murmured.

Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a moment.

“Next time,” he echoed.

And for once, you actually believed him.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting everything in soft gold and pink, Rafe stole a glance at you. You were laughing, sipping the last of your coffee, your nose scrunching up just a little: something he’d seen a hundred times before but would never, ever get tired of.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt lucky.

Lucky that you’d called him that night in the rain. Lucky that, somehow, you saw something in him worth holding on to. Lucky that he’d finally said it. That he hadn’t let his own fears stop him from having this.

Having you.

He squeezed your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to your fingers, murmuring against them, “Best decision I ever made.”

You blinked, glancing up at him. “Huh?”

Rafe just smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

But as you leaned into him, warmth seeping into every part of him, he knew it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything.

[rafey-baby]

hidden 3

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, mentions of murder, her having some sexual awakenings & some backstory on rafe, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The following morning, her eyes groggily open in her own bed— covers tucked over her shoulders and head comfortably propped up by her pillow.

She’s confused, doesn’t know how she ended up here since her last coherent memory from last night consists of sitting on the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck and letting her heavy lids close for a few minutes— or what was supposed to be a few minutes.   

Her sock-clad feet pad over to the living room where Rafe is rummaging through some papers and whatnot; appearing as busy as ever.   

“Why don’t I remember coming home last night?” she stops to stand next to him.  

“Cause you sleep like a fuckin’ rock. Had to carry you to your room,” he sounds disinterested, not even bothering to look up from the piece of paper he’s pinching between his fingers. And upon closer inspection, it appears to be some sort of a contract; letters too tiny for her to read from where she’s standing.  

“Oh— well…thank you?” 

Instead of leaving her passed out in his car like she would’ve assumed, he tucked her into bed? Maybe he owns a heart, after all.   

“S’whatever,” he dismisses her while reading something over, seemingly deep in thought.   

“Do you— do you need help with that?”  

“Nah, m’good,” he lifts his hand to scratch at the back of his head before scribbling something down. 

“Right…” she trails off, apparently rooted to her spot and unable to move.   

“Did you want somethin’ or what?” his tone is suddenly exasperated, brows rising expectantly when his eyes finally flicker up to peer into hers.   

“No, I just…are we going somewhere today?” she can’t help but feel a little out of place in her own home with him— it’s like she’s constantly waiting for his next command to know what to do.

“Nah, jus’ have to go over these. Can you, I dunno, go to your room or something? You’re botherin’ me with your staring,” he grumbles before shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch; not sparing her another ounce of attention after that.   

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a frown taking over her visage because she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do now. Normally, she’d go to work at the surf shop near the beach, but since Rafe so kindly took her phone and texted everyone in her contacts about a family emergency that would take some days to sort through, she can’t exactly do that.

And besides work…well, she doesn’t really have much else going on in her life. It’s sad, really, how a literal criminal forcing his way into her house is the most exciting thing that’s happened to her in the past few years.   

It’s not like she minds living a quiet life on the Cut, she just sometimes wishes she didn’t feel so…lonely. And don’t get her wrong, she has friends but sometimes she yearns for something more than fun boat adventures or getting high with her feet dangling over the dock.

When she was a little girl, she had this dream of traveling around the world but her parents made her feel selfish for even thinking about something like that when they were already struggling with money. Therefore, she settled for what she had and learned to earn a living by herself in order to keep a roof over her head.   

And she’s been content with her simple life, even considers herself to be happy— but then she sat on Rafe’s lap and, maybe for the first time in her life, felt butterflies in her belly. It was something she thought only happened in movies yet there they were; fluttering wings poking at her core like some vicious reminder that she hadn’t let someone make her feel good in ages.   

Truth be told, she grew tired of guys not bothering to understand her needs, making her sort of lose hope for the whole thing altogether. But then Rafe steps into her home uninvited and is nothing but mean to her and suddenly she...

It’s wrong. It doesn’t make any sense yet she still can’t help but feel a certain pull towards him whenever he’s close. And she doesn’t like it one bit— wants to forget about it as quickly as the thought breaches her mind but she can’t.

It’s far too complex for her perplexed mind to grasp onto, which is why she confuses it for insanity, simply decides that she’s going crazy. And maybe she is, because why else would she suddenly care for Rafe? Why is a hidden part of her heart beginning to harbor gooey, fond feelings for a killer who’s technically holding her hostage?  

She’s sure her muddled brain is going to explode if she thinks about the matter any longer— opting to take a long, scalding shower due to the clothes she’s been wearing since yesterday starting to stick to her sweaty skin and making her feel even filthier than she already does. Unfortunately, the steaming water doesn’t quite wash away the ache between her thighs.  

She’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over the damp strands of her hair when harsh knuckles rap against her bedroom door before Rafe enters a second later, not even bothering to wait for a response.   

“Change of plans—” his words die out on his tongue when he notices her current state.   

“Rafe what the fuck?” she quickly adjusts the hem to cover her properly; painfully aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants and his eyes are now fixed on the lace of her panties practically on show for him.  

“Why are you just barging into my room like that? I could’ve been naked!” she complains before snatching a pair of shorts off her floor and tugging them over her hips.   

“Shit, wouldn’t have minded if you were, got a nice ass for a Pogue,” he shrugs, sporting an irritating smirk that earns him a glare.

“And you’ve got no manners for a Kook— except, m’not surprised,” she rolls her eyes when he feigns shock.  

“Puppy’s gettin’ angry, huh? Where’s this attitude coming from? Thought you were still scared of me?” his brows furrow and there’s a condescending tinge in his laugh.  

And she’s about to respond when out of the blue, the ring of the doorbell reverberates around the house. They both tense.   

“You expectin’ someone?” his tone turns bleak, frigid— inducing shivers to litter across her arms when her head turns towards the source of the sound.   

“N— no. I’m not,” she stutters because truthfully, she doesn’t have a clue as to who could be at her door in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.   

“Did you fuckin’ call someone?” he takes a threatening step towards her and she panics.    

“No! I promise, I didn’t. I don’t even— you literally have my phone, remember?” she tries to defend herself.   

“I swear, if you’re lyin’ right now—”   

“I’m not, okay? I didn’t call anyone!” she says once more, although it seems like he’s not even listening anymore. Therefore, she tries to be logical. ”I should, um…I should go and see who it is, right?”  

The icebound water in his eyes bores into her as he weighs out his options.  

“Right, right— yeah, you should do that," he finally settles on. "But if you even consider tellin’ them anything, m’gonna fuckin’ find you, you understand?” he grits out into her face, harsh breaths hitting her mouth with each syllable and causing her to flinch.   

She quickly nods before teetering towards the entrance of her home and soon, she’s standing in front of two men wearing police uniforms.  

“Oh, sorry for the wait. Was um…in the bathroom. How can I— uh, help you?” she tries to appear unfazed, inhaling slowly and doing everything she can in order to not look as guilty as she feels.  

“We apologize for the inconvenience, but we’ve been assigned to ask around the island in order to locate a criminal who’s potentially a threat to our entire community,” one of them says and she thinks his jaded eyes are peering into her soul— seeing right through her rickety facade.  

“Have you seen this man recently?” the other guy dangles a picture of Rafe in the air while she takes a moment to properly look at the photo as to not answer too quickly.   

“N— no, sorry. Can’t say I have. Why? Who is that?” she bats her lashes in confusion as her poor heart thuds in her ribcage. She wonders if they can hear it.  

“This is Rafe Cameron. You might’ve heard about Cameron Development? He became the owner after his father’s death a few years back, and now we have reason to believe he’s guilty of the murder of a fellow officer,” he states with a serious expression.  

“Oh. That’s…that’s terrible,” her eyes widen in shock because she had no idea Rafe was a Cameron. Of course, she’d heard everyone talking about what had happened with Ward Cameron and the rumors surrounding the gold but she’d never cared enough to dig through for more information about the rest of his family.   

“Seems like the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree considering what Ward did to Sheriff Peterkin,” the one with the piercing stare snickers, making her brows furrow because she doesn’t think the topic is all that hilarious.   

“I remember watching that in the news when it was all happening…didn’t you guys also arrest an innocent Pogue with no actual proof?” her question is sharp because the whole case still rubs her the wrong way.  

“That was— listen, I wasn’t even here back then, it was all very tragic. But the investigation on this case is still ongoing and we have a reliable witness claiming they saw Rafe dragging something heavy near the ocean the night before we found the body washed up on the shore. And according to multiple sources, Rafe was the last person seen with our coworker at the island club a few hours prior to his death,” the guy explains and she momentarily wonders if they’re even allowed to share this much classified information with her.   

“Right. Well, I really wish I could help you but I haven’t seen him,” her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek, and she wonders if they can tell that she’s lying.  

“Yeah, at this point, it seems like no one has. We’re suspecting he might’ve fled the country. Anyway, we’ve got orders to search every house but honestly, we don’t really understand why he’d be on this side of the island in the first place. So, we’re not gonna waste our time on that, but call this number if you notice anything out of the ordinary, alright?”   

“Yes, of course. I really wish there was more I could do to help. Hope you guys find him soon,” she offers them a tight smile.   

“We’ll do our best,” they assure before they finally turn to leave.

She leans her back against the closed door, closing her eyes in a moment of relief. All too soon though, she feels Rafe’s presence interfering with her peace.   

“Who knew you were such a good liar? Shouldn’t believe everythin’ you say too easily then, hm?” his gaze travels down her form, appearing genuinely impressed.   

“You killed a cop?”

“Relax. He was a sleazy bastard who was helpin’ me with some, uh, some side business ‘n became too greedy. What can I say? Don’t like bein’ used ‘n believe me, he wasn’t a good person,” he answers her question, maybe for the first time ever.  

“Right…” she tries her very best to understand where he’s coming from, but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to justify ending someone’s life with such indifference. In her opinion, he doesn’t have the right to decide whether someone gets to live or not— no matter how good or bad of a person they were.  

“Listen, I, uh, I didn’t mean to do it, it jus’…happened, okay?” he tries to explain himself, sounding almost vulnerable. She nearly feels bad for him.

“I could go to jail for helping you!” she snaps when frustration bubbles to the surface instead.   

“Calm down, pup. You’re not goin’ to jail, alright? ‘n watch that fuckin’ tone, yeah?” his hands rest on his head as he begins to pace around the hallway.   

“I just— cops don’t care about pogues. If they find out I lied they’re gonna put me behind bars cause unlike you, I don’t have the money to bail myself out,” she tries to reason with him, albeit pointlessly.

“Already told you, nothing’s gonna happen, okay? Now can you shut the fuck up so I can think?” he suddenly stops in his tracks.

“Did they, uh, tell you anythin’…useful?” he speaks up again and she tells him everything she remembers from the brief conversation while he mulls over the situation.  

“Right, right. So, they don’t—uh, they don’t have any actual proof of me killin’ the guy? Just speculation,” he confirms after a moment.   

“I guess, yeah? But I don’t know if those two knew all the details,” she offers in response, practically hearing the wheels turning in his head.   

“They didn’t mention who the witness was?”   

“N— no, why?” her voice wavers as she swallows around the question.

Then, he flits his eyes over to hers in order to inspect her reaction, seeming to have finally conjured up some sort of a plan to clear his name. “Think m’gonna have to pay them a little visit…‘n you’re gonna help, aren’t ya?”

She blinks, wondering what sin she committed in a past life that weighed so heavily that it made her end up in a position as wretched as this one.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I literally never stop thinking about the ways Scott and Jimmy weren't good for each other in Third Life.

Their main problem was always that Jimmy can't stop moving and Scott can't stop holding on to the point where Jimmy feels like he's being dragged down and Scott feels like he's being yanked around.

Jimmy is someone who wants to be involved, who wants to join every fight, who wants to be in the center of things no matter what is costs, and who has something to prove.

Scott is someone who wants safety and control, who is so so happy with something simple and safe and will swallow so much pride if it means they're okay in the end.

Sure, it's easy to call Scott controlling and cowardly, or to call Jimmy flighty and callous, but I don't think either of them were the problem, I think they were just different people.

It wouldn't be fair to expect Jimmy to sit in a gilded cage, to stay still, to ignore the fire inside him and feign contentedness just because it's safe, just because Scott is happy with that kind of life and thinks Jimmy should be too without considering what Jimmy actually needs for his own happiness.

It also wouldn't be fair to expect Scott to happily watch Jimmy gamble their lives and everything they built together over and over, jeopardize their stability, all the while disregarding Scott's feelings when they're supposed to be partners in this, and Scott and their life together is supposed to matter.

(although i would like to point out who 'won' that argument, because in the end jimmy pulled toward war and scott was in fact pulled in right after him. scott wanted to stay safe in their home and not rock the boat, and jimmy wanted to take a stand and fight, and scott let him win and followed jimmy to both of their deaths. which isnt to say jimmy was in the 'wrong', i dont think either was 'wrong', and scott's plan could have gone badly just as easily. but i think it's important characterization to point out that scott very much let jimmy have his way on the most important argument of their relationship and quite literally followed jimmy's path of ambition to his grave)

Like I don't know, I just think Scott and Jimmy's relationship was fascinating, and tragic, and not something you can just split into 'good guy' and 'bad guy' because the conflict comes down to them being different people with fundamentally different values and desires which inherently hurt the other person. Neither of them did anything wrong. The tragedy and cruelty of it isn't because either of them were bad or abusive or forceful or uncaring, but because you can't clip a birds wings or lead a lamb to slaughter without it being violent and cruel, even if nobody is "at fault" for it.

[envy-of-the-apple]

ive been really obsessed with your gojo/geto naga oneshots and asks lately it feels like literal brain rot at this point its so good. ive reread it 6 times lol

i was wondering though, what would Geto do if Gojo was just a little bit too heavy handed with you? to the point of a sprained or broken arm or leg. Would he get mad at Gojo or just mad in general that reader was hurt? Also how would they act in response to the injured reader who can't do basic tasks themselves, I personally think they would enjoy the fact she relied on them even more to even move now.

Reminder requests are still closed!!!! I just love this idea so so much holdon lemme-

Part one Part three

(Yandere, dark, implied forced relationships, noncon touching, biting, language barriers, drugging(?))

Top of the Food Chain pt2

Dark!Naga!SatoSugu x reader

Two days later, Satoru still wasn't allowed inside the cave.

You can hear him, hissing and clicking, right outside, hovering just behind the invisible line Suguru refused to let him pass. If you weren't already in so much pain, you would have found pity on the poor thing. He wasn't allowed in his own home, even though the incident wasn't entirely his fault.

Technically, Satoru saved you. It was yet again another escape attempt. Something you'd been doing a lot these days once you've figured out these beings' intentions with you. You'd gotten past the rock quarry this time, a new record. Your plan was filled with holes: there was no way to truly escape the island. You had no boat, no way to call for help. Still, you ran, forgetting that there were more dangerous things on this island other than two territorial serpent men.

It was a monster. There was no other way to describe it. Big, ugly, shiny spikes and sharp teeth, eyes dripping with bloodlust. You would have been eaten, killed, maimed, if Satoru hadn't caught up with you in time.

The only collateral was the loss of nearby plant life and your broken wrist.

That had been Satoru's fault. He'd pulled at you too hard at the hand. The remnants of adrenaline from the fight, his anger, anger made him too rough on your fragile body. He froze at the wet snap, and then you started screaming. That was how Suguru had found you. Despite how much Satoru clicked and hummed and tittered, from his mate's look, you doubted it helped his case.

Another lonely coo made you wince. Suguru only huffed, wrapping you tighter in his coils. They were already warm from your body heat. The numerous animal pelts helped your comfort too.

"Make him stop," you beg, "he's been going on for hours."

At that, Suguru lifts his head from the base of your neck. He tilts his head as he surveys you, and you can't help but think how awful you must look. Sickly-looking from the pain, clammy skin. He can't do much about your appearance, but the least he could do was shut Satoru up.

"What want?" Suguru asks, "water?"

At that, he picks up a sack filled with sea-smelling water. You wrinkle your nose, turning away, cocooning yourself within his coils. With the increased pain, your appetite has decreased, as well as your thirst. The stress of being trapped like this along with your broken wrist was starting to take its toll on your body.

Suguru makes a sound of disapproval, shuffling around behind you. You know he's still mad about the escape attempt, but he's concerned enough for your well-being to put his anger to the side for now. He'd helped wrap your wrist, using something stretchy and soft.

You raise your wrist up, inspecting the thin material wrapped around your wrist. You're not sure what it is, it's too silky to resemble cotton. It must be from the foliage around the island. Yet, another strange thing you'd never find the answer to.

There's another rumble coming from the Naga's chest. He wraps a hand around your chin, bringing your face closer. In his other, he holds the dripping sack.

"Suguru," it's too soft to be anything more than a whine, "it hurts too much to take anything right now. Stop."

"Hurt?" he asks.

To that, you gesture to your broken wrist. It may not have been broken, you were no doctor, so you couldn't say for certain. But considering you'd been in the same amount of pain for two days, it really didn't matter to you.

A click, before he's tossing a glare at the entrance of the cave. He'd already given Satoru a beating right before coming to coddle you. Despite being bigger than his mate, Satoru is docile enough to take them. Suguru had been acting more aggressive lately. You had a feeling it was your fault.

He'd been inspecting your wrist every so often, but you see a different look within his brown eyes now as he takes your injured hand. He carefully turns your palm over, pressing slightly into your wrist. When you yelp, he retracts.

"Hurt." Suguru confirms. You can only nod.

"Hurt. No drink? No eat?" You don't like the way he's talking. As if he's putting a puzzle piece together. Coming to a solution you won't like.

When you go to pull away, his grip only tightens.

"No hurt," he says it like a promise, as though you're a toddler and he's coaxing you into drinking a sour-tasting medicine. His lips part, revealing the fangs you've often seen him use on meat, on Satoru.

Never did you think he'd ever use them on you.

"Suguru," you're pleading, trying to move away when he bends down, his hair brushing your sweaty forehead. You can feel his breath on your neck.

"No hurt," he repeats, and then he bites down.

He lied, of course, he did. His teeth puncture your skin, tearing through like paper. You think you screamed, or maybe it was more akin to a pitiful whimper. In the background, you can hear someone hiss, Satoru maybe?

For a second, you feel everything, the pain, the puncture wound, Suguru lightly licking your neck.

And then, you feel weightless.

It's hard to describe, but your brain feels like it's turned to mush. Your body feels like you're on a soft cloud, just there, floating. In the back of your mind, you remember how dazed Satoru would get whenever Suguru bit him. At the time, you just thought he was lovestruck.

When Suguru pulls away, he's smiling. A trail of blood, your blood goes down his lip. You can barely keep your eyes on him, close to falling asleep.

"No hurt," he says. When he leans down to kiss you, you accept without a single fuss.

You don't remember much after that, but you remember accepting whatever Suguru put in your mouth. The panic in your body was non-existent as he held the water-sack above your lips, watching as your throat bobbed. You think he kissed you a few more times, but you're not too sure. You were a lot more averse to kissing before. It'd make sense he'd take advantage of it.

When you wake up again, you're in between two bodies. The pain in your wrist is still there, but not as horrible as before. You're still groggy, mind fuzzy. Whatever Suguru had given you was still in effect.

Satoru is the first to notice you're awake. Suguru and him must have made up during the time you were unconscious. He props himself up, peering down at you. With how dim the cave is, you can barely make out his features. He looks just as guilty as he had two days ago.

"Sorry," he mutters, "is sorry."

If you weren't still high, you might have laughed. When you continue to stare, he takes it in stride, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then your lips. You wince in distaste, leaning back.

"Stop," you say but don't fight when he licks at your jaw. You can barely move your fingers.

Panic is still far away, a distant call than anything alarming. It should worry you, but you still can't feel anything.

Suguru is at your back. You can hear his scales move across the cavern floor. He gives a hum, content as he curls himself around you. He doesn't seem to mind Satoru's touches. Your theory that they must have made up is unfortunately starting to strengthen.

You could barely manage Suguru's coddlings. You don't think you'll survive Satoru's.

"Sorry," he mouths into your neck. You can feel the grip on your waist starting to tighten. He stops, rising up to stare at you.

Blue, almost glowing.

"But no more leave."

You're coherent enough to piece together what he means. You can't escape Satoru. You can't escape Suguru. You can't leave this island. Running away is useless.

The nagas understood it. It's time you did too.

"Yes," you finally say, "no more leave."

[pomefioredove]

Hello and good day 🕊️

How will the vice dormheads react seeing reader overblot and finding out they kept the pain all to themselves until they couldn't take it anymore?

Pls I'm so desperate for overblot!reader content and angst❤️❤️ tanks

RARE VICE HOUSEWARDENS REQUEST 🔥🔥🔥I LOVE ANGST!!!! not adding ruggie this time because I'm lazy sorry everyone

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ overblot!reader

type of post: headcanons characters: trey, jade, jamil, rook, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship for the Angst

there are a lot of things Jamil is feeling right now. fear, a little frustration, too. but he's mostly just ashamed that he never saw the signs. his favorite person in the whole world, the only shoulder he had to lean on, is overblotting, and he has no idea why. you were so supportive through the aftermath of his own overblot, he never thought to... it's his own selfishness and pride slapping him in the face, and it stings

but he'd rather feel guilt than grief. overblotting is painful, exhausting, and emotionally scarring, and he knows it. he's going to get you out of this, even if you hate him for it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

this makes the second time someone close to Rook has been led to overblot, and the second time he didn't see it coming. a tragedy in two parts. and his guilt would have killed him, if it weren't the only thing keeping him alive now. he has to survive this for you. he can feel miserable about it after you're safe and sound at his side again. he won't even consider the other possibility; you have so much more to explore together

it just can't be over yet

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia has followed grief for his entire life. now, at his age, when he's finally settled down, and the world is quiet for once, this happens. he can't tell if he had simply missed the signs, or ignored them, and each answer is equally distressing. despite what he's said about life and loss, he was never ready to confront the reality of losing you, especially so... soon. so, reality confronted him instead

he can't let it end like this. not again

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Trey blames himself. how could he not? all this time, he's been trying to stay out of the way, to keep the peace. if he had been by your side, if he had defended you, if he had made a better effort, maybe you wouldn't be in this place now

his unique magic isn't particularly strong, and his magic pool isn't very deep, but he'll walk right into the center of the storm if he has to. it's about time he started rocking the boat

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul's overblot was tragic, but Jade knew it was coming. it was entertaining, anyway. but this...

never in his life could he imagine something making him so uncomfortable. it makes him queasy, almost seasick, which is a strange thing for a man of the sea to feel. he wishes he could just talk to you, but it's too late for that now. when this is over, you can have a long chat over tea

he just needs you to hold on for a little while longer

[nadvs]

better off (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary after having regretful break-up sex with rafe, you try to move on. but he can’t let you go that easy.

warning toxic relationship

» part one

» masterlist

Gulls squawk in the distance, circling the cloudless afternoon sky as you sit on your family’s docked boat.

Since you arrived at the marina, you haven’t moved, save for the boat’s gentle rocks as it sits on the water. Every so often, you hear chatter from people on their boats around you, but it’s been fairly quiet.

You didn’t come here to go out into the sea. You simply needed a change of scenery. Your bedroom has begun to feel suffocating.

And while it hurts to be alone, it hurts even more to be around people. You’re not yourself since the break-up. Having to keep up conversations reminds you of how much of a stranger you are to yourself now.

Life feels off without Rafe. Blurred.

The pages of the book in your hand are fluttering with the breeze, your pen held tight in your hand. You’ve been trying to focus on reading, but you can’t stop thinking about what happened two nights ago. The last time you saw him.

You regret the break-up sex. It was a relapse that hindered your recovery. He called you insufferable.

But it’s par for the course. He has a knack for making you feel like you’re a burden, a bother, as if you were forcing him into a relationship.

You blink away tears and look down at the words on the page. You had picked up this book about toxic relationships a week ago, but finally started reading it today.

As you expected, what you had with Rafe ticks all the boxes. Distrust. Control. Blame.

And one thing you read that stuck with you is how someone usually stays in a toxic relationship because it doesn’t always feel bad. The person you love isn’t all flaws, all the time.

It’s true. Rafe could be mean, but he had good qualities, too. He was fun. Reliable. Protective. Loyal. Hardworking.

It still wasn’t enough to make up for how cruel he could be. Your eyes travel over the last paragraph you read.

Break the cycle by understanding that this was not your fault. Whatever happened to them to cause their behavior was likely not their fault either, but you must accept that your love can’t break that barrier.

Rafe always hated crying in front of you. He only did it a couple times, muttering that he had to stop being such a pussy. You told him it was okay, but he just got angry at you for trying to console him. As if you were patronizing him.

He treated you the same way when you cried. Not every time, but when he was the reason you were upset, he would tell you to stop whining. That you were sensitive and needed to toughen the fuck up if you were going to be his girl.

It broke you, piece by piece. But if he talked to himself like that whenever he felt weak, of course he’d do it to you, too. Any negative emotion that wasn’t anger was disgusting to him.

You know his upbringing was tumultuous. From what little he told you, his father could be erratic and unreliable with his affection, kind to his son one moment, then clearly favoring his daughter the next.

And you often wondered if that’s why he couldn’t say he loved you very often. Maybe because he considered it a fragile promise.

You sigh to yourself. This is all you’ve been doing; trying to understand a man who can’t possibly love you, not really, because a man who loves you wouldn’t scream at you and call you names.

Break the cycle by understanding that this was not your fault.

You underline the words in red pen. You want this burned into your brain. You couldn’t fix him. It wasn’t on you to. But damn, did you want to.

You pull out your phone to take a photo of this part of the page, the stern of the boat and the dark blue sea and the edge of the dock in the background.

You had intended to just keep it for yourself, but you decide to post it on your story. It feels like a release to share a sentence that has such an impact on you, even though any followers who see it will probably tap through and forget about it in a second.

Plus it’s not like the person you’re relating it to can see it anyway. You removed Rafe from all of your social media and blocked his number. You’ve cut him out of your life.

You look out at the water again, wishing there was something you could do to ease the heaviness that’s flooding your body and wringing your heart out.

It feels like it’s going to hurt forever. It’s a tiring thing, caring about someone who throws you down and then treats you like you chose to fall.

Rafe tried to text you yesterday. We need to meet asap. He meant to make it sound urgent, when really, he just wants to talk about your break-up. It’s a manipulative move, but it’d get your attention.

But the text immediately came up as undelivered. You blocked him. And now that he thinks about it, he’s glad. Those moments of reaching out to you are moments of weakness. And they’re humiliating.

Especially because of what you said the other night. That if there’s any part of him that has a heart, he’ll leave you alone. Of all the things you’ve hurled at him, that had to be one of the worst.

He’s not a heartless asshole. He can act like one, but he’s shown you love time and time again, and you spoke to him as if he never has. It was a stab in the back.

Still, he can’t reign in his need to know whatever he can about you. He felt like such a loser telling Topper to send him whatever you post after you blocked him on everything. At least you didn’t block his friend.

Rafe is sitting on his bed when he sees a screenshot from Topper come through on his phone. Anxiety pricks his skin. Ever since you mentioned that you have someone new now, he’s dreading seeing you with another man, of even seeing a mention of him.

He knows you well. He’s almost certain you lied about having a new boyfriend. But what if you didn’t?

It’s a photo of a book in your lap, your hand holding open the page. He recognizes your family’s boat in the background. You’ve gone out on it together quite a few times.

It’s pathetic how long he looks at your hand in the photo. He’s a wreck, taking pieces of whatever he can to feel put together again, eyes trailing over what little of your body he can see.

You would sometimes put his ring on your finger, looking at him with that bright smile you once had reserved only for him. But that ring is back on his hand now, and the last time it touched you, you called the sex you’d just had a mistake.

Rafe reads the portion you underlined in the book. It makes an ugly mix of pain and anger settle into his core. This has to be about him.

Not your fault. Is that what you really think? That none of this is your fault? That you both crashed and burned all because of him?

He grits his teeth. He was right for what he said the other night. You really do think you’re perfect.

All of your mutual friends know you split up. They’ll piece together that this is about him in a second. There’s no way they won’t. It’s fucking humiliating.

Rafe has no control over his impulses. He never has. That’s why he finds his keys and drives to the marina to find you.

He parks beside your car. His blood is boiling as he rushes down the dock, boats lining the long, uneven boardwalk, but when he spots you, he stops in his tracks.

Your back is to the dock. You’re rubbing your eyes in a way that looks like you’re wiping tears. The book sits beside you.

He’s pissed at you, but seeing you like this makes some of the anger fade.

After coming down from one last cry, you turn to stand and finally go home after hours of sitting and reading. You pick up your book and set to step out onto the dock. And you lock eyes with the man who you’ve done nothing but think about.

Rafe’s mouth opens slightly, but he can’t speak. He closes what little distance remains between you and when he reaches you, his face falls even more once he sees how red your eyes are.

“What are you doing here?” you say.

Your tone is harsh. You look annoyed to see him. It makes anger burn through him all over again.

Rafe steps up onto the edge of the boat, making you shuffle back so he doesn’t bump into you. He towers over you, his eyes hard and cold.

“You think it’s all on me?” he mutters.

“What?” you say.

“That’s what it says, huh?” he says, looking down at the book you’re holding against your chest. “Your stupid little self-help book. Nothing’s your fault.”

“How did…” You look down, shaking your head. He must have found a way to watch your story. And he rushed over here to yell at you about it.

“It’s wrong,” he says. “And the way you’re posting that shit to make me look bad is fucked up.”

“You found out I was here,” you begin, your muscles tense as you stare up at him, “and you came to yell at me over a fucking story? Are you insane?”

“I’m not gonna let you embarass me like that. Delete it.”

“I didn’t do it to embarrass you. I didn’t even mention you,” you mutter sharply. “But you know what?”

You’re spent. You’ve dedicated your day to trying to start your healing process. And you have no more fight left in you.

A stupid post is not worth it. You take out your phone, open your story, and delete it right in front of him.

“There,” you say. You meet his eyes again. “You got what you wanted. Now get out of my way.”

You step to the side to brush past him, but his hand wraps around your forearm. His skin feels so warm and so familiar and so nice and you wish he would stop having this effect on you.

“Rafe,” you say, your tone teetering on whining. “Let me go.”

“You think this is what I wanted?” he says with a humorless laugh.

“What do you want?” you challenge. “To keep fighting with me? Why are you looking at what I post?”

“Why are you posting about me?”

“I already told you, I didn’t even mention you.” You rip your arm out of his grip.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious. Everyone knows we…” He can’t even say broke up out loud. His eyes dart down to the book you’re holding.

“What other bullshit did you read in here, huh?” he mutters. He takes the book out of your hand. Resigned, you let him.

Rafe leafs through the pages, his heart pounding, eyes tracking whatever you’ve underlined.

“You actually spent your money on this?” he scoffs, condescending you.

“You’re such an asshole.”

You consider leaving him here. You can just buy another copy. Spending time with someone so committed to arguing, so committed to making you feel small, is misery.

But then Rafe stops at a page.

He notices a sentence underlined and circled and starred. And he’s prepared to call bullshit on it, simply because you so clearly want to remember it. But when he reads it, he loses some of his composure.

His jaw tightens and he shuts the book, shoving it back towards you. You gaze at him curiously, wondering what he just read that obviously struck him.

“What?” you ask, your guard coming down a little.

The words he just read tumble in his brain. He’s still so angry, still wanting to hit you where it hurts.

“Didn’t work out with the new guy?” he asks.

You swallow hard.

“There’s no new guy. I lied,” you admit. “Just to hurt your feelings. Because that’s what we do, right? We hurt each other on purpose, over and over.”

The relief that washes over Rafe dilutes his anxiety. There’s nobody else.

“And you’re still going to take no blame at all?” he says, eyes fluttering down to the book. “You think it’s normal to lie like that?”

“You bring it out in me,” you retaliate. “And you’re one to talk. Have you ever said sorry to me? Once?”

Rafe always acted like taking any sort of accountability was an admission of worthlessness. As if a sorry was admitting that he’s a bad person.

“Have you?” he asks.

You tense up even more, looking up at him through sad, angry eyes.

“What do I have to be sorry for?” you say.

“For-” His own caught breath interrupts him. He looks away, pissed as hell that his throat is starting to feel scratchy. He can’t cry. “For always making me feel like shit.”

“You always made me feel like shit.”

“See?” He breaths a cynical chuckle. “You don’t even ask how. You just say I did it, too.”

You cross your arms, your book starting to feel heavy in your grip. You hate this feeling, the tinge of powerlessness when he brings up a good point.

“How, then?” you ask begrudgingly.

“You brought up old fights all the time,” he snaps.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “I did that because I never got an apology. Or any sort of closure.”

“Then, talk about it when it happens,” he says. “Don’t bitch about something from a million years ago.”

“I didn’t bitch,” you say sharply. “Don’t use that word.”

“You know I’m right,” he says. “I never knew when you were going to get pissed off. We’d be having fun and then out of fucking nowhere…”

He sighs again and looks down, his hands on his hips.

You want to counter that he was exactly like that. Because he was. He used to fly off the handle with no warning all the time. Maybe he walked on eggshells, but so did you.

You swallow your reflex to fight back. You’re sure it’s all the reading you’ve been doing about taking responsibility. You can admit you’re guilty of what he’s accusing you of.

Throughout your relationship, you’d be having a good time together and out of nowhere, you’d think of an old fight that was left unresolved and reminded him of what an asshole he could be.

Just like that, you can understand a part of his side. You had always thought of him as completely in the wrong. It was perpetually about winning or losing between you two. Black and white.

But maybe it’s gray. Because while you were wondering how someone who was supposed to love you could be so cruel, you were cruel in your own way. And you adored him.

“Talking about it when it happened was impossible. We never resolved anything,” you say. “And that weighed on me. I hated how you never said sorry. But I know I… blindsided you sometimes.”

Rafe blinks a few times, looking at you with a softness you haven’t seen in a long time.

You actually admitted to it. He doesn’t feel self-righteous like he thought he would. He feels better than that. Understood, for once.

“But you’d do something shitty and then just expect me to get over it,” you continue. “And if I cried, you made me feel sensitive and crazy for being hurt. But of course I was hurt, Rafe. I loved you.”

He licks his lips, his eyes boring into you, his chest starting to rise and fall faster. He didn’t miss the past tense.

“You don’t anymore,” he says, disbelief and desperation in his voice.

You stare up at him. And you respond honestly.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wavering.

“How do you not know?” he says tersely.

“Do you love me?” you say. “You never said it.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighs. “God, you were always so hung up on that. Why did I have to say it all the damn time? I showed it.”

He was always tense about this. It’s hard to actually say the words. And he hates how bad you made him feel for discomfort he couldn’t control.

He never heard it growing up. He never had anyone to say it to. Then, with you, it’s like he was expected to say it every hour.

It made him feel inadequate, every time you pestered him for not saying it. Like he wasn’t enough for you unless he said three words.

“Do you?” you repeat.

There’s a tangled heap of feelings sitting on his chest. He’s torn between wanting to hurt you and wanting to win this argument and wanting to hear you love him and wanting to storm away.

His pride is too fucking heavy. If you won’t say you love him, he’s not saying it to you.

He doesn’t answer. And you realize his eyes are glossy.

“Are you crying?” you ask gently.

Typically, you’d pretend you didn’t notice because he loathes crying in front of you. It embarrasses him. But this isn’t a typical conversation.

“You really think we’re sick together?” he rasps.

You know exactly what part of your book he read now. You read that line over and over again. It’s better to be healthy alone than sick together.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

Rafe can’t stop the tear that drops onto his cheek. Frustrated, he wipes it away.

“And you can make fun of me for reading books like this all you want,” you say, “but they really do help. I need to be healthy on my own first if I want to be healthy with someone else.”

Something that looks like fear flashes over his face.

“You want to be with someone else?” Rafe asks. “Who?”

You gaze up at him with a cocked head, actually feeling sympathy for his insecurity. He always bordered on hysteria over the idea of you with another man. He always was so sure you’d find someone more suited for you.

“No. Right now, it’s important for me to get better,” you say. “By myself.”

“And what if…” He shakes his head. “What if I get better, too?”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been this whole conversation. Maybe the most vulnerable he’s been with you ever.

You search his handsome, pained face for any indication of this being a cruel joke.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Rafe doesn’t know how to navigate this. You had each other at your worst, but you still fell in love. How happy could you be at your best?

“If I get better, too, are you going to want…” It’s too nerve-wracking to directly ask if you’ll want him. He feels like such a coward.

“You?” you say.

His jaw tenses in discomfort. You exhale shakily.

This doesn’t have to be a test of pride, a game of win or lose like it always was with him. You can be honest. Because you already had to say goodbye to the person who once made you the happiest you’d ever been, so there’s nothing left to lose.

“If we really are better,” you finally say, “yeah. We can try this again. If you want to.”

Rafe knows he shouldn’t, but he wants to touch you so badly that it’s hurting him. This feels too fragile, though. One wrong move could break this sense of amiability you two haven’t had together in ages.

“I want to,” he admits.

For the first time in weeks, hope blooms in your chest. You always thought he was so stubborn. That he didn’t think he had anything wrong with him, and therefore, nothing to fix.

But he’s willing to work on himself. And you are, too. Maybe this isn’t doomed after all.

“We’ll give it a few weeks, okay?” you say softly. “And after, we’ll talk and… see what happens.”

Rafe wants to ask if you’ll unblock him, but he’s opened himself up to enough risk of rejection since this conversation started. He accepts the discomfort of not knowing.

He can only say a tense, “Okay.” And he can’t cry in front of you anymore. And he can’t handle how confusing it is to feel hopeful and angry and sad all at once.

He leaves. Because the only way he can comfortably let out overwhelming emotions is through a fight, and that’s not an option right now.

You watch him go, left to wonder if this is just delaying further heartbreak, or if one day, you actually can be the people you need each other to be.

(part three)

[skymar13]

Could we get a bnha x a Reader who gets the urge to throw up over anything? I’m on my period rn and I cannot also I love your works ! 🫶🏼

How BNHA are when you’re on your period

Yes ofc. You’re so sweet, if yall have the chance take a look at their page!

Not spell checked

:fluff

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

Bakugo

He’s kinda grossed out at first but he will slowly get used to it

He will buy you everything mina tells him to buy even if he thinks it’s useless shit

The first time you threw up was during training and he thought it was his fault but then noticed you having to leave class more often and put two and two together

Lowkey thought you were pregnant

After you tell him what’s actually happing he’ll start bringing extra water and nausea medicine

If you stain the bed he will be so awkward about changing the sheets

Over all ten out of ten his mom was very blunt about her periods so I guess he knew just never knew yk?

Izuku

Freaks out on you

He was aware of periods but freaks out when it actually comes to it

Asked Ururaka and tsu what to get you and what you needed and really tried to be supportive

You were the rock so when you’re emotional he’s emotional and it’s a messy week

When you throw up it sends him into panic mode because he doesn’t know what to do. Will hold your hair for you and stay as long as you need

Has a page in his note book on what you need and where to get it for your period

If you stain he’s fine with it lowkey scared to wash them for some reason

Called his mom on what to do.

Over all normal teen boy reaction.

Kirishima

Knows the most about periods

Knows a general idea of what to get you and how to help but had to ask the girls a couple of things

He was very normal about it and acted like it was an every day thing

He knew how to deal with your cravings and mood swings

Carried medicine for nausea and head aches and extra water when u feel dehydrated

If you throw up and he’s around he’s doing the most, he’s getting you water holding your hair fanning your face allat

If you stain anything he has no shame in helping you clean up and washing his sheets

Overall best out of everyone already prepared for this and doesn’t really care it’s literally natural

Iida

Panicked like alot

He knew what a period is of-course he did so why is he so scared it’s a woman’s passage of life

He immediately texted every girl he knew on what to do and naught three of everything they sent him for all the good shit too

Wasn’t grossed out more worried on how he can make you comfortable and make this week the easiest for you

When you’re throwing up he’s press pressure points to help you feel less nauseated

Learned what foods you did and didn’t like and which ones made you feel greasy or bloated

If you stain he’s immediately washing and helping you clean no ifs or buts will literally march to the washer no shame

Overall dream boat boyfriend but he panicked the first couple of times

Kaminari

He was the worst, definitely the guy to make faces and say the worst shit

Kirishima had to tell him to get his shit together and bakugo even gave him shit

Jirou told him what to get and made it as an apology

Became a fat ass with you and ate snacks and watched movies with you all day

If you’re emotional he’s js letting you be, you hate him he’s okay you wanna cuddle he’s alr laying down

When you throw up around him he’s the first one to make sure you’re okay and holds your hair back for you

One of those guys to say periods ain’t that bad then try a period simulator and cry

If you stain he’s making faces and helping you wash but that’s it he’s not touching anything

You have to be the one that normalizes periods for him and lowkey get mad at his behavior

Overall he’s a teenage boy one that wasn’t really taught about this growing up so bare with him

Todoroki

Is horrified to see you bleeding

Doesn’t know what a period is his dad never told him about it and his mom well yk…

Texted fuyumi about it and she told him what to do how to act allat good stuff

Doesn’t understand it but he’s here for you whenever you need him he’s at your command

Doesn’t mind your behavior just kinda stays non chalant

When you throw up around him he’s doing everything that he should be doing giving you water and holding your hair back

When you stain lowkey has a mini panic attack but eventually snaps out and helps you clean up

Overall he was sheltered but isn’t like kaminari at all opposite end of the sheltered spectrum

Mirio

A lot like kirishima in the idea that he already knows what to do and get and is already used to this by now with nejire

Buys you everything before you even need it and has stuff in his restroom for you to use when you’re over

Memorizes your schedule

Thinks that your so cute when you get annoyed

When you throw up he’s doing the most like iida fanning you giving you water holding you hair and giving you medicine

If you stain he’s literally the most supportive person ever he’s saying it’s okays and he’s got it lends you his clothes allat jazz

Overall he’s amazing but we already expected that

Tamaki

We already know. He had a panic attack about you having a panic attack about nothing

He’s doesn’t know what to do so he called nejire and she just got you everything you needed and give it to him to give to you

Doesn’t know what to do doesn’t make faces just genuinely confused

When you tell him what you need he does it no questions

Loves to be big backed with you because it helps him as much as it does you

When you throw up he’s useless panics and freezes and either nejire or mirio end up helping

But he does get used to it and eventually helps you

When you stain he also freezes before helping you but again he’s very nervous about it

Overall he’s Tamaki

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Let me know if you want more characters

As always requests open

[assjuice4ever]

Young justice Jason x reader

(inspired to the Winter Soldier)

You and Red Hood never talked. You weren't even sure if he was able to talk. And yet, you knew him better than everybody else in the shithole you two were in.

You knew how he preferred guns more than swords, but swords were more easy to get. How he liked to read and listen to rock music while in an airplane or helicopter to pass the time. How he liked to drink a beer after a mission and how he grunted every single time he disliked something. May it be the snow too high, the sands getting in his boots or the enemy screaming with an acute voice.

You knew he smelled like cigarettes and he sneaked them up someway even if it was a big no and how his steps sounded when he wasn't trying to hide them.

And you knew how he looked under the mask, a phantom of scars adorning his face, crumpled when he smiled, especially when you offered the beer, because he didn't feel like pocketing some loser at the bar.

Red Hood was your partner for years and you hated how you didn't know the sound of his laugh, how he became taller than you, how much he looked like a homeless boozer whenever he didn't do his beard. You hated how you didn't know his name, you didn't know yours too. Yet, not knowing his was worse. And worst of all, you hated how much you two were alike.

Whenever you got something about your memory, a fleeting feeling that something was back, that you were having a déjà vu, that you weren't supposed to be there but they trapped you, they sat you on a chair and zapped your brain. Making you forget about whatever was your life before Red Hood, the list of names you had to kill, and the blood on your hands. You were something else before. You didn't know what but you were.

Red Hood didn't have his brain zapped like you, he just seemed to forget. Red Hood wasn't a metahuman like you. But he was the only other one that was trained and stuck with a list of names. Men to kill. Objectives. And there was nothing in either of your lives other than the missions.

Until one time when you two were on a mission and you heard him at night, you two in the middle of the woods, snow so high that your waist was nearly covered, keeping watch until the signal to go inside the base under the mountain.

-Grayson. - It was a gurgle. The sound of a man that never spoke before. And he repeated and you saw something different in the way he gripped his katana, as if it was a lifeline. With a desperation you didn't know he could have. You didn't know Red Hood at all, and the fact that you were the person that knew him best was pretty sad.

In some things, you two weren't alike at all. You didn't have anything to grip onto. The memories of your past life something that was easy to let go of.

-Who is Grayson? - You asked but Red Hood didn't answer. He never answered back even if you talked enough for both of you at times.

He just repeated the name to you as if you could give him an answer. You couldn't.

That night you two carried on with the mission.

The night you made him run away it was the first time you saw his eyes and for the first time you decided it wasn't a good thing to forget. His eyes were green like the sea, full of confusion and fear.

-I'm gonna keep them here. You go. -

He just nodded before running, jumping on a boat to get as far away as possible from that island. And you stayed there, a smile on your lips even if you knew you were gonna be on the run from that day on. Ra's al Ghoul didn't take kindly to betrayers and people that used his personal green pit. But you weren't going to forget anything this time.

[toxycodone]

mouthwashing characters when you’re depressed

ship. tulpar crew x reader cw. sfw + fluff/comfort

an. s/o to @xyfanficarchive for the Daisuke ideas!!!! my muse…

Curly

Oh he gets it. Full understands what you’re going through. (You can’t tell me he isn’t on some sort of anxiety/depression meds or at least got a potential diagnosis).

Curly most likely predicted that a depressive episode was coming. Whatever your key “tell” is: whether you start pulling back, issues sleeping, more nonchalant, appetite changes, it starts setting off bells in his head and he’s prepping.

He doesn’t wanna outright ask “are you depressed?” (He doesn’t know how to approach the subject at first really). So he just acts/reacts accordingly. He makes meals, helps you shower/bathe (he’s not gonna force you every day but if you go 2 or more days without it he’s putting you in there himself).

He even does little things like making sure you wash your face at least once a day and brush your teeth too.

Honestly, he does enjoy taking care of you. I think this is how he’d show he loves you for real. Even when you’re at your lowest you’re worth caring for. (It also distracts from his own issues buuuuut. That’s another story.)

My only qualm is I think he has that “toxic positivity” mindset unknowingly. He’s always like “it’s gonna get better! you need to drink more water/take vitamins/work out!” (these are just things he’s constantly telling himself tbh).

But Curly isn’t stupid. Like he will quickly pick up that’s not working for you and not what you need to hear and shift into a “shut up and help out” mindset. He moves from self help mode to just being there for you. I really have this mental image of him just hugging you on the couch and talking about his day. Sneaking in a few kisses or just giving compliments. But also if you’re not into that he just rubs your back while you bedrot. You’re quiet but enjoying time together and you know he’s there for you.

Jimmy

Been there, done that.

Okay, but seriously. He’s not to pressed at first. He’s basically living between bouts of depression, general neutrality, and mania. So this just seems like an inevitable “phase” you gotta go through.

But this is what makes him the most realistic when dealing with this. Jimmy isn’t gonna baby you or anything. He’s just like “it be like that” forreal. And unlike curly he’s not gonna rebuttal with reasons why life is great and why you shouldn’t be sad, he’s gonna agree. You say life is shit? Yeah, Jimmy 100% agrees. You two commiserate and it’s actually really cathartic because for once someone doesn’t make you feel crazy for being so down when there’s “so much to live for”.

He self medicates when he’s depressed. You’re getting offered pills or alcohol or a blunt or something. Whether you take it is up to you.

I can say Jimmy, for once, would stay sober. If he’s in a good enough mental state he’ll take one for the team and trip sit you or whatever so you can get that nice dopamine rush in peace.

Jimmy thinks it’s insane that he’s doing this, but when you’re depressed, and like really depressed—going through one of those terrible phases he’s been through before, he genuinely feels sympathetic. And it prompts him to do things he never thought. By that I mean doing your laundry, cooking what he can, making the bed. He doesn’t really get why, but he wants to do this and only for you. He really is angry about the fact no one has done this for him when he was in the same boat, but the thought of you having to suffer like he did? Just no. He’s gonna pitch in. He just has to.

But again, he’s best for commiserating. You two bitch heavily about how much the world sucks over way too many beers on his back porch. Probably throw rocks or smash junk while absolutely hammered, too. Then the next morning you’re hungover as shit and spend the day recovering before it’s back to “it is what it is.” Like yeah, it sucks and you feel like shit, but at least you have each other in your corners. If one of you is still kicking, it’s only fair the other is too.

Anya

Like Curly, she knew this was coming a mile away. Anya is not stupid. She’s spent so much time with her nose in psychology books that she gets tipped off insanely fast.

Unlike Curly though, she wants to address the problem. Anya starts gently at first with a simple “are you okay?” It opens the floor for you to be honest. And if you aren’t willing to talk about it or if you mask it with an “I’m fine!” She just. Frowns. Anya does not believe it, but she’s not gonna force you.

Until you start with more textbook symptoms. Then she’s like “I think you might be having a depressive episode.” She’s not letting you dance around it by then. You two are facing this head on.

and the good thing is that you guys talk about it. Like actually talk. Anya listens, lets you say your peace. Nods in understanding and shows you she’s actively taking her time to understand you. Then instead of giving her two cents, she asks you what you want her to do. Anya wants to know how she can help you in the moment and in the long run.

And she does it! Whatever she’s able to, she’s gonna do it. Anya is a really reliable partner and just truly solid. It can be anything from sharing a shower, ordering takeout and chilling on the couch, or even if you just need her to be in the same room but leave you the fuck alone—she’s there for you.

She’s definitely recommending tips from psychology books too. Journaling, eating spicy foods, getting a little exercise if possible—you guys go down a laundry list to help kick this episode in the butt.

And then when the time comes, you two have a good conversation about therapy/medication. (Don’t worry she won’t offer to be your therapist and encourages you to see a neutral third party you can be honest with)

Daisuke

Okay…Daisuke is a bit of a mixed bag. I think he’s been sad, but not truly depressed.

He doesn’t catch the warning signs, so at first when it hits, Daisuke just thinks you’re in a bit of a funk. It’s okay! He’s been through this before. And he’s happy to help you out of it!

Daisuke takes you to the arcade, thrifting, maybe on a little shopping spree…but when that doesn’t work (or when he can’t even encourage you to do it in the first place), Dai hits a wall.

He’s confused. And worried. Really worried about you. This depends on you as a person and whether it makes you feel better or worse, but I think it’s very visible how your depressive episodes affect him. Until he really understands what it is and what it means, Daisuke’s really fretting when this happens.

And so…he voices that concern. “I just noticed that you seem sad. Like, really sad. And I don’t know what to do!” So!! He asks!! What can he do to help you? Or do you even want his help?

And whatever your answer is, he does it. He’ll give you reminders that he loves you, takes care of you, even binges shitty tv shows over even more terrible for you junk food. As long as he can just keep showing he’s there for you and that you’re worth it. That he loves you even when you’re at your lowest…that’s what matters the most.

And just being the goof he is, he’s gonna do things to make you smile. Dancing around the kitchen, showing you his playlist of funny TikToks, cracking some stupid jokes he may or may not have stolen from Twitter. Any time he can crack even a hint of a smile he’s fist pumping and celebrating.

And then…he is probably going to recommend therapy. (He has an awesome adhd therapist he’s working w so. He’s singing the praises for it to you.)

Swansea

Oddly enough I really see him similar to Jimmy. Swansea’s so realistic he’s just like “you’re depressed? Yeah life sucks, so what? You keep going.”

But he’s smart enough to not be like “just get off your ass”. He takes pity on you, whether he likes it or not. Seeing you out of your element does make him upset.

He’s a comiserater, but he’s always going to counter with like “but we keep going anyways.” And if you’re like “but why?” He’s like “why not?”

Like yeah, shit isn’t always good, so you settle for mediocrity. Because the mundane can actually be really nice. Swansea’s a simple pleasures man—good coffee, good food, good times spent relaxing either alone or with the ones you love. That’s what makes it all worth it.

Swansea’s like “you can have your little moments where it all seems like shit, but eventually you gotta face the music and go back to reality.”

He’s a very grounding presence, though. I’ll give him that. He’s also 100% going to cook for you. And you can tell he cares because he has difficulty leaving you alone. He hopes that you seeing him doing stuff. Persisting. That it’ll give you some hope.

and when you start getting more back to normal, showing interest again in your usual hobbies or responsibilities—you can see a weight visibly lift off his shoulders.

[sometimesanalice]

Sun Stroke

Summary: It’s been a few months since you’ve broken up with your boyfriend and moved to San Diego. And when Rooster and his teammates introduce you to Dogfight football, you know you’ll never be the same again. Hard pressed and out of sorts, you take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/Female Reader

Length: 8k

Warnings: smut, mentions of masturbation, an ode to the jorts.

(author's note: this is a prequel to the 'Like I Can' series, however it can be read on it's own!)

Bradley Bradshaw was a dead man.

The hangover you’d woken up with was 100% his fault for pressing that final Blue Moon into your hand last night at the Hard Deck.

It had been a couple years since the last time the two of you had seen each other in person and even longer since you’d both lived in the same city, but he knew you. And he without a doubt knew better than to order you another drink when you were already fighting back the giggles.

But what were you going to do, not drink a free beer paid for by your longtime best friend? Not to mention the way he’d teasingly called you a lightweight in a way that sounded a little too much like a dare.

You’d only moved to San Diego a little over a month and a half ago, and maybe if you were going to own up to the role you played in earning this headache, you probably should have known better than to try and keep up with the group of aviators. But since he’d been the one to drive and you were having a good time, you’d thrown caution into the wind and cheers-ed his glass with your own with a grin.

Bad choices shouldn’t taste so good.

It was a citrus-kissed mistake you were paying for now with your head pounding as you rushed around your apartment in a frenzy trying to throw your things together to get out the door to meet everyone at the beach. It’s a feat that would have been so much more manageable if you hadn’t been surrounded by a sea of cardboard boxes, all in various stages of unpacked disarray. It’s an inconvenient maze made by your own procrastination.

Those pain relievers you’d popped not too long ago couldn’t kick in quick enough.

You were running late. You hate being late.

And the way your phone keeps pinging is stressing you out even further. You know it’s Bradley and you’ve been ignoring it in favor of trying to get your act together. It goes off again, barely a minute since the last text had come through, but this time you pause your rummaging to check it.

🔴 Rooster, 11:10 AM: where are you??

🔴 Rooster, 11:17 AM: on a scale from 1-10 how bad is your hangover?

🔴 Rooster, 11:22 AM: tick tock, kid.

🔴 Rooster, 11:23 AM: bring me a coffee?

You roll your eyes at the nerve of that last one. He was going to have to beg Jimmy to make him a tar-like pot from the Hard Deck’s ancient coffee maker if he wanted any. If you were suffering through a hangover, he could suffer through being undercaffeinated.

It didn’t help that you were feeling more high strung than usual. Your vibrator had died before you could finish last night and you’d meant to buffer in time for a quick orgasm this morning, but then you’d slept through your alarm.

You hadn’t had sex since you’d broken up with your ex almost three months ago. While you were doing just fine on your own, you were getting tired of the feel of your own hands and fingers.

When your boss had mentioned the promotion that he wanted to put you forward for, you were elated until he mentioned it would involve relocating to the West Coast office. You’d been on the fence, it was the next step towards your dream job, but you were content with your life in Boston. That night when you had casually mentioned the possibility of it to your boyfriend at the time, it seemed clear to you that it would be an either-or situation.

Either you’d stay in Boston with him or you’d move to San Diego on your own.

Not wanting to rock the boat, you didn’t mention it again. Even though you were still weighing the choice in your mind. It wasn’t until a phone call with Bradley, that you’d finally settled on the right choice for you. After breaking it off with your ex, the two of you had essentially lived like roommates until you’d left without a look back.

At the time, you thought it had been a brilliant idea to use some of your less worn clothes as packing protection for your things. But now as you desperately dig through your third box labeled Bedroom looking for the sporty black and white one piece with the zipper that you know you have but can’t seem to find, you’re starting to think you might be the biggest idiot on the West Coast.

The only beach appropriate thing you’d been able to find in your frantic searching was the bright red scalloped bikini you’d bought a few years ago for a bachelorette party in Tulum wrapped around a set of pretty glass candle holders. And while it made your boobs look great, it was much sexier and revealing than what you were going for to meet up with the Daggers on their home turf.

When your phone dings yet again, you finally admit defeat and give up on your search. In a huff, you put on the bikini, giving the bow behind your neck a good tug before pulling up your denim shorts with a couple jumps, trying to speed things along.

Earlier, you’d found the sticky note that said “FRIDGE!!!” underlined a few times by a heavy hand on top of the beach bag you vaguely remember packing for yourself the night before. The soft cooler bag covered with cheerful palm leaves had been haphazardly shoved onto the top shelf and was now sitting by the front door with the rest of your things, including the low sitting pink and white striped beach chair that Bradley had given to you as a ‘Welcome to San Diego’ gift.

You take one more passing glance around your apartment you look for any stray item that might have been missed- not that you’d be able to spot anything anyways through the cardboard battleground that is your apartment- and then you’re shoving your feet into your sandals and flying out the door in a flurry.

Pulling into the private lot of the Hard Deck, you park in the open spot next to your best friend’s blue Bronco. The bar wouldn’t be open until later, but Penny had given the group of aviators’ carte blanche parking perks. It was something you were especially thankful for as you slung the heavy bags over your shoulder.

The warm coastal breeze and briny salt air were clearing the cobwebs from your head.

Even though the feel of it drifting over your bare skin reminded you of just how exposed you were in just your skimpy bikini top and frayed denim shorts, you’d only realized when you were halfway to the beach that you’d forgotten to put a shirt on in your haste to get out the door. But you were sure you’d packed an oversized linen shirt to cover up with if the sun got to be too hot.

As you pass by the well maintained, but sun-bleached patio, you see Penny sitting at one of the picnic tables with her laptop. She waves when she sees you and you raise the iced latte you’d stopped for up to her in greeting, as much as you can without having the beach chair slip off your shoulder.

Further down the beach, you see the group of energetic aviators. Nat looked a bit like an orchestral conductor the way she is directing the finishing touches on the set up. You weren’t too late, just fashionably so, but you were already planning to buy them all a round of drinks later anyways. Even though it’s just a casual hang out, you still want to make a good impression with Bradley’s friends.

It was been one of the things you’d been most worried about moving here. Rooster had opened the door for you to get to know his friends, but you didn’t want to be just an extension of your best friend in the way it felt like you had been in high school. You really liked these people and wanted to make your own friendships with them too.

You’re more than regretting the choice to try and bring everything in one go, with the way the sand is shifting under your feet and how your beach bag and chair keep bumping against each other with every step you take. And just as you’re contemplating ditching them for the moment to circle back for after you get rid of the cooler bag that’s weighing you down, you see Fritz nudge Bradley, pulling his attention away from his phone and pointing in your direction.

The wide grin that appears on his face is immediate and you feel the corners of your own mouth pulling up. California looked good on him. He seemed happier and lighter here, more like the boy you knew from back home. The one he’d been before he lost his mom and the man who’d helped raise him. You hope that one day it’ll look just as good on you. He gives the other man a quick pat on the back before he’s setting off towards you in an easy jog.

“Hey, where’s mine, kid?” Bradley asks, nodding to your drink with its ice cubes now more than half melted before effortlessly taking the heavy bag from you.

You’re so grateful for his help- now that you can feel your arm again- that you almost forget that you’re supposed to be annoyed at him.

“You know what you did, Br-adshaw,” you retort, catching on his name and hoping he could feel your attempt at a glare from behind your dark sunglasses.

It was a change you were still getting used to. You’ve known him since you were eight, he’s always been Bradley to you. But you’d caught on very quickly that everyone else here only ever seemed to call him ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’. And he’d grinned so widely the first time you’d called him by his callsign that it seemed like a confirmation to the question you’d been too apprehensive to ask.

The man didn’t even have the courtesy to look guilty, the all too knowing smirk on his face confirmed everything you already knew, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mhmm, sure,” you say, flatly pressing your lips together in an unamused line. You’re tempted to flip him off now that you have a free hand, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He tugs his sunglasses down his nose with a finger to look at you from over the top of them, more serious now, “But you had fun, right?”

And it’s too hard to keep up with the façade of being mad at him when he is looking at you so earnestly. When you were younger you had a higher tolerance against those big brown eyes, his ‘cow eyes’ as Carole had called them. Now that you lived here maybe you’d have a fighting chance against them again, but you felt yourself giving into them.

You were still getting use to the fact that you got to be around him all the time again, and sometimes it felt like you were relearning him as an adult. Your friendship with him felt just as familiar as it always had, but you could admit it was also different now.

“A little too much,” you say with a light laugh at your own expense, “But yes, I had fun, Rooster. I really like your friends.”

He smiles, pleased. “Ok, good.”

Bradley slings an arm over your shoulder and the two of you start walking towards the rest of the group. You hold your drink up for him to take a sip as a sign of truce.

He grimaces at the taste, “Why does it taste like I just licked some of that potpourri shit my Grandma Rose used to keep in her house?”

“Maybe because it’s a lavender latte,” you say, taking a smug sip of your own now that the two of you were even. The coffee shop you’d stopped at has become your favorite in the area. It was a little thing, but you liked having a go-to spot when so much still felt so new to you.

“You’ve only been here a few weeks and they’ve already got you drinking the California Kool-Aid? Coffee should taste like coffee, not a damn flower,” he gripes.

“You sound like you’re seventy. Next, you’ll be yelling at kids to get off your grass,” you tease, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “And I’ll have you know I liked these before I moved here. It was just an extra selling point getting one this morning because I know you aren’t going to drink it all when my back is turned.”

He barks a laugh, “Now that I know there were ulterior motives involved, I might just have to help you finish it.”

You stop and push your sunglasses onto the top of your head, giving him a firm look, “You’re still on friendship probation, tread carefully where my coffee is involved.”

Bradley playfully reaches out for your coffee, “You don’t scare me, kid.”  You attempt to push him away, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

The two of you had basically reached the rest of the group. The gentle crash of the waves was mingling with the sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing from a speaker and the bursts of easy laughter of his friends. Jake is a few feet from the two of you at the edge of the set up as he works to cover himself with sunscreen, the mist sparkling on the fine hairs on his forearms before he rubs it in. 

“You might have those curls figured out now, but I bet my mom still has photos of you with that terrible middle part from when you were thirteen. Don’t mess with me, Bradshaw.”

His head snaps towards you, “Your potpourri coffee is safe, I promise.” You can’t help but laugh at the panic in his voice and the way he warily eyes Jake, clearly not wanting the other man to get his hands on any potential blackmail material.

The sound of a low, exaggerated whistle pulls your attention over to Hangman. “Lookin’ good, kid,” Jake drawls, a pair of dimples punctuating his lazy grin on either cheek, “Red is definitely your color.” His pecs and abs are gleaming in the sun. He’s not your usual type, but it’s working for you more than it should.

God, you really needed to get laid. Or at least get a more reliable vibrator.

“Nah, I’m not having any of that,” Bradley warns, pointing a finger at him, “You cut that shit out right now, Seresin.”

Jake puts his hands up in surrender, but that sharp smile gets even wider, “Just givin’ the lady a compliment, Rooster, don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” He sends you a wink and you think you hear Bradley grumble something under his breath.

The blonde with all his pretty boy looks was absolutely a shark when it came to finding ways to get under Rooster’s skin. You’d heard your best friend complain about him for years. And even after learning about their truce, you hadn’t been too sure about meeting him in person. But ultimately his easy charm had won you over pretty quickly. You could admit that now you had a lot of fun teaming up with Jake and riling Bradley up.

“Thank you, Jacob,” you sing, tugging on Rooster’s arm towards the spot that had been left open for you in between his things and what you recognized as Natasha’s oversized beach towel.

You gingerly balance your coffee on the arm of his deep green beach chair before dropping the rest of your things into the sand and take in the carefully curated beach arrangement.

Fritz and Harvard are off to the side casually tossing a frisbee back and forth between them. Callie and Nat were facing off against Coyote and Payback in a game of cornhole laughing as they shit talk. Yale looks like he is napping, but you spot the AirPods in his ears, probably trying to listen to the audiobook he’d recommend to you last night in peace. Next to him is Fanboy, who looks pretty engrossed in the comic book he’s reading. And Bob was making his way back up the beach towards the group from where he’d been down by the water.

“I’m going to go offload that and say ‘hi’ to people,” you tell Rooster. Taking the heavy cooler bag back from him, you set off towards the designated grazing area in the middle of the ocean-facing semicircle Nat had corralled people into, greeting his friends as you pass by.

You were more than a little curious about tipsy you had packed for the day. Unzipping the bag, the first thing you spot is the last thing you ever would have expected to find for a day at the beach.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, hesitating for a moment, unsure whether or not to add it to the rest of the things in the cooler.

“Are those pickles?” You turn to see Mickey standing behind you.

You hold the jar up for his inspection, “I can’t tell you what I was thinking by bringing them. Do you think I should put them in?”

He surprises you when he whoops and takes the jar from you, holding it above his head like a championship belt, “Yo, Payback! Look! The kid brought pickles!”

“Which kind?” Reuben calls back, taking a pause from the game with a beanbag still clutched in his hand.

“Claussen! The whole kind!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” he hoots, sending you a thumbs up. “Grab me one too, Fanboy.”

Mickey twists open the lid with a satisfying pop and fishes one out. “These are the best, thanks!” he says before excitedly hustling off towards Reuben to share, the cornhole game now on an indefinite pause.

You hadn’t been too sure what tipsy you had been thinking, but apparently the beach pickles were destined to be a hit. Either that or you weren’t the only one trying to shake off the tail end of a hangover this morning.

Bob swings by to grab a soda, but stops to help you unload the rest of the things from your bag. As the two of you work together, he tells you about the crab he’d found near the patio of the Hard Deck that he’d just released back into the ocean. 

Both of the large coolers were pretty packed, so no one would be going hungry or thirsty today. You make a note to shop around for one of your own and maybe a beach umbrella since no one else seems to have one. You were more of a sand, sea, shade type of girl.

Once everything is all put away, you grab a couple bottles of water and make your way back to your friend. You catch him taking another curious sip of your coffee, this time he nods like the taste might be growing on him. You let it slide because you see that while you’ve been away he’s set up your chair for you.

“Are you feeling peckish, Rooster?” you ask, plopping the water in his cup holder, eyeing the pilfered bag of trail mix he must have pulled out of your tote bag in his hands.

“What?” Bradley shrugs, unapologetically. You roll your eyes at him affectionately as he helps himself to another handful. “God, I’ve missed this. Japan has so much good food, but one of the perks of being back stateside after a year and a half is all the snacks. I’ve been going to Trader Joe’s like twice a week since I’ve been back.”

You still didn’t know anything about the mission that had brought him back to Top Gun. That phone call you’d had with him the night before he’d shipped off had played in your mind on repeat until he’d texted you that he was back safely in San Diego. The only thing you had been able to glean is that not everything went according to plan, based on his newest additions to his collection of scars. They were the first thing you’d noticed when he’d picked you up at the airport. Still shiny, pink, and fresh.

“Well, with that Hawaiian shirt collection of yours, you’d certainly fit in.”

He chuckles at that as he takes a moment to sort through the collection of various nuts and fruit and chocolate bits, he plucks out the raisins and drops them back in the bag. You bite back a smile because some things never change. He’s always pulled out the raisins, usually to replace them with more chocolate chips. Back when you were teens, his infamous ‘Bradshaw Mix’ was basically a 3-1 ratio of chocolate chips to anything else.

“Wait a second. Hold up, ‘peckish’?” His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, “Was that a joke at the expense of my callsign, kid?”

You point at yourself like who me? blinking innocently at him, “I would never.” Then grabbing a few of the nuts from his open hand you pop them into your mouth, shooting him a sunny grin.

Now that everything was all situated you felt like you could finally relax. You were like this when you traveled too, never at ease until you were through security with your bag stowed above your head. That tightness in your chest only releases after you’re buckled into your seat with all your in-flight necessities tucked away in the seat pocket in front of you.

Maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice the shirt that he was wearing. Well, mostly wearing. The sleeves had been cut off with an overenthusiastic hand and neared nip slip territory with the amount of Rooster’s golden skin that was on display.

“The Hooters shirt, really? Of all the things you could have held onto from your glory days, you chose that? How gauche.” You slide your sunglasses back on your face with your pinky exaggeratedly pointed up to the sky for dramatic flair.

He clutches his chest, “She’s got that fancy degree and been living in a big city and now she thinks she’s too good for Hooters? My, my how times have changed.” Bradley whips his tank off and tosses at you the same way he had done hundreds of times when the two of you were growing up.  Except the overpowering smell of teen spirit and axe body spray was replaced with a subtle, rich woodsy smell.

Rooster laughs when you succumb to the urge and throw him your middle finger. 

“Your motley crew of teenaged horndogs only went there because you all had a crush on Danielle Batula’s older sister,” you shoot back, folding up his shirt and putting it on top of your things.

“Hey now, we also went for the Lots-a-Tots. I’ve always been a feminist, kid, if a woman feels empowered wearing those spandex shorts then I’m going to support her,” he says with a wink, “Far be it from me to tell a woman what to wear.” You reach up to flick his nose and he bats at your hand, grinning even wider.

“And what’s the excuse for the reason you’re wearing jorts at the beach?”

Not that any man should be able to pull them off, but he wore them well. You were pretty sure he could pull off most anything with the body he’d worked for over the years, but the fact of the matter was that denim had no place mixing with sand.

“These are my beach jeans,” he says like it’s the most logical thing in the world, as he strikes a pose with his hip cocked out.

“I can see that, Rooster. But why?”

“It’s because they get him laid,” Javy cuts in with a booming laugh, slapping Bradley on the back as he passes by on his way towards the coolers, “Isn’t that right, Bradshaw? How many numbers did you score the last time we all did this? Like five?”

He runs his against the back of his neck, looking more sheepish than you’ve ever known him to be, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. She doesn’t need to hear about all that.”

“Oh.” It sounds just as stupid coming out of your mouth as you feel, not entirely sure how to respond or what to do with yourself.

Objectively speaking, you know your best friend is attractive. Tall, broad, and tan. You’d seen him get hit on more than a few times at the Hard Deck in the short time you’ve been here. But Rooster’s sex life wasn’t something you really wanted to hear about- or think about- especially when yours is nonexistent at the moment. 

However, it was one thing to generally know Bradley had no problem finding someone to take home and a different thing to hear just how easy it was for him. 

But you couldn’t say it surprised you though. During your first night out with everyone, you’d overheard a girl in the bathroom talking to her friend about him in more detail than you ever wanted to know, right down to confirming there had been more to the story he’d told you about how he’d earned his callsign.

You pointedly ignore the turn in conversation in favor of digging through your woven beach bag. You hadn’t had the time to apply sunscreen with all your rushing around to get here, and knowing Rooster he most likely hadn’t put any on either. His shoulders aren’t pink yet, but they undoubtedly will be by the end of the day. Even with the SPF 65 you’d purchased with him in mind.

Grabbing the bottle, you smoothly lob it to him, “Here, put that on. ‘Lobster’ isn’t nearly as cool of a callsign, Rooster.” You have to turn away from the chaotically haphazard way he rubs it all over his face. 

Leaving him to his own devices, you pull out a battered paperback book and toss it into your chair, only slightly mortified to see that tipsy you had been in a grocery store bodice ripper mood. If only you had noticed it earlier, you would have swapped it out for something less incriminating.

How you’d taken the time to unpack your books, and not all your clothes was beyond you.

You’re about to step around to the front of your pink and white striped chair when you feel a firm tug on the belt loop of your shorts, making you stop to turn back towards your best friend.

“Woah, get back here. We can’t have you frying, kid.” He squeezes some sunscreen into his hand, “Turn around and I’ll get your back for you.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you say, adamantly shaking your head, “I trust you with a lot of things, but I am not trusting you to put the SPF on me. You haven’t even rubbed it all the way in on your face yet.” You thumb at the smear of white on his cheek to further emphasize the point.

“Hey, these hands handle a multimillion-dollar fighter jet, I’m more than capable of covering your back with sunscreen,” Rooster huffs, “Now, c’mere.”

Natasha laughs beside you as you dart out of his reach and around your chair to stand by her instead. She must have just walked up, because the last time you’d seen her she had been over on the other side of the group talking to Callie. But you had every confidence she would back you up with this since her friendship with Bradley was one that spanned years, and she’s undoubtedly seen him fried to a crisp before too.

“She makes a good point,” she says with a smirk, pinning him with a sharp raise of her eyebrow, “The last time I asked one of you guys, I ended up with the worst tan lines.”

The look of betrayal on his face is comical, “And here I thought we were friends.”

“I’ve decided to upgrade,” she says pointing to you. You beam in victory towards him and he just shakes his head at you before looking down at the large blob so sunscreen in the center of his large palm like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You take Natasha up on her offer to help you cover the spots you can’t reach. All the while, you can hear him grumbling to himself as he works on rubbing in the dollop that had been meant for you over his shoulders and chest. After she’s done with your back, you shimmy out of your shorts and work on getting your arms and legs covered.

As Nat pulls up her thick, shiny hair onto the top of her head- the reason she must have come over here in the first place- and reminds Rooster about the plan to play ‘Dogfight’ football a little later before setting off again. You’d heard of flag football, but that name was new for you. You’d seen enough football with your ex and you were suddenly very grateful you’d brought a book to keep yourself occupied, even if it was a bodice ripper. 

You double check your set up, ready to hunker down, when you feel Rooster’s eyes trained on you, “What?”

“Just looking for evidence of this tattoo you allegedly have,” he says, doubtfully, “Considering that I only found out about last night. Since when do we keep secrets?”

“I told you it’s not for the viewing public, so it’s none of your business. Now, stop hovering and go play with your friends. You’re annoying me,” you say without heat, shooing him away.

“Are you bossing me around, kid?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yep,” you say breezily, getting comfortable in your chair and opening your book, “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

“You’d think,” Rooster agrees with a laugh. He squeezes your shoulder before strutting off to go join where Coyote, Harvard, and Fanboy are already tossing a football back and forth not too far away.

Now that you’re on your own, you lose yourself in the words printed on the cheap paper of your smutty bargain book. You’re too engrossed in the tension and build-up of the story you’re reading to pay attention to anything else. And you’re reminded why this particular book has never made it into a donation box when you do your spring cleaning, it’s got the best combination of all your favorite tropes. By the fourth chapter you’re completely immersed in the story, and all the chatter happening around you becomes white noise.

The only signal of time passing is marked by the melted ice in your empty coffee cup, by the crinkle of swiftly turning of pages, and by the sun as it rises higher and higher in the sky.

What minimal marine layer there had been when you’d first arrived is long gone. You’re probably due for another layer of sunscreen by now, but you can’t be bothered when you’re in the middle of possibly one of the hottest sex scenes you’ve ever read.

It’s so well written, so incredibly vivid that you can almost feel greedy hands and wandering mouths along every inch of you. The blood thrumming in your ears has drowned out the sound of crashing waves. You’re so hyperaware of your body. It’s as if you can feel every individual grain of sand on your skin. Tucked between your fingers, on your shin, in the nook of your ankle bone. The high heat of the day has your hair sticking to the back of your neck and sweat collecting in the hollow of your collarbone. You’re too keenly aware of the prickling sensation on your shoulders and the tops of your thighs.

You thought living vicariously through the main character might help take the edge off. Instead, all it’s done is given fresh life to the ruined orgasm from the night before, like an echo of need reverberating throughout your whole body. A reminder of how untouched you’ve been over the last few months. You can’t help the way you’re shifting in your chair, trying to relieve the way your clit is throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The moment your cunt clenches around nothing, you close your book with a sharp snap. Not even bothering to mark the page you left off at.

You feel fidgety and keyed up. 

Needing something to do, you grab your tote looking for the lightweight linen coverup you assumed was packed. But digging around all you can find is Rooster’s Hooters shirt from earlier.

You’re more than a little irritated at yourself for not double-checking you had everything before you left for the day, and because your tipsy self had clearly fucked you over. You don’t know anyone else as well as you know Bradley to rummage through their things to look for some other form of sun protection, so with a huff you pull it on over your head. The cotton is soft and warm to the touch. You’re grateful for the way it covers your shoulders, but you’re already mentally preparing yourself for how smug he’ll be when he sees you in it, especially after all the shit you gave him earlier.

Still needing to keep yourself occupied from wanting to crawl out of your skin, you crack open the water bottle you’d grabbed earlier and swallow down a few large gulps. You’d heard when Natasha had rallied the group for their game, but you hadn’t taken a moment to find out what ‘Dogfight’ Football actually was.

You’re not even the slightest bit prepared for what you see playing out in front of you down by the water. You’d figured watching some of their football game would help your act together, but now you feel even more spun out of control than before at the sight of so much skin.

Fuck.

The sun is bouncing off of their hard, athletic bodies. Under the shiny sheen of sunscreen and sweat, their muscles look bigger and the divots and ridges more pronounced. You knew these were some of the best and brightest the Navy had to offer, but seeing them in action was something else entirely. The power of their legs was impressive as they ran and spun around their opponents. The precision of their aim as they threw the football to a teammate. Every single one of them was in peak shape. Those weren’t vanity muscles, those were earned and honed by hard work.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from any of it.

The lithe line of Natasha’s toned thighs. The full, defined pecs on Jake’s massive chest. The way Bob’s large hands easily wrapped around most of the curved football he’d just caught. The skin over the wide expanse of Javy’s back was pulled taut, his muscles flexing as he twists and bends. The way Mickey was breathing hard made his chiseled abs stand out even more than they already did.

It was a lot. Especially for someone who couldn’t remember the last time they’d been good and truly fucked.

And then there was Rooster.

There had been a few moments since moving here where you’d been struck by this version of him. It was almost like your brain couldn’t connect the tall, broad man in front of you racing across the beach with the long-limbed, gangly boy you’d known with the red and black braces. Or the one in the teal shirt who’d scooped ice cream for his first job. Or the one who’d helped you pass Algebra 2 when the math teacher cared more about coaching the basketball team than he did trying to make sure his students understood the material.

Seeing him now, like this? This version of him was new to you.

Rooster’s chest and face were flushed pink, those curls of his are an absolute riot. The sweat he’d worked up made it look like his golden skin was gleaming in the bright afternoon sun, even with the patches of gritty sand that were sticking to him. Power and control radiated off every inch of him, the embodiment of physical strength and agility. Every movement he made was purposeful and precise, like he knew exactly what he was capable of.

You knew he was built, but the casual perfection of his body still takes you by surprise.

The broadness of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps and arms, the jutting v-shaped muscle that ran diagonally from his hipbones towards the trail of fine hair below his belly button. The long tendon that ran along the side of his neck was on full display as he throws his head back to laugh at something one of his teammates says. It was impossible to miss the unapologetic confidence in his swagger or the way those ridiculous jorts were clinging to his thick thighs. They were absolutely soaked through, the light wash darkened by the Pacific, and the denim was molded to him in a way that left nothing to the imagination. 

When did Bradley get an ass like that?

The startling intrusive thought about your best friend has you shooting up from your chair in a flash, your book tumbling off your lap and into the warm sand.

Jesus Christ, you needed to get a grip.

Shade. You needed shade and to get out of the heat. And you definitely needed to get away from the overwhelming display of sunkissed sweaty skin and peak physical prowess playing out before you.

And then you’re off like a shot towards the Hard Deck.

The burst of cool air you’re hit with as soon as you’re pushing through the patio door that Penny left unlocked for the group is more than welcomed against your overheated skin, even as it makes goosebumps erupt along your body.

You sigh in relief once you flip the lock to the worn wooden door of the bathroom closed. Leaning against the cool surface that’s littered with faded stickers from all around the world, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your racing heartbeat to slow down. You’re breathing hard like you’ve run a marathon, your lungs uncooperative to the point where you don’t feel like you can take a full breath. You’ve never felt this antsy before, it’s like there’s a live wire under your skin.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re more than a little windblown, but it’s the wild gleam in your eyes that surprises you the most, it’s a look on yourself that you’ve never seen before. Your thighs rub together as you shift your weight on your feet and it makes the pulsing of your clit impossible to ignore.

You weren’t. You shouldn’t.

But you have no idea how you’re going to make it through the rest of the afternoon and evening if you didn’t with how on edge you are.

Bringing your hand up to your chest, you press it there and let your thumb soothingly skim the side of your neck, trying to use whatever techniques you’d learned in those overpriced yoga classes you’d started taking before you’d left Boston to calm yourself down. But your fluttery pulse won’t be pacified.

Every part of you feels hypersensitive, you can feel every thread of Rooster’s shirt against your too tight skin. The desire to be touched is overwhelming. Your breasts feel heavy and you’re all too aware of your peaked nipples against the cups of your swimsuit. You’re craving hands other than your own.

It’s been so long since someone else has made you come. Even longer since you’ve had a back-arching, toe-curling, steal-your-breath kind of orgasm. You want to be pressed into the door, you want a firm, solid body fitted against yours. You want to be kissed and touched and fucked.

You keep telling yourself that you aren’t going to, even as your hand trails down the soft cotton between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach down even further. Your fingers sneak easily beneath the top of your bikini bottoms since you’d left without pulling your denim shorts back on. There are no thoughts left in your head, only the ringing in your ears. You need, you need.

There’s a small whimper that escapes you at the first touch of your fingertips against your slippery clit. The sensation has your hips jerking forward on their own, seeing out more. You’re so wet already.

There’s no finesse or slow build up. No gentle teasing or trying to draw this out. Your fingers are making quick, tight circles on that pulsing part of you. In the quiet of the bathroom, the rhythmic slick sounds you’re creating feel almost too loud.

You already know it’s not going to take you long to get there, but you still can’t help but let your mind wander. You think of big hands with thick fingers, ones that are calloused and rougher than your own touching you in just the way you like. The thought of a thick thigh pressed in between your own, on you could rock and grind against, has you rolling your hips harder against your fingertips. You can almost feel the ghosting of hot lips, a wet mouth, and a teasing tongue along your neck. All you want is a raspy voice in your ear whispering filthy words and murmuring pretty praise.

Couldn’t even wait until you got home. C’mon then, dirty girl, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and no one’s watching.

Go on, give that needy clit the attention it deserves. Spread your thighs open further- yes, just like that- I want to see how wet you are for me.

Jesus, look how hard you’re working for it. You’re going to make yourself come, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard that everyone will know what we did in here. They’ll all know how desperate you were for this cock.

A soft whine makes its way out of you, and with your free hand you pull up the collar of the shirt you’re wearing over your mouth to try and muffle your sounds as you tremble all over.

You’re hit with the scent of clean laundry and the warm, woodsy scent of expensive cologne. It’s rich and cozy, it reminds you of the trees that grow everywhere in your hometown. And underneath that, there’s a smell that you’d know anywhere, one you’ve always been familiar with. It smells like Br--

You come open-mouthed with stars blooming behind your eyelids, the force of it hitting you so hard that your knees nearly give out beneath you. The hand that had been covering your mouth slaps against the door for support. Your hips writhe against your fingertips as you chase those last shimmery moments of your release.

In your post-orgasm satisfaction, you feel like you can finally breathe again, now that all your antsy, unsettled energy has been freed from your body.

When you can feel your legs again, you go wash your hands once and then again for good measure. Like somehow it’ll erase the last few minutes from the Hard Deck’s history books, even though you’re sure it’s seen much worse. You chance a peek at yourself in the mirror, you look more relaxed than you did when you’d arrived.

Unlocking the door, you leave the sanctuary of the quiet bathroom. The only thing on your mind is the glass of ice water that’s calling your name. You’re about to round the corner out of the hallway when you collide into someone’s chest. A firm, sweaty, shirtless chest.

“Oh hey, there you are,” Rooster says, his big hand steadying you at the waist. “You ok? You look overheated, kid.”

Your face heats up immediately. You’re too flustered by what just occurred barely five minutes ago to look him in the eye. You feel embarrassment trying to bubble its way to the surface, but you push it back down in the name of self-care. Plus, you could always blame it on sunstroke if you had to, not that you were ever planning on telling anyone about it.

“Probably just dehydrated,” you ramble, trying to sound unaffected. Your eyes are trained on a spot just under his ear. “But you’re one to talk. You’re fried, Rooster.” With a finger you press lightly on his bright pink shoulder. His hisses and knocks your hand away.

“Nah, I’m just working on my base tan.” You don’t see as much as you feel the moment he notices what you’re wearing. Smugness rolling off of him in waves, “Not too good for Hooters now, are you?”

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“C’mon, let’s get you some water.” Tucking you under his arm as he steers you back towards the bar. “So what did you think of Dogfight football? Did you catch any of it or did your highbrow literary choice have your full, undivided attention?”

Your mind starts to whirl, unable to think of a reply. Thankfully you’re spared giving him an answer as the rest of the clamorous team spills in through the open patio door. The commotion is a godsend, because it’s almost like he forgot he even asked the question in the first place in the all the activity. The real answer will forever be a secret between you and the Hard Deck.

The late afternoon melts into evening like hand-churned ice cream, smooth and silky.

Eventually, the beach set up is packed away into trunks of cars as the party moves inside the bar. You end up back in your denim shorts, the Hooters shirt is the crowning glory to your ensemble for the rest of the night. You don’t even feel guilty getting people to call Rooster ‘Flamingo’ after the third time someone asks you about being out of uniform regulation. But he isn’t faring much better in the too-tight shirt he was borrowing, since it turns out that out of everyone in the group only Bob had been the one with enough common sense to pack a spare one.

As predicted, the pink hue of Rooster’s skin deepens with every passing hour until he’s bribing you into leaving early with the promise of burgers and milkshakes in exchange for putting on aloe for him back at his place.

He’s sprawled face down on his couch in a pair of loose sweatpants with his eyes closed, contentedly humming as you work on applying a second coat of the cool, soothing gel to his hot-to-the-touch skin. One of the movies the two of you use to watch all the time plays on in the background, the crumpled wrappers and empty cups of your dinner sitting out still on his coffee table. Every time you come here you can’t help but seek out any little touches that look like him, but much like yours, his condo seems to be a work in progress.

“It’s nice having you around, kid,” Rooster says with a sigh. “I’ve missed you.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, Bradshaw, I’ll put one more layer on for you before I leave,” you tease, as your hand follows the freckles along his back.

He squeezes your knee, “No, seriously. I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but I’m really happy you’re here.” And you know that if you were to look in his brown eyes, you’d see nothing but fondness reflected in them.

You give him a soft smile, “I’m happy I’m here too.”

It’s late by the time you get back to your place.

It seems pointless with the cardboard boxes still scattered around your apartment, but you still go through the motion of putting all your things away. Like wiping out your cooler bag and throwing your clothes in the washing machine, including the well-worn Hooters shirt. You’ve already decided to spend the rest of your weekend trying to unpack your things, you’re ready to make your space feel more like your home.

It’s a slow sinking feeling that settles over you as you wash the sand and sea salt from your skin in the shower. Your day has been so filled with chatter and laughter, that it feels uncomfortably quiet. It was different from the peaceful quiet you’d had at Rooster’s place, this was the empty kind of quiet. 

You turn the tv on in your room and crawl into bed, savoring the way the cool cotton of your sheets feels against your legs. Checking your phone, you see that Nat has sent you some pictures that she must have taken during the day. Scrolling through them you like the windblown, carefree girl you see in them.

For as good as the day you’ve had, you can’t quite shake off how lonely you’re feeling now. You can’t help but think about how nice it would be to come home and have someone here to laugh and relax with. Someone just to be with.

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as you click into the app store feature on your phone. Taking a few moments to skim the options, you download the dating app with the highest rating and best reviews, deciding that it can’t hurt to try.

Not everyone got to have a fresh start in a new city, and you wanted to make the most of it. A new city with new places to go and new people to meet.

And you are ready to embrace every bit of it with open arms and a hopeful heart.

California was going to look good on you.

Bradley Bradshaw, you liked that lavender latte and you're not fooling any of us!

Many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse and @callsignspark for being the best babes to swoon over pretty pilots with!

If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!

You can read more of my stories here!

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[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

You're a Dead Man (Part 2) | JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

Summary: After JJ has a run in with his father, he begins to spiral and doubt his abilities to be a father, leaving you wondering if you're going to be a single mom.

A/N: A couple people requested part 2 and a great anon gave me this idea! Hope you like it. Link for part 1 is down below, but this could probably be read as a stand alone too!

|||| Part 1 ||||

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

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********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ replays the conversation with is dad over and over in his head. The anxiety growing even more intense. His hand shakes as he presses it into his heart.

He didn’t know anything about being a dad. His dad was right with that one. JJ had the bad genes; Alcoholics, drug addicts. The reoccurring jail time. The dead beat dads. It all ran in his family. A never ending vicious cycle that he was going to be continuing.

You recently had your scan, finding out you and JJ would be welcoming a baby boy into the world 20 weeks from now. A mini JJ. After needing to get back to work, both you and JJ split ways and headed back to work.

He was working on a boat motor in the local shop when his boss came to him, “Maybank, you got a visitor.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder.

JJ glanced up, expecting you or one of the pogues but didn’t expect to see his dad there, taking a drag of his cigarette, a subtle sway in his posture.

JJ mentally cursed, not wanting to deal with this.

“Take it out back. I can’t have customers walking up on his bullshit today.” His boss instructs, knowing Luke enough.

JJ wipes his greasy hands on his rag and jumps down from the ladder of the boat, heading toward his dad. “What the hell do you want?” He motions over to the right with his head, walking toward the side of the shop, Luke following with a stumble.

“Jesus Christ.” JJ mutters, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“Heard you’re gonna be a dad.” Luke says with a slur.

JJ places his hands on his hips and nods, replying with a nonchalant, “yup.”

Luke sniffs, wiping his hand against his nose, “What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ couldn't believe his ears, “Did you seriously come all the way down here just to say this? I got work to do.” JJ begins to walk away but Luke roughly grabs him by the arm, “I’m not done talking to you, boy! Don’t you walk away from me.”

“You know it’s true. Do the kid a favor and stay away from him. We don’t need another fucked up Maybank in the world. Look at you, working at the local boat shop. You’ll never make it at anything else. You’ll never be able to give the kid a good life. Face it," Luke takes a step toward JJ, pointing an accusing finger in his face, "you’ll end up just like me, drunk trying to make it by in life wondering where it all went to shit.”

JJ rips his arm from Luke’s tight grasp, a red mark left behind, “you have no idea of what kind of dad I’ll be. As far as I’m concerned I know exactly what kind of dad not to be.” He starts to walk away, Luke continuing to slur and insult him.

“JJ you’re going to be a shit of a father! Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be a sorry son of a bitch bringing a kid into this world!"

~

JJ's thoughts were running rampant. His mind slowly convincing itself his dad was right. He would never be a good father. He didn't know how to be a father. You and the baby deserved better than what he could offer you.

The old rock music thumping in his ears as he opened the wooden door. It smelled like cigarette smoke. The place started to get full as everyone begins to get off work.

"What can I get you?" The barkeep asks, cleaning the bar top in front of him.

JJ has his chance to back out of this. He glances down at his watch, you'd probably just be getting off of work and heading home. You told him at the doctor's appointment you would fix his favorite tonight. It was you and JJ's turn to fix dinner for the Pogues.

He knew he needed to leave and go home but his mind pushed his legs forward, taking a seat at the bar. He knew addiction ran in his family and this was bound to happen to him. His dad was right. Might as well speed things along.

"Whisky."

~

As you came close to finishing dinner, you glanced at your phone again, nothing from JJ. He should have been home by now. You'd called and texted but no response, you began to worry.

"Hey sis," John B greeted coming through the front door, Sarah following behind.

"How did your appointment go?" Sarah asks with a smile, pushing past John B to greet you. She was just as excited as you to find out the gender. Sarah had a bet with Kie - it was gonna be a girl. She just knew it and even placed a bet on it. She immediately frowns at your worried appearance, "What's wrong?"

"JJ should be home by now and I can't get in touch with him."

"Maybe he got stuck working late? I know he said he had to finish building that motor and wanted to get it done today." John B shrugs it off, popping one of the veggie pieces in his mouth, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah but," you shake your head, "He usually would at least send me a text to let me know. He knew I was cooking his favorite tonight and he said he wouldn't miss it. Somethings wrong, I can feel it." You place a hand on your growing bump, a sense of uneasiness flooding over you.

"Have you tried calling him?" Sarah asks, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "Like John B said maybe he's busy."

"I've called and texted." You look between your brother and Sarah, "Something's wrong, John B."

He sighs with a nod. He didn't need to hear anything else from you, he can see it was truly bothering you. "I'll find him."

"Thank you." You say softly.

He nods and kisses your head, "Anything for you."

~

JJ couldn't remember which drink he was on. 8? maybe 9? He was slurring his words, swaying. He'd become the center of attention at the bar, talking with a few people, laughing it up. He could feel his phone buzz and checked it, blinking his eyes to try and focus. The thinks it says John B but he can't be for sure.

One of the guys he'd been talking to slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, he slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Another drink," JJ slaps the bar top.

"You sure? I think you've had enough," The bartender states.

"Oh come on, man, give him what he wants!" One of the guys says, "The fun is just getting started."

JJ saw the little baggie and the guys crazy eyes. JJ raised his eyebrows, "I don't know man." Even in his drunken state, you flash across his mind.

The guy places a hand on JJ's shoulder, "Live a little. You deserve it." And so JJ follows the guy and a few buddies out back.

~

John B went by his work to find the shop closed and moved on to a couple places to check. It was the 4th place, Blackbeards Bar, that he finally had someone say they saw JJ, but when he went to check out behind the bar, JJ and those guys were no where to be found. John B filled with dread.

He drove the Twinkie through town, looking left and right for any sign of JJ but didn't see him. He reluctantly returned back to the chateau where you and Sarah sat around the table. He dreaded having to return without JJ and explain where he was last seen. The bar was known to be occupied by the drunks and druggies. Luke was a frequent customer.

He could tell you'd been crying. You stood when he opened the door, "Did you find him?"

John B shook his head and saw your hopes get crushed, your body physically showing the signs. Your shoulders dropped, "he has to be out there somewhere, John B. Maybe you didn't look hard enough-" You snatched your keys off the table, storming past him, but he steps in front of you, "I looked everywhere. Y/n he was last seen at Blackbeards."

"he wouldn't-" you shook your head, "It had to be a mistake."

"He was seen with Luke's crowd, y/n."

And your world came crushing down.

~

JJ didn't know how he'd done it and made it all the way to the chateau but he did. He stumbled up the front stairs. The lights, indoor and out were on. He hoped he hadn't missed dinner. You'd cooked his favorite and he was starving. He belched as he kicked his shoes off, stumbling into the nearby shelf, something came crashing down. He giggled to himself, "Oh fuck."

The door swung open, there you stood in your gown and robe. He closed one eye, squinting to focus in on you and gives you a drunk grin, "there's my baby."

He's taken aback as you lunge at him, hands hitting his chest. it sends him flying back into the porch post. You probably could have just done it with your finger and knocked him over at how drunk and high he was.

"What the fuck?!" He manages to catch himself, "What the fuck was that for?!"

"You stupid son of a bitch! Do you know how worried I've been? It's 4 o clock in the morning! I was about to call the police!"

John B and the other Pogues stood at the door, watching this scene unfold. They committed to staying up with you, hoping to keep you company and keep you calm. You were only a few minutes from having another breakdown.

"Oh shit," JJ laughs, "It's 4 am? Time flies when you're having fun then." He straightens himself up, but stays with his back pressed against the post to keep himself from swaying. It didn't stop the room from spinning.

You didn't know whether to cry or scream. You were beyond angry; heartbroken that JJ had put you through something like this. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. It was only in the light, you could see the white powder on his nostrils.

"Is that coke?" You ask in disbelief, pointing to his nose.

He quickly wipes it away with his sleeve, "no-"

You cry out, absolutely frustrated, "JJ, what the fuck is wrong with you! This isn't you. You're out late, drinking and now doing drugs with some of your dad's buddies? We're going to have a baby in 4 months. You can't do shit like this. You can't spiral. You have responsibilities!"

JJ could feel his anger boiling, threatening to blow. His entire body going hot, his face growing red, as he points an accusing finger in your face, "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You'd seen JJ get angry before, but had never had it directed at you. You couldn't believe you were about to say this, but he looked like Luke staring back. You could feel John B's presence beside you, ready to defend his sister. He didn't like the crazy look in JJ's eyes or how he threatened you.

You straighten your back, showing JJ you weren't afraid of him. You were pissed he'd done something like this, but when you thought more about it, there had to have been something that set JJ off. He was so happy at the appointment. Nervous, but excited to find out he was having a boy. He even made the comment, "My son will never feel the way I did."

From the time you departed to back to work, something had changed and the only thing that could have set JJ off would be his dad. You knew his anger wasn't meant for you.

JJ surrenders, "Go ahead, yell at me. Tell me how horrible of a dad I'm gonna be. How I'm gonna fuck that kid up just like I'm fucked up." He holds his arms out at his side, "The kid doesn't need me. If anything he's better off without me. You're better off without me." His eyes fill with tears, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve a happy ending." JJ is defeated and emotional.

Your heart aches at the fact JJ would ever think that way about himself. He'd already proven to be a better dad than Luke would ever be and your son wasn't even in this world yet. "Is that what Luke told you? That you're going to be a horrible dad?"

JJ wouldn't meet your eyes. You step forward, hands cupping his jawline, willing him to look at you, "JJ Maybank, you've already proven you will be an amazing dad and our baby isn't even earth side yet. Me and him both will never be better without you because you complete us, you make this family whole." Tears fill in your eyes, seeing his doing the same, "You never felt a father's love and that has been your encouragement from the beginning. You know exactly how to be a father because you have first hand of what not to do. You've stepped up and become more than a father than your own will ever be."

JJ relinquishes into you, sobs racked his body as he held onto you as if you were his lifeline.

"shhh..." You ran your fingers through his hair in a calming manner, holding him. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before you were able to lead him into the house where he passes out on the couch.

~

JJ sulks onto the front porch, his head pounding and body feeling like he was hit by a bus. You're leaned against railing, gazing out to the water. It was a calm morning.

"Morning," His voice is husky and he smells clean as he approaches you.

You glance at him, his hair is wet and he's in clean clothes. At least he showered. He reeked last night. "Morning."

"about last night-" He scratches the back of his neck. It had come back to him in pieces but he knew enough to know what happened last night - or well this morning.

"I'm only going to say this once." You're stern as you face him, "If you ever pull the shit you did last night, you won't have anyone to come home to. I'm here for you JJ, always. And you can't spiral like that ever again." You rub a hand over your bump, "Are we in an understanding?"

He nods, "I can't even begin to apologize or have the words. I should have come home to you two." He places an uneasy hand on your belly, "I'm not him. I never will be."

"I know you aren't." You loop your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest, "You're more than he will ever be."

~

I hope you all enjoyed this part two and I hope I did it justice for those who asked for it! I feel like I'm still a little rusty as I get back into writing here and there, so please be nice and be patient.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

[scary-grace]

Midoriya Analysis, Vol 2

Last time (five minutes ago) we talked about how Midoriya’s goal was not necessarily to save people, but to be a hero as BNHA defines heroism. The next step is to look at Midoriya’s worldview and how it matches, or doesn’t match, with the worldview the fandom assigned to him. Once again: I’m not hating on 15-year-old quirkless Midoriya for this worldview. This is more of a how it started vs how it’s going situation.

We don’t get a chance to see much of what Midoriya’s life is like pre-One For All, but given that he’s in school with Bakugou and Bakugou is allowed to do pretty much whatever he wants, we can guess that it’s not good. I’m not going to say that Bakugou’s behavior is a microcosm of how BNHA society treats the quirkless, but if his behavior is acceptable, I think it’s a signal that quirkless people, while being a minority at this point, are not a protected class. We also don’t see Midoriya having peer-group interactions with anyone but Bakugou and his cronies, so I can’t speak to whether he’s completely isolated or not, and while I could see there being a social cost to being less affluent or being raised by a single parent, I think the driving factor in Midoriya’s treatment by the rest of the world is his quirklessness. And he accepts it.

I think this is the point where our (the fandom) opinion of Midoriya diverges sharply from Midoriya’s opinion of himself. When faced with Bakugou bullying him, Midoriya seems to internalize that it’s his own fault — that he deserves this, somehow, because he’s lesser than Bakugou in some way. Where most people would probably feel justified in hating someone who bullied them for years and told them to kill themselves, Midoriya continues to try to win Bakugou’s approval and respect, even though Bakugou’s long since proven that he doesn’t deserve it. What we can take from this example is this: Midoriya believes that people who are mistreated deserve what they get, and if they’re unable to get stronger and fight back, they should just be stuck like that forever.*

Because of Midoriya’s devotion to and adoration of heroes, and his belief that “hero” is the only worthy job on the planet, he’s uniquely ill-equipped to recognize that hero society as a whole is deeply corrupt and cruel. He sees his mistreatment as his fault rather than the fault of society, and consciously or unconsciously, he projects that viewpoint onto the villains he later fights. Villains like Stain and Gentle Criminal, who adhere mostly to society’s norms with a few changes here and there, are easier for Midoriya to understand and empathize with. They’re playing by the same rules as Midoriya, for the most part, which is how you get Midoriya talking about how he “understands” Stain, even though his understanding is superficial. And Gentle Criminal wanted to be a hero too, so he and Midoriya are best buddies. /sarcasm/

But there are villains who don’t accept that they’re the problem. Who don’t see their mistreatment as their own fault, and instead point the finger at people who’ve hurt them — and try to fight back in ways that don’t align with the archetype of the stoic victim or the poor, innocent angel. Midoriya has vastly more societal privilege than the members of the League of Villains, but his experiences of ostracism and rejection in BNHA society are similar to the experiences they’ve had. Although these are the villains Midoriya should be able to empathize with, he sees them as worse than the others, to the point where they’re unworthy of life. (See: The non-reaction to Twice’s murder + “well, at least I saved his heart!” response to murdering Shigaraki.)

There’s a metaphor that comes to mind for me when thinking about the situation of Midoriya, the villains, and hero society. In discussions of abusive family dynamics, the idea of rocking the boat is introduced — a family in a boat, where one individual is shaking the boat and attempting to sink it. Although everyone knows what the problem is, it’s the person who points out that the boat is shaking who takes the blame for the situation. This is the dynamic BNHA ends in, for Midoriya. He identifies very heavily with hero society, to the point where rejection of it deeply wounds him (see: Kota), but he’s not so blind that he can’t see some of the cracks in the system; after all, he fell through them himself. The difference between Midoriya and Shigaraki, in Midoriya’s subconscious, is that Midoriya didn’t throw a fit about it. Midoriya saw that it was all for the greater good and accepted that as a person who is seen and sees himself as lesser, he’s an acceptable sacrifice in order to preserve the greater good of hero society.

So in short, while Midoriya’s experiences should suggest an ability to empathize with villains, his worldview itself presents the stumbling block. He’s unwilling or unable to see hero society for what it really is — if he did, he’d have to reckon with what was done to him, and I doubt he’d ever be ready for that.

*refers to Eri and Kota, who deserve to be saved by virtue of being cute little kids who haven’t had time to make mistakes yet. There’s also the weird element with Kota where it almost seems like Midoriya’s trying to prove to him that his feelings about heroes are wrong, which — eugh. No thank you.

[alfredosauce50]

Surprise! Happy belated birthday to narratornyanko 😼

Sorry for the major delay, but I’ve been multitasking my papers at the same time 😭 And this isn’t *exactly* what was requested, so think of this as an additional bonus. There’s also a lack of content for Matt, and this was needed as a perfect foundation for a later story because someone else requested him 🙈 I hope you enjoy it!

NSFW 2P Canada Headcanons 🍁

When it comes to this rugged Canadian man, the first thing that comes into mind isn’t romance or sex. He has a lot of hobbies that can make him break a good sweat, and he’s indifferent to women.

He also lives in the woods averse to the company of other people, so he’s not getting laid anytime soon. But it’s always been about finding the right one, and now that he’s met you, he’s like an animal in bed.

Very explicit content. R18+ only.

He has a very active lifestyle, so he’s raging with testosterone. Whether he’s cutting and collecting firewood, gardening, or fishing in his boat, he’s almost always sweaty he comes home. When he sees you, his mind will inevitably start to wander. You’re dressed lightly and making dinner, so he can’t help but come up from behind to kiss you. “Not now, Matt.” You push him a little, but he just groans and wraps around you, stubborn as.

Matt has good self-control. Nothing grinds his gears more than feeling like apart of a collective, i.e., a jerk with a dick. So if you’re resisting him, he’ll back off immediately and find something else to do. But if you’re in the mood, he never rejects you. If you do so little as look at him right, he’ll understand. Matt knows you’re a lot shyer than him, so he’ll take charge and pull you in without you having to say a word. “Come here.”

He isn’t afraid to ask for what he wants. It isn’t uncommon for him to just drop the bomb on you (wanna do it?) but it’s become more of an inside joke than a serious question. Matt will bring it up during the worst possible moments, like to break a long silence or in a somewhat serious context. You hit him in the chest and walk off, but he knows you’re only doing that to hide your smile. “I know you like me.” He ambles after you.

Matt would rather use body language to let you know he wants you. You never tell him that you love him, and he’s not very sweet to you either. He never gets you flowers, he’s a lot meaner than most boyfriends, and he doesn’t care much for any anniversaries. But everything seems to fall into place in the bedroom. The sexual tension is unbearable, and the way he stares at you makes you feel naked. Then, he’ll come over and loom on top you, waiting for you to look up at him.

You meet his eyes, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. He’s kissing you like he’s starved, his head moving fervently against yours while he puts his hands all over you. Matt has been dying for your affection for way too long, and now that he has it, he can’t get enough. He also has a thing for your boobs, so he’ll reach for them under your shirt and cup them. He does this while breathing like a dog, and he has an expectant look in his eyes as if to ask, “what’re you gonna do about it?”

He’s good with his hands. He also has really thick fingers, so he never fails to pleasure you with them. He will put you in his lap with your back facing him and touch you like that from behind. He traps you between his arms and pins your shoulder down with his chin while he rubs your clit like crazy. You’re fighting for your life as he makes you cum, but you can’t hope to get away from him. Just when you think he’s done, he’ll stick a finger in and hook you from the inside.

Matt knows your body even better than you do. He’s very sensitive to it and knows when you’re rejecting him. He will put his tip in you and sink deeper in, but never more than you can really take. Soon, he’ll have all nine inches of his cock inside you, and he’ll rock you on it nice and slow so you can feel him stretch you out. “That’s it…” He’s very thorough in this stage because he’s connecting with you, and if you didn’t want him, he wouldn’t have gotten past the tip. “Yeah…”

He’s a lot bigger than you. His back is also really wide, so he can cover your entire body with it. And he’s incredibly strong, which means he has total control over you. When he play fights with you, he doesn’t even have to try to pin you down. “You done?” And when he has sex with you, he gets off to feeling you tremble from penetration. You’re shaking and moaning his name, telling him that you can’t. “You will… Just relax for me…” He loves how much he is for you, even too much, especially when you always take him so well.

Before you know it, tears are running down your face and your eyes are rolled back in pleasure as he pounds and gapes your pussy. When he sees the mess he’s made of you, he goes mad with a desire beyond the flesh. Submitting to him like this when he doesn’t deserve it drives him crazy. Matt will hold you in all sorts of compromising positions to rearrange your guts, like standing up so he can bounce you on him with no mercy.

Matt loves anal. Not just because it’s tight, but he wants to be inside you in any way that he can. You’ll find that he’s really possessive of you, so he doesn’t want there to be anything you haven’t done with him. He also thinks your asshole is cute, so he’ll splay your cheeks apart to look at it. Be mad at him all you want, he’s not changing his mind about plunging inside. It’s invasive and downright dirty, but that’s what makes it so hot.

He doesn’t have any sexual boundaries with you. He will be as nasty as you let him, but even he can’t promise he’ll behave. If you decide to wake him up with a handjob, he’s more than happy to receive. While you pump his morning wood, he’ll just grin darkly at you like he’s the one with the upper hand. Matt loves it when you do this to him, because when you don’t even bother to ask, it goes to show how much you want him. It’s not exactly consensual, but he’s a freak like that. “You’re molesting me now?” He chuckles lowly.

Matt has a piss kink. It’s not surprising that he likes embarrassing you, but he wouldn’t go so far as to do his business on you. He’s decent enough not to put you through that, he just doesn’t mind if you did it to him. In fact, if you try to run off to the bathroom, he might pull you back and keep you on him until you can’t hold it anymore. When it finally comes out, you’ll be mortified beyond relief, crying, and hitting him, but he gets even more turned on. “Don’t be shy. It’s only natural.”

There’s just something so hot about getting you so vulnerable that you relieve yourself on him. After all, you and Matt fight a lot more than the average couple. Having gross and invasive sex is a glaring reminder of how crazy he is about you. “You’re disgusting, Matt…” You tear up, moaning as he rocks you on his dick. He hasn’t cleaned the sheets since the last round, so the smell of sex and bodily fluids is practically searing, but he likes it that way. “I’m just obsessed with you…”

He has a thing for your smell, especially when you haven’t washed yet. Your sweat and musk is enough to give him a hard-on, and he’ll want to eat you out. Matt will find you before you have a chance to take a shower for that sole purpose. Then, he’ll take off your underwear and bury his face between your legs. He’ll suck on your pussy, lick you, and tongue-fuck you until you cum right in his mouth. By the end of it, your thighs are bruised and you’re dripping with nothing but his saliva since he’s swallowed everything else.

He’s really hairy. On his chest, under his armpits, all over his stomach, there’s no shortage of it no matter where you look. He also has a thick happy trail leading down to his pecker, so the rest is pretty self-explanatory. He doesn’t care to shave, especially when he knows how much you like it. You’ve always found his ruggedness attractive, and with his size, it’s like being with a bear.

He likes it when you play with his dick. Matt finds it amusing when you slap it around, or squeeze it. Sometimes, he takes the initiative to guide your hand to his boxers, or inside them. If you try and hit him there, he’ll just grunt and goad you on. “Oh, you can do better than that.” What more is that he doesn’t mind when you touch him under the covers while you’re cuddling, and even while he’s falling asleep. Because if he does get hard, it’s gonna be your responsibility to deal with.

He takes offense if you kick him out of the room to change. He’s already seen every inch of you, inside and out, so he doesn’t understand why you’d try to undo that now. Not that you can. He’ll just take it as you trying to push him away, and he won’t take kindly to that at all. He will sit on the bed and refuse to move, even leaning back to get comfortable. “This doesn’t change the fact that we have sex every other night.”

Matt has a really intense weakness for your tears. If he’s mad and you hug him from behind, he’ll forgive you in an instant. Either you miss him, or you feel really bad about what you did. But if you cry, he will carry you to the bedroom and make love to you until you’re crying from an entirely different reason altogether. If you’re apologizing even with him inside you, he will lose his mind and go so hard, you won’t be able to speak.

Your vulnerability is like a drug to him, and he’s addicted to it. It makes it undeniable how deeply you feel about him, whether it’s sadness, anger, embarrassment or desire. He doesn’t care what it is, so long as you have an emotional reaction to him. For that reason, Matt feels very close to you even when you two argue. He’s the type to look after you even when he’s upset, so you’ll never doubt his feelings for you when things get tough.

Matt is the best at aftercare. As much as you want to sleep off the exhausting sex you’ve been having with him, he’ll refuse and carry you to the bathroom to clean you up. He knows he’s a lot to handle, both in and out of the bedroom. And as stubborn as he can be about communicating his feelings, the one thing he won’t withhold from you is acts of service. It’s how he shows he cares, and he doesn’t want you to feel used afterwards.

He’ll bathe you, get you dressed in something comfortable, then put you on the couch while he makes pancakes. After the best meal you’ve had all day, he lets you rest in the living room so he can swap out the sheets for clean ones. If there’s anything else you want him to do that he hasn’t, he’ll do them too. Chores, errands, you name it. He knows that foreplay starts outside of the bedroom, so pulling his weight will make sure that sex will always be a good experience for you.

[dollypopup]

Today I'm thinking about how so much of Colin's narrative speaks to the neurodivergent experience of having to pretend to be someone else as a survival mechanism. Of the pressure in masking because your real, authentic self is rejected or ignored: too weird, too quiet, too loud, too gullible, too soft-heart, too. . .everything. Too anything. And at the same time, not enough.

Colin gets excited about his travels, about his hyperfixations, talks and talks and talks about them, and no one cares. So, Colin shuts up. Colin writes letter after letter, and gets no reply. So, Colin writes in a journal just for himself. Colin tries and tries to make his family proud, tries to marry, tries courting properly, and it blows up in his face. So, Colin chooses not to date, to become a spectator. Colin is yelled at for trying to invest, so he no longer asks or talks about money, doesn't try to rock the boat in his city. Who Colin is, what he wants, ceases to matter, the fabric of him folded smaller and smaller- instead he focuses on the shell. Builds it in image of his older brothers, of the men around him. Mirrors them.

Anthony says he should have taken Colin to brothels, that he's a fool for trying to marry and his engagement blows up- Colin thus goes to brothels. Colin hops from city to city, trying on new personas like outfits, fine tuning each one. Is this it? Will this be what finally makes them accept me? Colin's appeal to the women of the ton is that he does not talk about himself- but about them. That they're wearing beautiful dresses, that surely they'll find husbands. Separating himself from them- cannot tell them of his travels, that he's not the brave one, it was everyone working together to help with the balloon.

Deflect. Never centered. Colin exists on the outskirts as Pen does, he's just hypervisible for his exterior, and invisible otherwise. His charm is that he pleases those around him. His wounds are that the truest version of him cannot accomplish that. Thus, he becomes hyperaware of what his impact is, first to apologize and last to be forgiven. Living for the approval of others is a trap. He knows. He's fallen into it, a bear claw around his ankles.

He feels like the only way he's worthwhile is if he's providing something for someone. An apology, or comfort, or ease, compliments or winks, a laugh or a distraction, good looks or a fantasy. Providing a happy life for Pen by stepping out of the way, his own needs secondary. It's being there for his mum for an escort or a soft heart to heart. It's taking Anthony's disappointment in him and being indulgent to Eloise's insults. It's giving Benedict his special tea and saying hardly anything about why he bought it in the first place. Bringing gifts to family members who did not write back to him as he wandered the world, alone. It's sticking his neck out for Penelope with Jack, it's providing a dance or a rescue or a good time, checking on Marina to make sure she's alive and okay, listening to Phillip. Colin isn't at all comfortable being himself, the himself that is messy, so he covers it in the himself that is useful.

But what he does, what he provides other people, is not his actual worth. He thinks he's being altruistic by stepping aside and languishing in his feelings for Pen, believing she'll be happier in the future with Debling, waiting and waiting and waiting, until that candle burns out and he's at the 11th hour- and when he snaps and goes after her, when he cuts into her dance, when he runs for her in that carriage, he makes a choice for himself that he thinks, in some way, is selfish.

But it isn't. It's what she wants, too. And there's something beautiful in the fact that with Penelope, his being real, what he thinks is so difficult and unwanted, is actually giving her what she has desired all along. They both find fulfillment and contentment in his unmasking. Penelope never wanted the shell. She saw what was beneath it. She loves what's beneath it.

And I think there's something. . .healing, in that narrative. That us ND peeps who mask as a means of fitting in- that will never bring us happiness. Not really. That it didn't bring Colin happiness.

His arc is realizing that he should be his true, authentic self, and that love will bloom from it. And it does.

I don't know. I think I can learn something from that. I think I'm going to carry that with me for a while.