#enter HYPER jealousy and possessiveness

[demcnsinmymind]

She is 500% angry about this and I am absolutely cackling. 😂

"You know, that might just make me like you a little more. Just a little bit though."

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | part thirteen

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

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

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

"Are you busy?"

The phone call came at the stroke of midnight. Rafe had just gotten away from a lengthy discussion with his father regarding the open properties around Kildare and wanted nothing more than to crash out. But he answered without hesitation when your name flashed across the screen.

"No," he pauses. "Do you need me?"

You do, but you're reluctant to confirm that piece of information. Flattening your lips on the other line, you rub the back of your hand over your tired eyes as a prolonged silence engulfs the call.

But Rafe understands. With a firm I'm coming over, he disconnects the call to pick up his keys.

You've been home for a couple days now, having stayed at Tannyhill for a little over a week. However, with Sarah's return, you felt you'd overstayed your welcome and needed to part ways. Despite Rafe's protests, you insisted, needing to find your own space in the aftermath of everything.

He had hated the way you phrased it. That you needed a place without him.

When he reaches your driveway, Rafe discerns two silhouettes on your porch. Adrenaline spikes, assuming it was Aaron—and that was the reason for your distress call—but upon closer inspection, with the headlights of his car glaring in that direction, the clarity hits.

Maybank and Heyward.

His stomach twists at the realization that he wasn't your first recipient. That you went back to your roots before coming to him. Now, more than ever, Rafe has a bleeding need for some security, to be your first choice.

He doesn't like to be set in the backseat to a pair of Pogues.

Turning off the ignition, Rafe exits the vehicle just as Heyward and Maybank launch from your porch steps with rigid defense. Their eyes narrow at him in suspicion as he stalks up the long pebbled pavement.

"What are you doing here, Rafe?" Pope interrogates in lieu of a greeting.

Rafe scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "How is that any of your business, Pogue?"

JJ jumps in. "If you're here for Aaron—"

"I'm not," Rafe snaps, not liking any association with the loan shark, before admitting, "She called me."

A moment of suspense punctures the air before JJ disrupts it, shaking his head with disbelief. "Bullshit. Why the fuck would she contact a Kook?"

It's an insult, the way Maybank's lips curled with the title and Rafe huffs. He doesn't owe him any explanation and certainly won't give one. Stepping forward, Rafe attempts to enter your house, only for the two boys to block his path.

"Move," Rafe commands lowly.

Pope tries to meditate. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's been through some things and we don't want any more problems—"

Rafe doesn't bother listening to whatever else he has to say. He knows. He knows what you've been through and he's here because of it, not to add to it. But the accusation is thick on Pope's tongue, fueling his irritation. He attempts to shove past both of them, only for JJ to push back.

Shouting stirs you awake. That's a lie. You've been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, hoping it'll lull you to sleep, only for the act to be unproductive. When you start to hear sounds coming from outside, you know Rafe arrived.

Pushing past the screen door, you step out onto the porch to witness JJ and Rafe in the middle of a standoff.

Charged words thrown back and forth, you recognize the dark look behind Rafe's gaze as JJ keeps pushing Rafe's chest—one full of deep agitation, seconds away from snapping.

Your stomach flips with nausea.

"Back off, JJ," you announce sharply to the open yard, causing the trio to direct their attention to you. You briefly connect your gaze with Rafe before turning to the younger blond. "I called him."

JJ's hands drop from Rafe's chest, taking a step back, but there's a look of unsteadiness behind his gaze. Confusion spreads across his hard features while his mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "For what?"

"Does it matter?" You refute, avoiding his question. JJ cocks his head, only for you to add, "You can go home now."

JJ frowns, turning to Pope as they exchange a silent debate. When all Pope could give is a casual shrug, knowing it's your decision at the end of the day, JJ turns back to you.

"You could've let us stay," JJ reasons, throwing a harsh glance over his shoulder at Rafe. "What could a Kook do for you?"

"It's fine. He's my…" You trail off, unable to find the right words to label Rafe. Your initial ideas are too compromising. And Rafe doesn't want your relationship to be seen as complicated to the Kook public, since your interactions could circulate back to Ward. But here, in the sanction of The Cut, you know there's no intersection. No need for security. You shake your head with a tired yet reassuring smile. "It's okay. I appreciate you guys' help."

Rafe hates how you didn't say it.

With a heavy sigh, JJ nods. "Alright," he says, clapping his hands and signaling Pope to descend off the porch. They pair off as they head home and, sparing one last glance at Rafe—who's ascending up the short steps to approach you—JJ bids a final farewell. "Call us if you need anything."

Rafe's arm wraps protectively around your waist. "She won't."

You roll your eyes, shoulders relaxing from their rigid stance, as you watch their departing figures. Once they're no longer in view, you take his arm and tug him into your house.

The short stroll to your bedroom is mostly silent and Rafe takes inventory of your home for any disturbance. Since he ordered that cleaning service, your house is significantly cleaner. You had initially refused his charity but he refused to take no for an answer and you ended up with a grade-A cleaning company that polished your home from all the broken debris and dangerous hazards.

But that wasn't the problem.

When Rafe steps into your bedroom, it's an absolute mess. Pillows are skewed across the floor, your sheets wrinkled and tangled upon each other, and piles of your clothes are thrown together into a pile next to your closet. It greatly contrasts the environment outside your door.

"Shit," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through your body. You move from his touch to do some quick cleaning—throwing your pillows back on the bed, picking up dirty clothes, and tossing them into the hamper.

Abashment increases with each of your frantic steps, to the point that Rafe has to grab your elbow to stop you in place. "Hey," he says softly, lifting your gaze to his, "I don't mind."

You don't say anything. Fatigue pours into the very crevices of your bones. But despite the urge to be presentable, Rafe is a comfort. A clutch. And it's getting dangerous seeing how much you lean on him.

It's on the tip of your tongue to push him away. To tell him to go back home. But he beats you to it, glancing at the door.

"Where's your sister?" Rafe asks. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," you answer, "They're sleeping."

You assumed Amara and Leilani would deal with the same troubles as you, but when you checked up on them, they were out like a light.

Rafe examines you carefully: the way you shift your weight from one leg to the next, the way your hands slightly tremble, and the clear indication of sleep deprivation from the darkened shades ringed around your eyes.

He understands now.

"And you're not?"

Your jaw locks before unwinding. "I'm sorry."

He wants to eradicate that phrase from your vocabulary.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he argues. "You have a problem and you called me. I'm here to help."

Rafe's words are adamant and warms your chest but guilt presses like glass against your heart. "Were you busy?"

"Doesn't matter."

You frown. But the look in his eyes is genuine and honest. You take a step back to separate from him, needing your own air. As of late, everything you own is his. "I…" You exhale a large breath, voice shaky. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."

"Is it because of Aaron?"

You hesitate before nodding once.

"Have you seen him?"

"No, and I think that's the problem." You expel another breath. "I'm on edge all the time. My chest feels heavy and tight and my head hurts." You pause, before choking out. "I'm just so exhausted."

Rafe closes the distance and wraps his strong arms around you as you sink into his chest. You inhale, taking in the faded smell of his cologne.

"I hate this," you mumble, balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. "I hate that I can't sleep. I hate that I'm always stressed. I hate that—" You cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much. Swallowing hard, you attempt to salvage your words. "I just hate that I'm like this."

Frustration oozes out of you and Rafe hates to see you in this state. However, he'll admit, having you vulnerable and open is a welcoming change. You're allowing him a chance to see a side of you no one else has the privilege to and he deeply treasures your trust.

He'll do anything to preserve it.

Rafe massages delicate circles into the small of your back, soothing the aches in your bones as you melt into his arms. "It's okay," he reassures with a sweet mumble, "I'm here. What do you need from me?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Then we'll sleep."

"No sex." You withdraw enough for him to meet your solemn gaze, "No touching. I don't want to do anything other than sleep."

"Okay." He agrees slowly, his voice is unsteady because of your accusatory tone.

"I'm serious, Rafe," you proclaim. "I know we like to mess around, but I'm too tired. I don't want to fuck tonight."

Rafe's expression is unreadable, stonewalling his emotions the moment those words slipped from your lips. Did you think he only sees you as a fuck buddy?

"I said okay," he snaps, a little sharper than intended, but you pretend not to acknowledge it. You misunderstand it as him being upset over the celibacy rule imposed tonight, but that wasn't the case.

You swallow hard, not wanting his aggression to roll over into bed. "Rafe," you begin, feeling guilty, "if you don't want to, it's fine—"

"I never said that," he cuts you off, not wanting the implication to be read that he doesn't want you here. He does. It hurts him that you think he sees you as nothing—when that's far from the truth. He just can't seem to say it. "I just..." His jaw tightens. "Let's just go to bed."

Your lips pull together into a thin line, wanting to address the issue, but deciding you cannot handle an argument tonight. Nodding, you separate from him and move to one side of the bed. Rafe does the same.

You thought Rafe would take some precaution to add distance between you but he doesn't. You can feel the overwhelming radiation of his body heat, the indication of his proximity in close range, and it causes your breath to be still.

You can't handle it. You need distance. You need space. It's too intimate otherwise, and you can't afford that.

Pulling yourself to the ledge, with your back facing Rafe, you inhale a deep set of breaths to soothe the tension in your body. To pretend you don't feel the heat of his gaze. "Goodnight."

He doesn't answer at first, before he reciprocates with a night and you close your eyes to sleep.

Rafe watches you. The first few minutes are normal, but as time passes, you can't seem to relax in your position. Twisting and turning, your eyes remain closed throughout. The only sound is the soft breaths escaping you to indicate your sleepy state—or, at least, the closest attempt at it.

His mind still lingers on your earlier words. Do you think he doesn't care about you? Beyond intimacy? Is that why you called Maybank and Heyward first?

Rafe never thought you had an issue with it. That you were perfectly content with the arrangement. But the accusation on your tongue gave a different interpretation. Do you want more? Or, is he driving himself insane with the idea of you being his and only his?

Lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, Rafe didn't even realize that you moved closer. Your back now facing the wall as one of your arms extends outward, draped across his chest.

He freezes. Rafe assumes it's an accident, something you'll retract in a matter of seconds. But when your arm reaches out again, seeking the curve of his neck, he realizes it isn't.

You want him.

Taking it as a sign, Rafe lowers himself to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling your weight onto him. The moment you're in his embrace, chest resting against his, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. And, in return, Rafe nuzzles into the open crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"No touching, huh?" He mumbles into the softness of your skin as a gentle taunt. But when there's nothing but the sound of shallow breaths and the emptiness of replies, Rafe realizes you truly fell asleep.

You reached for him unconsciously.

His heart races at the implication, before calming to a normal rate, matching the steady guided pace of your own breaths. His grip around your body tightens, squeezing the soft flesh because, at that moment, he doesn't ever want to let you go.

"You need me," Rafe murmurs the confirmation in the column of your throat, hoping the words would sink through. "And I need you too."

—

By morning, you're gone.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. Every time he spends the night, there's a brief hope that the outcome for the morning will be different. That you'll remain in his arms, sleeping soundly. It never happens. And despite the subtle ache in his bones from the weight of your body on top of his all night, it beats the ache in his heart.

Sighing, after washing up, Rafe exits your bedroom to discover you sitting on one of the stools. A leg propped on the flat seat, your chin rests on your kneecap while you're flipping through some old documents.

"Morning," Rafe says, falling into the space next to yours.

"Shit," you swear, nearly jumping out of your own skin, a hand covering your accelerated heart. You hadn't heard him coming. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his eyes scanning over your refreshed face. "You sleep okay?"

You nod, recalling the memory of this morning. Curled up on his arms, head buried in the curve of his neck, your body pressed against his. At first, you assumed Rafe had pulled you in, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't go against your directive. It was all you.

The corner of his mouth rises at the recognition dawning on your face. Before he gets the chance to make some comment about your neediness, you cut him off. "Don't," you warn, feeling a rush of heat rising to your cheeks.

"I haven't said anything,"

"I see it on your face,"

He scoffs, but the smile remains. "You're right," he relents, leaning closer, shortening the distance between you until he's right before you. "I was thinking of it."

Your eyes catch him and the teasing glint behind his gaze, causing your breath to shorten. You expel a breath, trying to release some tension in your shoulders, before you clarify, "All we did was sleep."

"Yeah, but you slept on me," his voice drops a full octave, "Admit it, sweetheart, you want me. Why else would you want me here?"

You search his face, trying to figure out what he wants. What he's trying to get out of you. But you find nothing tangible. Refusing to put yourself in another position of vulnerability when Rafe has done nothing to balance the scale, you scale back, adding space. "I just—I needed someone I trust."

You don't acknowledge that his assertion is correct. That the one time you fell asleep peacefully was in his arms. Or, perhaps, it wasn't necessarily about trust but about him. Instead, you pretend it's something else, something vague and general, hoping one day it will.

"Someone," Rafe repeats. "Or me?"

You avoid the question.

And Rafe assumes the former.

Dropping your gaze to the files, the air stiffens into a palpable silence. Your fingers thread through the records, pretending to search for something, when all you can feel is the thumping of your heartbeat in your veins.

Rafe releases a sigh. The elation of his state quickly deflates after your rejection. Again. He doesn't know how much longer he can take before it truly destroys him. Deciding to shift the conversation elsewhere, he asks, "Do you want me to stay again?"

"No, it's fine," you shake your head, dismissing the proposition out of habit. Even though it would bring you peace, the rational side of your brain determines the distance necessary to protect yourself. Becoming too reliant on Rafe would add nothing but pain. "You can go home," you pause, considering how to lighten the mood, "I bet the mattress here sucks in comparison to your one-million thread counts, huh?"

There's a strain to your voice; a telltale sign. Rafe ignores your words and focuses on what he does best: reading your body language. With squared shoulders and an avoidant gaze, he knows your words are far from the truth. You just don't know how to ask for what you want.

So, he proposes a different question.

"But can you sleep?"

You don't answer.

"I'll stay then," he decides, as if he's reading an item off a menu. Before you get a chance to object, Rafe shifts closer, tugging the corner of a document. "What's this?"

Your mouth closes, shoulders slouching from how quickly he changes the topic. It almost makes you smile. Deciding it would be better than fighting it, you explain that you're reviewing your Sailor bank accounts to see what money you can spare without harming the business. However, the issue is that you can't seem to find any gaps.

Rafe's brows furrow together as he listens, asking permission to take a look at your statements himself. His eyes scan through the billing, before asking. "Why don't you sell the business and work elsewhere?"

"You're not funny," you declare, attempting to pull the document away, but his grip remains firm. His eyes are set on yours.

"I'm not joking," he declares. "It could help a lot. I mean, you'll earn more than what you're earning here."

He isn't wrong. At this point in time, you would profit more by working as a bartender than a business owner. But that's not the point.

"Sailor is my family's legacy," you explain, believing his question was not an attack on your qualification but rather from a strictly logical standpoint. "It and my sisters are the most important things in my life."

Rafe hums, and he doesn't add anything else. You don't know if he gets it. "Let me ask you something: why do you want Cameron Development so badly?"

He goes rigid. He's never been asked that question before. Never had to articulate his reasoning. It makes him uncomfortable to be interviewed—especially if it's to you of all people. "I don't know," he declares noncommittally, glancing at his lap, "I always assumed I would get it. I'm the oldest."

You shake your head. Not out of mistrust, but because you know him. Rafe isn't as simple-minded as the rest of Kildare likes to believe. There has to be more. "I don't believe that," you say gently, "Try again."

His expression morphs into a charming smile. A facade to hide. "Do I get something if I talk?"

You roll your eyes. "It's always sex with you, isn't it?"

His smile drops, but you don't pick it up. He shouldn't have said that, but it's too late. Your expression is easygoing and loose, a detachment to your words as if you truly believe and accept that perception of how he views you.

Instead of addressing his feelings, he tries to articulate what he meant before.

"I don't know," Rafe starts again, in a low mumble, his voice more vulnerable than it was moments prior. "Business was the one thing I got. I... I didn't excel in academics and I didn't like sports that much. But with Cameron Development, it was the one thing me and my dad could sit down and talk about and I didn't feel like a big disappointment to him."

He never said those words out loud before, and the confession sounds pathetic, but the way your eyes soften and your head nods along as you listen with no judgment, it gives him the confidence to continue forward.

"I... I get it, you know? The numbers don't scare me and the logic makes sense. It's the one thing I have going for me and to know that my dad is considering giving it to Sarah... It hurts. Like, she has everything and I can't even have the one thing I'm good at."

His voice cracks at the end, and his gaze has since dropped to the floor, hands messing and rubbing the calloused skin of the other.

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, and lift his head, meeting his sensitive gaze. "It isn't fair," you run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to soothe the ache of his admission. "It truly isn't. I wish I could make it better for you."

Too gentle. Too loving. In the comfort of your touch, Rafe speaks before he can stop himself. "Sometimes I think if I have you, I'll be fine with the world."

Your breathing stills. Rafe did too. You don't know if you misheard him, or if he's implying something else, but before you can seek clarification, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it." Rafe swiftly pulls away, moving to the exit. His hands clench by his side, teeth grinding, regret coursing through his veins at the mistake of letting his emotions overtake him back there.

He shouldn't have said that.

When he opens the door, without checking the peephole, JJ stands behind it.

"Oh, you're still here," JJ declares with a hint of bewilderment. "Didn't think she kept dogs past noon."

Rafe's already on edge from the previous conversation that he has little patience for the Pogue. Seconds away from slamming the door on Maybank's smug face, you appear by Rafe's side, stopping him and inviting JJ in. He steps into your living room, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" You point to the crumpled note, before recognizing his nervous stance. JJ's bouncing on the heel of his feet, avoiding your gaze, and when you repeat your question, more firmly this time, he reluctantly holds the note out.

"Someone left this at your bar," JJ explains as you take it. Your eyes quickly scan the message, your heart sinking with every word you read. "It's a warning. If you don't... If you don't pay him back in full tomorrow, he'll do something to your bar."

Rafe's watching your reaction with a hardened look. His eyes keep sliding over to JJ, the Pogue being the messenger of the news—the one you sought help from before—and the blond feels the heat of his stare on him. Consequently, it forces JJ to grab your elbow and pull you off to the side, away from Rafe.

JJ begins. "Look, I know you don't wanna do it, but my dad knows a guy—"

"No."

"He's been through with Aaron before," he whispers back sharply, "It might be the only option you have."

"And get stuck in the same shit I had with Aaron? No," you declare firmly, reading the note again. It does nothing to soothe the heightened nerves in your body. The way panic is ricocheting inside your stomach like a ping-pong ball.

JJ says nothing, the absolute behind your tone quiets him. While you're preoccupied with another read-through, JJ glances back to where Rafe stands.

"I gotta ask," JJ starts again, lowering his voice so only you can hear. You lift your head from the note, meeting his curious gaze, with a raise of your brow. "Rafe? Seriously?"

While you're trying to figure out how to maintain your livelihood, JJ is concerned about your love life.

"Is this really the time and place?"

"I'm serious, what do you see in him?"

"Drop it, JJ."

"I just don't understand," he continues in a whisper, but his volume raises slightly, "I swear, you're a pretty girl. You can do 10x better than him—"

"JJ," you command sternly, all amusement vanishes. "Drop it."

"Fine," he stays, stepping back with both hands partially raised to his collar. He doesn't turn to catch another glimpse at Rafe, but instead, offers the same advice as he did before. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."

Rafe watches as the Pogue leaves, stepping out to your porch and closing the door behind him. But his breath remains ragged. He caught the last bit of JJ's hushed words, and as much as he wanted to be sensible, he didn't like it.

You're different than Rafe, he understands that. You have a support system, a list of other people, and sometimes—as much as he hates to admit—they are better than him. Less volatile. Less emotional.

But it feels like you're pushing him away. Placing him as a last line of defense for all your troubles. The insecure parts of him are roaring—louder than his rational thoughts can ever be—telling him that he's the last choice. The last option.

He can't help but wonder. If Leilani hadn't called him, would you have? Or would it be JJ or Pope?

Rafe rounds the couch to approach you, his hand circles your wrist holding the note. Your head lifts to meet his harsh gaze.

"You don't need his help," he declares gruffly, "I could've done it."

You blink. "What?"

"The note at the bar," he gestures to the crumpled paper in your hands, before dropping his to his side, clenching down to a fist. "I could've taken care of it."

"I... I didn't ask him. He did it himself."

Rafe isn't convinced. "And last night with Maybank and Heyward, that was all them too?"

His tone is sharp and accusatory, leaving you lightheaded as you stare at him. You're still wrapped up around the threatening note, but Rafe is somewhere else. A different topic. Another issue. You can't seem to gauge what type of response you need to have. And in turn, you give him silence.

His anger rises. "Am I just your second choice? Your fucking backup plan because those Pogues don't cut it?"

Your head is spinning, and you attempt to pull away from his grip but he tightens it. "Rafe," you start slowly, your breathing quickens, "What are you talking about?"

Are you being ignorant on purpose? Are you trying to drive him mad? His fury erupts, flooding all his senses.

"Them!" Rafe points to the door, where JJ left moments ago. "Last night. Everything. Did you ask them before you asked me?"

It's starting to catch up. "Are you serious?"

"I told you that we'll figure it out together."

"I—" Your throat burns. You can't believe he's letting his jealousy about your friends come at a perilous stage in your life. Exhaling a sharp breath, you meet his stare head-on. "They appointed themselves to that role. I never asked that of them."

After Pope discovered the break-in, JJ and him formed a pact to take it upon themselves to watch over you while you're home. They traded off shifts, entertaining themselves on the porch where they set up a makeshift couch and hammock to crash. You had tried to convince them you were fine, but they were stubborn. They wouldn't listen. And at the time, you appreciated the extra protection.

But it didn't work. You couldn't sleep. You still needed him.

Does he not get that?

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with contempt, "You never ask for anything."

"Are you really trying to start a fight right now?"

"Are you making it a fight?"

"They're my friends, Rafe," you emphasize, "I told you that."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what is it?"

His jaw is set, resistance churning through his system to shut the fuck up, but he can't hold it in. He finds himself asking, half in plead, half in confession, "What am I?"

You weren't expecting that. Your lips part, but no words follow through. His hard gaze is on you, waiting for an explanation, but you don't answer fast enough. It's killing him. His next words are a shimmering calm, in a deadly whisper, "Do you think I only want you for sex?"

Your heart squeezes in your chest, taking all your air alongside it. You think you lost your ability to speak, but when you do, it comes out small. "Don't you?"

You're turning the question back onto him, and he hates it. He's trying to get the words out of you, to see where he stands, but neither of you is willing to take that step. It reduces him to silence.

You can't believe it. He can ask, but he can't answer. Frustration fills you, searing hot and explosive. You don't stop yourself from saying, "Because last I remember, whenever you had a problem, you came over to fuck." You snap, your emotions rising to a crescendo, "And when I asked you what we are..." You trail off, losing your voice. The sting of his label still hasn't passed.

But he knows what you're referring to.

"That's different."

"How?"

Rafe doesn't speak. All he knows is it's different. He has feelings for you. Before he refused to acknowledge it, now, it's bleeding into everything he touches. Everything he does. He just can't seem to say it.

"That was before."

Your brows pull together, your anger pulsating through your veins. "Before what? Before Aaron broke into my house?"

"No," he declares, his response is a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn't the right one. Attempting to rectify, Rafe stammers, "Well, yes, but it's just... It's..."

Why can't he fucking tell you?

He's afraid of being first.

"It's pity?" You supply, not bothering to conceal the hurt in your tone. "Everything is just pity?"

"No!" He exclaims, but it isn't right. It still isn't good enough.

"Then what is it?" You demand, trying to get a hold of your emotions. But you're seconds away from screaming, or crying, or both. You rip your hand from Rafe's grip, taking a step back to conserve yourself.

His gaze falls to his empty hands, his emotions choking him. Every attempt at saying the right words causes him to shrink, feeling small, feeling like a child reaching for their parent's love, only to be pushed aside and dismissed. His walls are for protection, but it destroys as much as it save him.

Rafe decides to settle on something easy. "I'm your boyfriend."

"Fake," you correct.

"Does this feel fucking fake to you?"

You reel back. All your anger dissipates. All your resentment, hurt, and frustration disappear once those words leave his lips. And you're left with a burning clarity. Your chest constricts, your heart hammering. But you can't seem to answer him. You want him to say it first. "You tell me."

Rafe can't. It took all of him to admit such a thing.

You watch him with bated breath, but only to be disappointed again. His dark blue eyes are piercing, rich with emotions, but none of them are vocalized. None are honest. You can’t do this. You can’t go through another second of this uncertainty. You’re tunneling towards heartbreaking misery. So, you turn to leave.

But Rafe catches your wrist and pulls you back. His lips slam into yours, knocking the wind from your lungs.

He pours everything into this kiss; all his desperation, vulnerability, and truth. His action demonstrates everything his words can’t. And while you reciprocate with the same passion, reality grounds you, and you draw back, shaking your head. “Rafe—“

He kisses you again. Hoping it’s enough. Begging it to be. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know why he can’t fucking say it. He wants this to be enough.

You push back again, and this time, his arm wraps around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. You’re breathing hard as Rafe stares down at you while you’re looking at his chest.

He says your name. You refuse to look up.

He says it again. More firmly. You don’t acknowledge.

“Sweetheart,” he finally says, softening his words, and you find yourself crying. Tears crowd your waterline as you shake your head, refusing to be persuaded by the sweet sound of your endearment.

“No,” you choke out, slamming a weak fist against his chest. “Let me go. I can’t—I don’t—I’m not doing this.”

You finally tilt your head up to look at him. The way he stares at you with such tenderness. You can’t seem to discern it from pity. “I can’t.” You sob, “If this is how you’re playing me, I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re breaking my heart.“

Then it finally hits him.

All your resistance. It was never rejection. It was the complete opposite. Coupled with the same fears he had; the same emotions he didn’t know how to express. He’s been so blind to it.

He should’ve known. He should’ve read it the same way he’s been reading everything else.

It finally gave him the confidence nothing else has.

“I fucking love you.”

You are completely still. You think you're hearing him wrong, that this is just a way of your brain deluding you and calming your irrational state of mind, but it's real. Your lips part, breathing shallow, all while you're staring back into Rafe's eyes.

He's afraid. Rafe doesn't trust his own instincts. Everything about you makes him question himself. And while he gained a fleeting moment of courage, he doesn't know if it will follow through. On the off-chance that, despite all this, all the signs he read, he was wrong and it will be rejection.

"Say it back," Rafe whispers in a plea. It's pathetic, but he no longer cares. "Say it back or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

"You love me?" You breathe in a whisper, unable to move on from this moment. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly, before nodding once.

“I think I loved you since I first met you,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Rafe bristles, “You think I go around telling people I love them?” He declares, studying your expression, trying to gauge your reaction, but it’s hard when he’s blinded by the crippling fear that you don’t feel the same. “You think I do this for anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I just don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”

“I do mean it,” he declares, his voice suddenly dry, as he finds your gaze. “I… I’m sorry for before when I said things I didn’t mean. I don’t want you just for sex, I don’t see you as just a fuck buddy. I’m… I’m in love with you, and it’s fucking difficult to tell you that.”

Your lips purse together, but you still don’t answer him. Don’t confess your own side. Instead, you ask in a meek voice, “Since the beginning?”

He huffs. He can’t believe he’s admitting so much today. Revealing things he swore he’d keep hidden behind a locked box. But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there. “Since the beginning. When you called me out, when you patched me up, when you slapped me—“ That bit makes you let out a small laugh, “I don’t think I was going to meet anyone who challenges and accepts me the way you do.”

You don’t say anything for the next few moments. And they were the longest seconds of his life. Rafe had to speak, “And if it’s just me, if I’m the only person who feels this way, I’ll find a way to be okay with that—“

You cut him off with a kiss.

“I love you,” you breathe into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you,” you jump, curving your legs around his hips as Rafe catches you, steadying you with two hands tantalizing skimming the curve of your ass. “Fuck, Rafe, I love you so much.”

His heart fills with your words. Your desperation clinging to each puncture. He grins into the kiss, before he deepens it, tasting you, stealing your air. Everything feels right. Feels good. When Rafe separates to break the kiss, he catches the residue smile on your face and the little daze behind your eyes. He snaps a memory of it and saves it forever.

But, just as it came, it slowly faded away. Reality quickly dawns on you, and your arms tightens around Rafe’s neck, reminders and deadlines creeping up your skin. Your confession comes out small. “I… I’m scared. With Aaron and everything.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I don’t have the money, Rafe,” your eyes connect with his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rafe pulls you in, flushed against his chest as your head lays on his shoulders and his hand strokes your hair. It takes a moment for him to process, to remember the world outside of you. But, when he does, he whispers, “I’m going to take care of it,” his voice so low, it almost comes out as a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he will.

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[lavenderjacobs]

fluff alphabet - Sapnap

➳ wc; 2,1K (she’s a long one lol)  ➳ pronouns; gender neutral<3 ➳ song reccomendation; heart eyes - coin

A=Attractive (What do they find most attractive in a partner?)

nick’s an ass guy and you can’t convince me otherwise. he’s also just loves your thighs and your stomach. he loves how soft your skin is, and how good you smell. whenever he’s sad he just rests his head on your stomach while you tangle you fingers in his hair. 

B=Best memory (Their favourite memory of you)

he cherishes your first kiss so much. he just has such a soft spot for that memory. the moment he finally found out you felt the same about him, the moment he finally found out what your lips against his felt like. it’s just something he had looked forward to for forever, and to him, it was perfect. 

C=Cuddles  (What type of cuddles do they like?)

sapnap is a WHORE for cuddles. if it where up to him, you two would just lay in bed all day, tangled in each other’s arms. after a long day, he just wants to hold his favourite person and fall asleep with them, so he just wraps his arms around your waist while he uses your chest as a pillow. but if he’s in a chatty mood, he’ll just talk your ears off, ranting about something he finds interesting, while you’re all snuggled up in the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

D=Dirty mind (Do they have a dirty mind?)

I mean, come on. it’s sapnap. we all know he does. he gets *excited* very easily, which can sometimes get in the way when you two are just trying to cuddle. he just has such a soft spot for your body and has to have his way with you once certain ideas have entered his mind. 

E=Effort (How much effort do they put in the relationship?)

nick would definitely try his best. honestly you don't care if his plans actually turn out the way he intented them to, it's the thought that counts. and nick knows that. but theres just something about you that makes him want to spoil you and treat you like a princess. so prepare yourself for fancy dates, him making you your favorite food, all that type of stuff.

F=First date (What was your first date together)

arcade date arcade date arcade date. sap is super competitive and I feel like he would thrive in an arcade. he would play it off like he was just trying to proof how good he was at the arcade games. but he'd just love to see how hard you would be trying to beat him. obviously he'd let you win a lot, and when he collected enough tickets, he would get you the biggest prize he could find.

G=Gentle (How gentle are they with you?)

it....depends???? lmao. nick CAN be super gentle with you, he’s pretty protective of you and would never want you to get hurt, so he’s definitely very careful not to do anything to hurt you. but sometimes his instinct just kinda takes over and well, he can get pretty rough. 

H=Hands (Do they have nice hands?)

hmmm nick has like,,very manly hands,, if you know what i mean. i dont know, they're just so rough but yet so pretty??? and they're like really big compared to yours so when he holds ur hand, yours looks so tiny in his. and omg he won't shut up about it. "LOOK AT YOUR HANDS THEY'RE SO SMALL🥺"

I=Impression (What was their first impression?)

he just thought you were so ~cool~. like he immediately knew he wanted to be your friend. he was just so in awe of how funny, chill and charismatic you were. and it literally took two days for him to develop a crush on you. his friends would notice this right away and tease him about it so much omg.

J=Jealousy (Do they get jealous often? If so what do they do?)

YUP. nick gets jealous so easy yup yup yup. jealousy, protectiveness, possessiveness, you name it. you two would often get in fights about this, but most of the time you would just think it’s cute how riled up he gets. he doesn’t get mad at you (because you’re his precious little baby and can do no wrong in his eyes :D) but god help the souls of whoever tries to flirt with you, because they’ve got a hell of a storm coming.

K=Kisses (What type of kisses do they like/give?)

god nick’s such a passionate kisser. or at least he can be lol. he loves the way your face fits into his hands, and how soft your lips are. so he definitely is a fan of just some wholesome passionate kisses. but damn this man gets sloppy when he wants to. his lips constantly trails off to your jaw, neck and collar bones.

L=Love  (Do they show their love?)

i feel like his love language would be like a mix between words of affection and physical touch??? he’s definitely very verbal with his love for you. he doesn’t shy away from saying i love you or letting you know how much he appreciates you in any other way.

M=Memory: (Their favourite memory in general?)

there are certain moments where nick just sits back, watches, and realizes how amazing his life is. and how grateful he is to have you. for example, you were playing minecraft on his pc, and your house kept getting blown up by creepers, he found it adorable how mad you got every time. he just watched you play, while sitting on his bed. after a while, you looked over at him, and caught him staring. “what?” you asked after letting out a soft chuckle. he felt like he was gonna explode from how much he loved you. 

N=Nickname  (What nicknames do they call you?)  

i’m getting very strong “baby” and “doll” vibes from nick. he loves baby-ing you and smothering you with other loving nicknames. just any petnames that show how much he loves you he’s all for. he would also love calling you “pretty” or “beautiful” for obvious reasons. 

O=Over  (What happened the one time you ‘broke up’?)

nick HATES fighting with you, but once you two get into an argument he can get pretty carried away. he’s definitely the type to let his emotions get the upper hand on him. raising his voice a lot, stuff like that. but the second you leave to get some space he just breaks down. sliding down the wall and resting his face in his hands, just letting all the emotions out. he never meant to hurt you. when you came back to him, ready to be enclosed in his arms again, he had a hard time letting you back in. he just felt like he didn’t deserve you after he treated you like this. it took some convincing, but once you broke down his walls again, it was like he gave you all the love in his body. just smothering you with “i’m sorry”s and kisses. 

P=Parents (What would they be like as a parent?)

dilfnap dilfnap dilfnap  omg he’d be such a good dad. like just very caring and loving, but also strict and stern when he needs to be. he’d constantly be telling stories to the kids about the absurd adventures him and his friends would get into, and omg the dad jokes he’d make. idk maybe it’s my daddy issues but dad sapnap lives in my mind rent free. 

Q=Quirk (Something special about them)

he loves holding your hand. especially in public. if you’re in a crowded space, he just holds onto you very tightly as not to lose you. or if you two are just going on a walk together, his hands would just feel so warm and soft around yours. and omg he loves it when his hands are in his pockets, and you put your hands in there with him, and intertwine your fingers with his. hmmm he gets so soft when you do that.

R=Romantic (How romantic are they?)

i- uh- I MEAN HE WOULD TRY he really would, and again, that’s all that matters. I feel like he would be the type to try to prepare a whole surprise dinner, he would cook all the food himself, he would set the table all cute, with candles and shit, but just completely ruin the surprise by accidentally giving it all away by saying something or just behaving very obviously suspicious. 

S=Sad (What are they like when they’re sad?)

he just gets really quiet. he would never want to bother you or be a pain in the ass by complaining to you. but obviously you notice when something is wrong with ur bby boy. a sentence like “are you okay?” or “what’s wrong?” would immediately send him over the edge, burying his face in your chest, trying his best to supress his sobs. but he eventually calms down, and once he does, he’s able to just rant to you about whatever is bothering him.

T=Together (What are they like when you’re together?)

i feel like it would really depend on his mood, like he could be either SUPER chill, just wanting to savour the time you two had together. or he could be really hyper, constantly talking, wanting to do all kinds of activities with you. he’d be the literal definition of :D

U=Understanding (How understanding and empathetic are they?)

very. i just get such empathetic vibes from him. he’s such a good listener and he’ll just listen to you talk whenever you have something to be upset about. he never invalidates your feelings and omg he’d give the best advice. 

V=Value (What do they value most about the relationship?)

he loves that he can 100% be his self around you. there’s no part of his personality that he feels like he has to hide, or tone down, whenever he’s with you. you also aspire him to be his best self, he just wants to be the best boyfriend in the world. all his friends have noticed this too, you bring out the best in him.

W=Wedding (Would they want marriage? If so what would they like?)

eh. if you’re a person who really values marriage, he’d 100% do it for you. but it’s not like he HAS to. he gets a bit scared by the idea of this whole big event, where everything is about you two, he would way rather celebrate the love you two have in the comfort of your own home, just the two of you. the one thing he would love about a wedding, would be seeing you all dolled up, walking down the aisle, omg he’d be the proudest man ever to be able to call you his.

X=X-Ray (How well can they read you?)

the SECOND you start to feel sad or depressed in any way, nick notices immediately. he knows you better than anybody else, and he knows exactly what to do to cheer you up. it’s like his superpower. if you’re feeling anxious he’ll just wrap his arms around you really tightly, holding on to you until you calm down. and when you’re sad, and in need for something to cheer you up, he’ll take you outside for a walk in the park, or he’ll just sit in bed with you, watching your favourite show. 

Y=Yuck (What they would never want in a partner)

he hates when you flirt with his friend, even when you’re very obviously joking. his jealous ass can’t deal with that lmao. he also gets super pissed when his friends make flirtatious jokes towards you, they know how much it gets on his nerves and that’s really the only reason they do it. but omg he gets so pissed when it happens. 

Zzz (How do they sleep around you?)

nick would be the cutest sleeper ever omg. he doesn’t like to admit it, but he loves being little spoon. he loves resting his head on your chest, while you play with his hair, patiently waiting for him to fall asleep. 

[kindofaslutformichaelmyers-2]

Blood and Wine, a Hannibal x Reader

In honor of me getting back on Tumblr, here’s a Hannibal x Psychiatrist!Reader fic. This is SFW (although I can make a part two if you like it) 

Warnings: personal injury, alcohol, use of drugs (normally, I would never, but Hannibal canonically is known to make use of them), implied murder

Enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________________

Music poured from brightly lit windows outside the Maryland townhouse, the harmonies of many-stringed instruments reaching my ears. I did not feel as though I should be there, nor did I quite understand why the invitation was extended to me. Nevertheless, the thick yellowed cardstock stated its intentions quite clearly; I was invited to a dinner party, 9:00, at the residence of Dr. Lecter, my friend and colleague. I knocked on the door, once, twice. The door swung open, flooding me in light.

“Dr. Y/L/N! I did hope you would come. Please, come in!” A tall, handsome man stepped aside to allow me into the threshold. His face was darkly attractive, and he was dressed sharply in a deep, wine-red suit with a black dress shirt. 

“Dr. Lecter. It’s lovely to see you again, thank you for the invitation.” 

“Please, it was my pleasure. May I take your coat?” His voice sent shivers down my spine. With a smirk composed of teeth just slightly too sharp, he helped me slip out of my thick overcoat and hung it. “Shall we?” 

I took his arm as he led me to the sitting room, the source of the music and the location of the party. There were women in lace and silk, soft furs and fabrics of every kind, hair plaited in complex patterns. There were men in dark suits of satin and velvet. And the food! Oh lord, the food, elegantly plated on china and glass, spattered with red sauces and rich glazes. 

“Oh, Hannibal… It’s beautiful.” 

“Yes,” he acquiesced, my eyes lifting to meet the gaze that was already upon me. “Yes, it is.” 

Another rapt knock on the door stole away the company of my host, and I joined the nearest group of socialites, attempting to tame the thudding of my heart. A waiter passed with glasses of chianti, and I took one gracefully as he passed. 

Imitating the pompous demeanor of the group, I drank, and listened. Underneath the questions of everyday life and which-concert-you-went-to talks, though, I heard whispers. Rumors, gossip, the real thing that the rich came to do. 

“Did you hear that the FBI consults him?” “Did you know that he saved my life?” “I heard he isn’t as kind as he seems” “I’ve heard-” “Did you know?” “He has a dark side” “I wouldn’t get too close”

A gentle hand was placed on the small of my back, a man’s hand, by the feel of it. My attention was suddenly back with a vengeance, focused on the hand. Hot breath grazed my cheek as my new company leaned in to whisper. 

“Care to join me for some hors d’oeuvres?” my host hinted, voice deep and low, as sultry and many-layered as the wine in my glass. A shock of electricity shot through me. Hannibal’s hand pressed, ever so softly, and my body followed his faintest suggestions as he led me through the crowd. “Here, try this. Heart tartare.” 

He raised a small shell of tartare to my lips and I obliged without a second thought. It was delicious, of course, complex in many ways. 

“Wow… that’s amazing, Hannibal.” 

“Thank you. I have to go check in the kitchens. Pardon me, please.” 

I approached the nearest circle, still dazed but somehow also hyper aware of everything. My pulse was racing, the many voices becoming blurred, but each face was sharper in definition than a movie screen. I was greeted with cheery hellos, probably the result of a little too much champagne already. They were curious about my job, my family, my hobbies, etc. Curious about how I met Hannibal, as if that would explain the way he was behaving, standing not even inches away from me when he could. As if we were together. Of course, it would have been most interesting for people to hear about a love life between the host and a mysterious guest of honor. Unfortunately, I was just another psychiatrist. 

Hannibal’s familiar hand came to rest between my shoulder blades, warmth emanating from the spot. I prayed he couldn’t feel my racing heart. Our conversations continued, entertaining me with their attempts to have me admit to something that wasn’t reality. The closeness of my colleague did not help the case I was attempting to make. And yet, after fifteen minutes, I was bored, and the tapping of Hannibal’s fingers on the nape of my neck alerted me to the fact that the center of the room had been cleared. The music had stopped. 

Hannibal had swept in front of me, bowing deep. The crowd gasped in fascination. His hand was held, extended, for me to take. “Care to dance?”  

With the cue from the orchestra, I was swept into a waltz formation, my partner’s right hand holding my own while the left rested on the small of my back, holding us so that our faces were mere inches away. A soft “oh!” of surprise left my lips. 

The music started and we moved, my feet following Hannibal’s with a grace I never knew myself to possess. I found it hard to break away from his scarlet gaze. 

“I’m still not entirely sure why you invited me tonight, Dr. Lecter,” I murmured, low enough that the crowd would not hear. 

“That wasn’t obvious?” 

“No,” I replied, embarrassed. 

“I enjoy your company, Y/N. You don’t ask me such redundant questions,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I consider you a friend.” 

My heart leapt into my throat as I was lowered into a graceful dip, Hannibal holding me securely. Against my better judgement, my fingertips crept up to his face, trailing along his jawline. His face angled to bring his lips to my ear, his breath creating a  barely audible whisper-

“Join me, after the party. We need to talk about something.” A soft kiss was planted on my collarbone, and my whole body buzzed with electricity.

With that, the waltz was over, and he vanished as suddenly as he had been appearing. 

His absence left me with hundreds of questions, and about ten-thousand emotions as the crowd bombarded me with questions about our dance. To name a few, I was confused, frustrated, curious… and also, quite a bit more aroused than I’d have liked to be. As much as I tried, I couldn’t shake the image of his hands on me, his lips (which had been so close just minutes ago) pressing into my skin. Against my better judgement I indulged in another glass of wine. 

“I hope you know that you aren’t special. To Hannibal, I mean,” a rude woman from the crowd with a sharp, unpleasant face jeered, interrupting my thoughts. 

“Of… course I don’t, we both just have mutual admiration for each other’s practices. I… I don’t understand where you’re coming from.”

“We all saw the way he looks at you. I’m just telling you that he bores easily.” Her face was pulled into a grotesque sneer. I wanted nothing more than to gouge her eyes out. “Honestly, I can’t even see why he invited you.” 

“Look, okay? I didn’t ask for an invite. Why don’t you bring it up with him if you don’t want me here? I didn’t get my fucking doctorate for some asshole to come up to me and tell me that I don’t deserve the attention and respect of my colleagues! I do!” I could feel the heat rising within me as my voice began to shake.

 I trembled with rage. My hand constricted harshly on my wine glass and it shattered, shards falling and slicing my palm. For a second, it was difficult to distinguish the deep red from my blood. Tears of humiliation gathered in my eyes. “Fuck off. I don’t even know your name, you bitch.” 

Gentle hands came to rest on my shoulders as Hannibal looked deep into my eyes, his irises glowing red with the reflection of my blood. 

“Y/N, I need you to take a deep breath. It’s going to be alright.” I nodded. A cloth was pressed into my hand softly, to stop the bleeding. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but the night is over. Please take a favor from the parlor as you make your way out. Elizabeth?” he addressed the pointy-faced bitch. “I would appreciate it if you could join me in the kitchen for a word.” His gentle ease and poised demeanor had the crowd following his instruction, filing out, as he led Elizabeth away. I wondered why. I hoped it wouldn’t make me jealous. 

I knocked on the kitchen door before entering and received a ‘come in,’ so it couldn’t have been anything lengthy. The woman was nowhere to be seen. 

“Have a seat, Y/N, I think that I can fix your hand right up,” Hannibal, cool as always, motioned. His kitchen was meticulous, and yet the only thing I noticed was that he was now missing his suit jacket and had rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. 

He was gentle with my hand, never using too much pressure, always making sure that I was okay as he removed the slivers of glass with silver tweezers. He had certainly earned his license. Finally, my palm was wrapped in soft gauze. He planted a sweet kiss on the bandage.

“Where did that woman go? I didn’t see her leave,” I asked, still feeling pangs of jealousy. 

“She left through the backdoor. I didn’t want her to cause any more of a commotion.” 

“What did you talk to her about?” I continued, still not satisfied despite the rudeness of my question. 

“Her attitude. She isn’t allowed to treat my guests like that.”

“But-” 

“Y/N,” he interjected calmly. “Normally envy isn’t a pretty face. You seem to be immune to that effect. Would you like a cup of tea?” He offered. 

“I… yes, but… I’m not envious of her!” I watched his movements, entranced by the simple elegance of his process. 

“On the contrary, it would appear that you are, indeed, quite jealous. I’m actually rather flattered that you think me worth of jealousy. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been trying to grab your attention all night.” 

A teacup of steaming mint waited for me on the counter. I took a sip before continuing. 

“But... she told me I was a phase.” 

“She and I were never an item, if you’re asking. She tried to make it happen, but I am not attracted to her in any way. Intellectually she was quite dull.” 

“And…” I took another drink from the cup. 

“You are not a phase in my life. You’re quite beautiful, worth much more than just a phase. You’re worth all of my attention.” 

The blood rushed to my face. “Hannibal, I… I find you very attractive as well. I’ve actually had feelings for you for a long time, I just…could never find the words... what’s that?” My eyes focused on the tile of the floor next to a shelf, currently seeping with viscous red liquid. I stood, but got a head rush, dizziness blurring my vision. 

“Hannibal, what did you…” black dots spotted my sight as he swooped in, picking me up bridal style. The teacup slipped from my hand and shattered on the ground, my consciousness fading into darkness.

[goodnightallwhites]

♥ Liz, Blacked ♥ by Zenalite

Chapter 0 - Friend ♥

Liz got dragged on a trip with her parents while her boyfriend, Kyle, stayed home. While they were both introverts that spent all day inside, Kyle remained hyper-jealous of any attention Liz received from other guys. It didn't help that Liz insisted on keeping an Instagram to "feel good" about herself. She would always take a picture of herself in jeans or shorts, her showing her big booty to the world. Liz was a chubby redhead with no chest at all, but her hips stretched wide and her soft ass remained incredibly round. When she wore tight jeans the buns would fold over her thighs, the fabric stretching so much that the pantylines came clear. It especially bothered Kyle when some of the senior guys called catcalled her down the school hallways. But it was always the black ones that made a grab for her ass while Kyle watched, all helpelss. Liz cursed them and told him she hated it - though her cheeks reddened and she always giggled when it happened. And it hardly stopped her from buying ever-tighter pants and uploading pics that would get thousand of likes from old pervs. Kyle never found the courage to stand up and tell her to cut it out. She was so sweet on all other matters, and he felt so lucky to have her and so afraid to lose her that he learned to keep his mouth permanently shut. When she arrived, Liz texted him a picture of a large cabin surrounded by looming pine trees and distant peak, insisting that she couldn't stop sweating and it was much warmer than it looked. That wasn't on his mind. What about the guys? How many guys were there? But Liz would answer that herself... :there's such an annoying guy here omg: :what's he doing?: :annoying me: :maybe he's just trying to be friendly: :i doubt it lol he keeps asking me if i have a boyfriend: An hour later she Instagramed a picture of her with a guy, captioning: My new best friend! A black guy a little older than they were, very skinny, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder as they both smiled at the camera. Kyle's stomach twisted in a knot and a cold chill went up his spine. Why did this have to happen? She later explained that the guy wasn't so bad and she ended up making friends with him. During the call, she kept giggling and insisting at that other guy to stop, till she finally told Kyle she would call back and hanged up. Kyle broke down. He wept, frustrated by this black guy that would steal his beloved Liz. He decided to write her an email, pouring in all his sadness, trying to make her feel his hurt while justifying his jealousy sparked by her careless behavior. Liz responded. She apologized for her behavior but also wondered what she could do to stop this from happening since it was out of her control. Nevertheless, she promised to keep away from the guy and reminded Kyle that they had been together for years and always would.   But that wasn't enough. What he needed to know was what had happened already. He answered saying that all would be forgiven, so long as she remained truthful. The question was whether or not the guy had touched her. :yes: :and what did you do?: :nothing baby... i'm too shy to say anything: :you didn't tell me anything either: :because i'm scared...: Scared... For him, the arousal began to kick in. Thinking that the was being cucked from so far away, imagining that guy's hands going all over her soft and willing body, his white girlfriend submitting to a black guy, perpetuating the meme... :where did he touch you: :my butt i guess: :he grabs your butt: :yeah: Kyle couldn't help himself. The one question he would ask was the one that confirmed all cucks and opened the road to their annihilation. :did you like it: No response. Maddening. In that empty period he searched and found that Liz had added the guy to her Instagram and vice versa. Not only that, but she was featured in a post of his. She bent down to get something, and he managed to take a shot of her ass from behind, the fabric of her kaki shorts stretching to the breaking point as his hand hovered a centimeter away from making contact. Gonna get this white ass soon. Why was it always the case that black guys wanted her so much? Even her followers were always black guys... Finally, Liz texted back. :i'm sorry for all this: But later that night, on his page, he uploaded another picture of Liz, this time with the two of them sitting at dinner. So she wasn't avoiding him after all... Lying bitch. What's worst was that Kyle didn't know how to breach the topic anymore at all. It was likely that so much more was going on, but how could he begin to admit it? If he messaged her now and said that he saw the post, she would just get the guy to stop posting and he would be on the outs completely. The next day she texted him saying she hadn't spoken to anyone and that she sent her love. Meanwhile, he posted yet again. Liz lying facedown on a blanket, sunbathing in a bikini, her pale ass glistening.   Had he been the one to oil her up? Kyle was dying to know. The cuck in him was willing to sacrifice his dignity just to get to hear about it. He wrote to her that he was sorry about before, that he was too jealous, and that he would not mind at all if she spent time with that guy. :really? but won't you get mad?: She went on. :what if he touches me again?: :i mean if you don't mind i don't mind but i'd like you to tell me about it: Spoken like a true cuck. That sealed the deal. After this point, whenever Kyle would ask her what she was doing, Liz would tell him flat out that she was hanging out with her "friend". Questioned a little more, she would admit that the guy was trying to touch her up and flirting with her all day long. :i can't do anything about it: :i don't mind it: :you're so sweet ♥: :i actually think it’s kind of hot lol: A pause. :me too lol: So she liked it. Of course she did. It was all true. White girls melted before black guys. :is he touching you right now?: In response, Liz sent him a picture of her leg. On her pale thigh, just where her shorts ended, his black hand rested possessively, wrapping around... :that’s so fucking hot ♥: Kyle cringed at his own messages. :thanks sweetie…: Liz went and posted it to Instagram under the tags #interracial #interraciallove #vacation #teamblackboys. The thousands of likes soon followed. So this was what it was like to be cucked. :can i please see more ♥: :lol maybe if you’re good ^_^: His profile was full of pictures and videos of her ass, and now it appeared that he began to squeeze it for real. He laughed in the comments section at the fact that her white boyfriend was okay with all of it. Kyle jerked and stared as the same thing repeated on his screen: his black fingers digging into her pale flesh while Liz giggled happily and joking asked him to stop. Yet another white teen getting blacked. Was that not how it should be? Kyle got what he wanted. Pictures and videos flooded both their profiles, with them doing all sorts of things together. Finally, Liz topped it all when she posted a video of the two of them making out at the dinner table, while her parents could be heard clapping in the background at the sight of it. Young interracial love. They did it slowly, their tongues reaching out for one another, exploring each other's mouth, his black hand moving through her red hair and down to squeeze her plump butt. And Liz found it necessary to broadcast this to the world. Thanks to my boyfriend for being the sweetest and understanding my needs. Kyle, I know you're reading this ♥. The girls in comments congratulated their relationship for being so progressive and open, while the many guy followers laughed at Kyle openly. Total humiliation. And it was just the beginning.

Chapter 1 - Liz Thoughts #1

Liz couldn't sleep. All night long she thought of Derek. He had entered her life like a storm, stirring in her feelings she had never thought possible. Her whole body tingled with desire from the moment she put her eyes on him.   There he was, this gorgeous dark man, standing there shirtless, casually going around in cotton shorts that showed his dick swinging freely. And so big... How could anyone have a dick that big? She always heard that black guys were well-endowed, and a lot of the stuff she watched on her own was interracial porn, but she had never expected to see anything like it in real life.... "Who are you, beautiful?" he had asked, coming right up to her. Liz remained speechless. She couldn't remember what she had stammered in reply, but Derek smoothly ran his fingers over her arm and said he hoped to see her later. Her pussy ran wet constantly from that point on. And Derek put his hands on her whenever he could. Wrapping his arms around his waist, grinding her into his crotch, moving his hand down to grab her ass... She could feel the gigantic cock pushing against her, hot and hard, sending shivers down her spine... Please... With her parents right there. Was this real life? Not only did they seem to approve, but even Kyle began to asking her how it was going. They were supportive? Kyle seemed more desperate to see her getting blacked by Derek than she was. Her friends were right, he was a real cuck. But that made her happy. It was cute, and it gave her the freedom she needed... She still couldn't tell how she remained sane when he massaged her. Her parents had made her sunbathe with them outside, and when Derek returned with his family from hiking, he overheard her mother's cry that she use sunscreen and offered to put it all over her. His dark hands explored every inch of her willing body. Liz trembled and did her best to stop from moaning. Derek applied pressure all over, but especially when he kneaded the buns of her ass, spreading the suncreen all over, letting one finger occassionally slip between her legs and brush against her melting pussy. Liz wanted him. Needed him. Desperately. The more she thought about the stereotypical black-obsessed, cheating white girl she was becoming, the more it turned her on, and the more she loved it. Posting that video of the two of them kissing to Instagram had made her lose her mind, and she spent half the night looking at it, reading through the comments, finger-fucking herself like a lunatic as she imagined Derek fucking her. Better yet, fucking her in front of Kyle. Yes, that would be best... Breaking her boyfriend before her eyes and then breaking her in turn like a white slut and filling her up with his sweet seed. How could she sleep with this on her mind? With Derek just a door down from her...

Chapter 2 - Linking Up 

Things were strange.  While the overall number of messages between them increased, the sort of things Liz said and asked of Kyle made him uneasy. Why was she so interested in knowing his opinion all of a sudden? :have you ever jerked off to my photos?:  That was her original question that he gave a normal, understandable, positive answer to. :have you jerked off to the photos of me and him?: :yes: :lol:  The reaction alone made his guts wrench. There was no other reason to pose such questions except to humiliate him, and she seemed intent on doing just that... :why:  He took his time before replying again. :because you look so good together: :awww thanks baby...:  Liz and her family were about halfway into her vacation. Kyle hadn't left his room, never mind his home, for days. This whole thing remained surreal. The idea that she would come home and he would have to talk to her in real life after all this happened, or, worse, that kids from school would ask him what's going on made him feel sick.  What was there even to say?  Liz's profile grew and grew. More people than ever were liking her content and commenting positively on it, which seemed to increase the frequency of her posts.  Every morning she would have a dressing-up vid where she started off in her boyshorts, only to force some jeans or yoga pants over her fat butt inch by painful inch, pushing the waistband into the white flesh and jiggling it for effect, showing off before her black male followers.  #pawg #goodmorning #toobig  Everyone knew what his girlfriend looked like.  And everyone knew she cucked him.  As hot as it was painful.  Only in the darker moments after he was all fapped out did Kyle think to wonder about their future. :do you still love me?: :of course!!! how can you even ask that?: :because you're spending all this time with your... friend: :well he makes me very happy but in a different way:  As for what way that might be she soon clarified with another message... :in a way that you can't:  That was the crux of it, wasn't it? It wasn't that he was bad. It wasn't that he had been a bad boyfriend, or anything like that.  But he just happened to be a white loser, when he needed to be a black bull in order to satisfy Liz.  He knew this now.  It was easy to tell from the way she had fallen head over heels for this guy that it was nothing rational, nor based on trust and romance as their relationship was.  Liz simply needed a black cock in her life to make her feel whole. And it seemed to Kyle that by letting her get that, she loved him for it, even if she couldn't stop teasing him about it. :am i a good boyfriend: :the best honey: :could i do anything better?: :well not as a boyfriend: :then as what?:  A painstaking half hour until her reply. Did she just do this on purpose? :you could be a better cuck:  Kyle's heart drummed so hard he could barely hear anything else. Did she mean that? Did she want him to... :what can i do: :be a bit more supportive... maybe start commenting on my stuff:  So he took the time to make an Instagram account of his own, and on it added a picture of himself without a description, and followed her. Then he liked all her posts, and planted emoticons in the comment sections of most. :is this good: :nooooooo: :okay but why?: :there's no picture of us!!!:  He changed his account picture and added one they had taken together at a local faire. :now?: :and description:  Description... He could write his name, his age, but what else? :what do i say: :exactly what there is to say:  A few minutes later, he had come up with a description.  I'm Kyle, honored to be the boyfriend of @paleredliz, and proud to be cucked by her. I know my place. :is that good: :♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥:  Next she uploaded a video in which she tagged him in the caption. She was on the couch lying on her chest, with her ass in the guy's lap. First she smiled, and as the camera panned behind her, his black hand slowly rolled back her shorts, exposing her pale ass. Then his fingers plunged into the deep flesh, kneading it hard as she began to giggle.  When had he ever touched her that way?  Never, and he never would.  That beautiful round ass was the property of black men only.  Kyle let it play over, and over, and over....  Thanks to my boyfriend @cuckiekyle for being so supportive of me getting all the love I need no matter where it comes from. I love you, honey!!! #pawg #interraciallove #teamblackboys  Kyle finally found the courage and commented as well.  I love you too, it's my pleasure. You two really look so good together. #interraciallove  He couldn't believe what his hands were writing and what he was posting and yet he did it anyway. His cock just hardened all the more at the thought of all those people reading that comment and knowing that he was real, and that he truly did approve of this and spurred it on.  And the comments did come...  The hottest thing was just how many teen girls wrote saying he was brave and a proper boyfriend and that they wished they could be with someone like him. Not ugly girls. Gorgeous ones.All encouraging each other to take the same path and convince their boyfriends of accepting BBC into their life for the good of everyone.  Of course, plenty of white guys all called him a stupid cuck, but going by their ugly faces and their soulless profiles filled only with pictures of food, cars, and their dogs, he doubted they were doing much better.  The message was clear: White guys neither wanted nor needed.  Why be proud and suffer when you could submit and live well?  Liz texted him. :thank you for that: :i was happy to do it: :you really are a good cuck baby ^^: :thank you...: :i have a surprise for you: :please show me...:  The gift wasn't what he was expecting. Rather than receiving a picture or video of Liz, the photo was of her bull's crotch. He wore a pair of shorts that outlined his cock snaking down his thigh perfectly... with the head even popping out of them a little.  He did not need her prompt. :it's so beautiful!!!: :right it's huge and tummy:  Here he was, admiring another guy's cock with his girlfriend. But how could he not? It was so thick and long and black. She needed it inside her. He desperately wanted her to have it.  It was his duty to make sure she got it. :i can't wait for you to taste it: :lol you're telling me: :i'm so much smaller than he is: :lol but it's okay you don't need to use yours:  That was true. He would never have to use it for anything ever again except stroking himself.  He was, after all, just a white cuck.  Fucking was for strong black males. :should i invite him to my room tonight: :please do...: :okay i promise i will if you want me to:  Kyle waited anxiously for it to get dark. :did you invite him: :yes baby i did: :and??:  A video went up of them in bed together shot from her POV. Liz had her thick leg wrapped around him, her naked thigh gently brushing against his rising crotch. His bulge was huge. His hand rested casually on her ass in the corner of the video, the contrast of it maddening.  He needed to take it out...  This was followed by a video of the two of them making out, their Liz giggling as her tongue smacked against his, their faces lit by the glow television.  He had never seen Liz look so desperate and at peace at the same time.  Kyle commented on what a perfect sight it was. :holy fuck baby it's so big:  That could only mean one thing. :did you touch it: :fuck yes lol it's amazing: :can i see: :sadly no but maybe soon... more tomorrow: :please just a little bit... at least tell me about it:  There was no reply. He insisted. :please?:  Silence. 

Chapter 3 - Loyalty

The whole night he stayed await waiting for a reply until he fell asleep. By the time he woke up Kyle found his phone drained on his chest. He rushed to find the charger, excited out of his mind to see what Liz had been up to. Surely she has to have sent something by now. First his phone showed no messages at all. But then the thing buzzed in quick succession like a man in need of an exorcism. There were twelve messages from Liz along with some updates from his instagram. :baby!!! :i’ve got such a surprise for you… :^.^ And then over the following half an hour: :baby are you there? :honey :aaaaaaaaa :where are you now? :i was so excited to share this with you :i guess i’m not important enough for you :huh? :oh well :maybe tomorrow Kyle couldn’t believe it. He had fallen asleep only minutes before she messaged him, and he missed out on all of it! The frustration built up to such an extent he was moments away from crying. He had missed this once in a lifetime opportunity… :I’M HERE NOW :I AM SO SORRY :SO SO SORRY!!! There were no pictures sent to him - nothing. With trembling hands he went to check her instagram page and found that she had uploaded two different pictures. The first, posted sometime last night showed her grabbing something through fabric. But it didn’t take much for Kyle to figure out that the thing her dainty white hand wrapped around must’ve been the bull’s shaft through his shorts. The people in the comments thought as much as well. They spammed with messages about how lucky Liz was and how she needed to show them the full thing. And then there were a few cucks posting about how they couldn’t compete with anything like that. The second, posted an hour later, showed her pale butt in the glow of the TV getting palmed by the guy’s hand. The fact that the strong black hand could only fill up about half of her asscheek proved just how round and fat her ass truly was.   Now the comments were going crazy with appreciation for her juicy white ass, and plenty of black guys were posting about how they wanted a turn with her as well. :god, your pictures are amazing :you’re amazing Kyle stroked himself gently, trying not to come as he waited for her to get back to him. He needed to hear about her experience firsthand. About an hour later she finally got back to him. :glad you think so… :shame you weren’t there last night :i was going to let you give me directions Fuck, he thought. I’m so stupid. How could he have passed out like that? :i’m really sorry… :how can i make it up to you? :i’ll think about it :but first i still have a surprise for you It said: Liz is sending an image… Kyle swallowed hard, unbelievably horny. He wiped the sweat from his brow and squeezed his pencil dick hard. Not to come, but to keep it from doing so… The picture that arrived wasn’t what he expected.   He thought that it would be Liz making out with her bull or stroking him, or at the very least a picture of her together with him in bed. But the picture didn’t even feature his girlfriend in any way. Instead, it only had the bull. Only his BBC. Kyle stared at the beautiful cock that appeared on his screen breathlessly. It was neither hard nor soft but somewhere in between. The shaft jotted out like a log from the base, then slowly curved along with the pull of gravity, tapering down to the uncut head. Glorious veins branched all over it - he couldn’t begin to imagine how it must’ve throbbed in her hand. :do you like it? < 3 Kyle felt no hesitation in telling her the truth. :it’s amazing :he’s teasing me with it a lot :getting me to do dirty things :before i’m allowed to do more :like what? :secret, baby, secret :at least for now :but i did make you a video last night :though... :i was thinking you should prove to me how loyal you are :in order to get to see it :how? The reservations about posting on his cuck account were totally gone. He would do anything to get to see more. Anything at all. :how about you order yourself a nice chastity cage? Ah. Of course. After reading through all these blogs he knew that was a necessity. :I’LL DO IT :good honey <3 :as soon as you show me :i’ll give you your surprise video His mind reeled at the possibility of what that video might be. Her giving him a handjob? A blowjob? More? Surely she wouldn’t tease him in this way for nothing. It had to be something. He went on a search to find the quickest place to buy have one ordered, then realize it would be quicker to just go and get it in real life. He couldn’t wait a day for this. Kyle greeted his parents quickly when he came out of his room, then hopped on his bike and went to the nearest store in town to get one. Am I really doing this? he wondered as he cycled back with it in the bag. There would be consequences to all this. How could he go back to school? But the worries of a month from now all faded away for the time being. He locked himself up as soon as he got home and sent her a picture of his pink chastity cage. His pathetically small white dick fit snugly in it. :awww, it’s so cute < 3 :i love it darling :this is exactly what i wanted His fingers shook the phone as he typed. :can i see now? Liz is sending a video…   How could anything be this slow?

[quotidiyan-love]

~1p Yandere America~ General Headcanons

1p! America: Alfred F. Jones-

❣~The Beginning~❣

❥ He’s not the type to fall for just anyone: his significant other must catch his eye in some way first. Maybe they are patient, and find the ability to create some degree of balance and peace at meetings. Maybe they’re attentive and listen to him rather than writing him off as annoying and ignoring all he has to say. There are any number of possibilities, able to mix and match in infinite combinations. Things more likely to catch his eye include acts of selflessness or “heroism,” as they are his ideal. It is unlikely that he would fall for anyone who is openly and needlessly cruel unless this is taking place in a Villain AU.

❥ He falls for this person slowly, his outgoing personality prompting him to become friends with them at first. The manner in which he does this is typical for him, including things such as inviting them over for video games, inviting them to watch scary videos together, inviting them out to a sport’s game, inviting them to a party or concert, or inviting them out to many other public events, not really changing unless his significant other has expressed a dislike for anything he has in mind beforehand.

❥ He has a tendency to ignore the mood of the room, even though he is perfectly capable of reading it, and will find one way or another to worm into his significant other’s life in a less-than-elegant fashion. Showing up at their friend’s party he wasn’t invited to? Of course! Knocking on the door to their house at 3 A.M. for “prime time to watch creepy ghost videos”? You’ll bet! They’re at the library reading? Well, clearly, they aren’t having much fun, he better invite them to go to his BBQ that afternoon! These events do not happen in quick succession to the point of creepiness, as at the moment, he is simply seeking a friendship in the same manner as he does most things in life. Headfirst, and with an excess of energy, though somehow endearing. He will find a significant other annoyed with his actions to be funny, and will continue with them in an almost prank-like style.

❣~Blossoming Feelings~❣

❥ The more time America spends with his significant other, the quicker his feelings grow stronger as, of course, he will have more opportunity to see that special thing that made him fall for them in the first place. He’ll start to regard them as a good friend, spending more time and starting to hug on them and be more physically affectionate than before. After a while, he’ll start to notice just how much he enjoys being with them, even in comparison to his other friends… And the adorable, oblivious dork will begin to question whether his feelings are platonic or romantic.

❥ It will take a while for America to get his footing on the nature of his feelings, prompting him to become a bit shyer towards his significant other as the uncertainty makes him feel a bit tense and embarrassed. It’s not very often that he falls in love, so this is a bit of a big deal to him. A romantic relationship isn’t something that can be started as easily as a friendship, at least with his methods.

❥ Once he ascertains that his emotions are of love, most of the temporary shyness will go away. He’ll try to invite his significant other out to do more things one-on-one rather than in the large groups he thought made everything more fun before. Watching scary movies in particular will be much more frequent, as it gives him an excuse to cling onto them, though the part actually involving scaring will still not be fun to him. 

❥ Over time, the things he does with them will start to have more romantic undertones- such as going to see a movie where love plays a big part in the plot, or inviting them out to coffee, though the latter tends to make him even more hyper than normal. He will attempt to appear desirable, sometimes hitting the mark, and sometimes missing it to the point of hilarity. By this point, his feelings will be clear to all but the most oblivious of significant others.

❣~Start of a Relationship~❣

❥ America takes his time in making sure the day he asks them out on an official date is perfect- as, of course, he has a very observant and intelligent mind, he simply chooses not to use it most of the time. He tries to make it all about them as a show that he won’t let any sort of ego get in the way of the two of them being happy. The entire thing depends upon his significant other’s personality, as it will involve their interests and be as social or private as best suits them.

❥ Alfred will be very affectionate and loving as a boyfriend, even though his loud and occasionally careless nature can be annoyance. For the most part, it balances out- for every instance along the lines of him interrupting their sleep to tell them about a cool YouTube video he watched, there’s something like him making them a hearty American breakfast in bed and expecting nothing in return. Not to mention the plethora of sweet, loving kisses and hugs he’ll give his significant other just because.

❥ Dates are a lot of fun! Though there’s the occasional serious one, America often puts his own little spin on things to make it much more light-hearted and enjoyable. A simple picnic may evolve into a watergun fight. Romantic date at a restaurant? You’d better bet your bottom dollar you’ll be competing to see who can balance a spoon on their nose the longest. There’s never a dull moment with him around. 

❣ ~Lovesickness~ ❣

❥ After a while, it becomes apparent to America that his favorite thing to do is to is to spend time with his significant other! He begins to think of them as the perfect match to himself, and feels at his happiest and most complete when they’re an arm’s reach from him: And, from this, he increases the time that they’re around each other to the point of it being stifling. This happens whether or not his significant other accepted his proposal to enter a relationship or not, though it comes more quickly with mutual feelings.

❥ A little bit that jealousy and indignancy start to come into play. Time that his significant other spends with others starts to feel like time that they’re wasting: don’t they know that they can have much more fun with him? This starts to build up until it becomes overwhelming and mixes with a petrifying fear and paranoia that the only reason his significant other was spending “so much” time away from him is because they don’t want to be with him.

❥ The same aspects of his personality that led to the Red Scare and cause him to believe so many conspiracy theories starts to come out full force, as he starts to see everything as a sign that the worst is coming for their relationship. He becomes more clingy than before, and overbearing and protective to the point of it almost seeming possessive. He couldn’t fathom life without his significant other by his side… 

❥ Once America reaches this point, he will do anything he can to make sure that his significant other will stay by his side and only his side, his methods becoming more drastic until he finds one that works. He adapts to the situation. This could go anywhere from manipulating them verbally to straight up kidnapping them and making them have no choice in the matter. As the world power, he certainly has access to the resources to make it so all the records of a person existing are gone.

❥ Still, he acts loving until absolutely necessary. Depending on his significant other’s reactions, he could still act mostly like the normal, fun-loving America they once knew. Or he could turn into a demon obsessed with cutting them off from the rest of the world until they feel the same way towards him. How he acts in the end is in the hands of his significant other, so their actions must be chosen carefully.

[erikanyanko]

Hello @ anon, @maknagisa and everybody else and welcome to the Tedtalk where I’m going to talk about why Rachel and Joey should’ve ended up together (aka. Why Joey was probably the best person for Rachel)

Now once again, I am a ride-or-die anti Ross Geller and Rachel’s brief thing with Joey was obviously intended to draw out the whole will Rachel and Ross get back together foolishness. BUT I AM HERE TO TELL YOU WHY RACHEL AND JOEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN ENDGAME!

Let’s start from the beginning. From the moment Rachel entered the show in her white wedding dress, Ross immediately sees her as a romantic prospect. His middle school crush is revived and in hyper drive. Joey, of course, walks up to her with “how YOU doin” (Joey’s standard of greeting to every hot women ever, not specific to Rachel) The thing is, Joey’s relationship with Rachel is platonic right from the beginning.

They have a genuine friendship.

They give each other dating advice. Though sometimes Joey’s advice can be very VERY questionable, at the end of the day it’s with good intentions. Joey went out of his way to set Rachel up with date with men HE THINKS she’ll like.

He let her come to his acting gigs and flirt with soap opera actors.

There’s no jealousy. There’s no possessiveness. There’s no sabotage foolishness. Just a friend helping out another friend find their lobster.

I’ll admit that Joey has a lot of problems (but don’t we all) but some of his best qualities is that he is not only SUPPORTIVE but PROTECTIVE of his relationships with women. Whenever Rachel, Monica, or Pheobe are in trouble, you can bet that Joey will be there to help. He genuinely loves them and will do ANYTHING to make sure that they happy.

HE MAKES RACHEL LAUGH (OH MY GOD, RACHEL WAS THE BEST WHEN SHE WAS WITH JOEY)

But let’s talk about the BEST part about Joey falling in love with Rachel. First of all they had a genuine friendship. They were roommates. But best of all, HE FELL FOR HER WHEN SHE WAS PREGNANT. Joey, the unapologetic promiscuous actor (the “shallow” guy), realizes he feels something more for Rachel other than friendship while she’s pregnant.

PLUS, it happens the way real healthy relationships do, THEY START SPENDING MORE TIME WITH EACH OTHER. Joey LEARNED to see Rachel as something more than friend. She was ALWAYS a friend first. Which was NEV ER EVER EVER true for Ross. (This is why, in my opinion, “nice guys” are a lot more shadier than openly unapologetic flirts like Joey)

Joey takes Rachel out on the fake date because she’s pregnant and misses going on fancy dates. THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENS. THAT’S WHEN IT CLICKS FOR HIM. When he tells Rachel that he likes her more than a friend, she turns him down. AND HE’S OKAY WITH IT. He NEVER blames her and he DOESN’T let it impact the dynamic of their shared friend group. Their friendship stays intact and they cause NO DRAMA.Their friends aren’t forced to choose sides ROSS GELLER WHAT’S GOOD.

I AM STILL PISSED with the cop-out ending that when they did get together SUDDENLY all their chemistry evaporated. EXCUUUUUSSSEEEE YOU, THEY COULD’VE MADE IT WORK. If the writers really tried and cared enough for their characters, they could’ve made an ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC couple and a GENRE-DEFYING plot twist.

AND I’M JUST GETTING STARTED!

MY DUDES. MY. DUDES. It’s been 14 years, but there are nights when I just lay in bed and FUME that Rachel got off that FRICK FRACKLIN PLANE FOR ROSS. Ross trivialized her passions OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. In my opinion, Rachel’s career was always one of the highlights of her arc. Rachel was a spoiled privileged girl that never had to work a day in her life and then she hits rock bottom. She starts as a waitress and works her way to becoming a brilliant executive and super successful in ridiculously competitive field ON TOP OF BEING A SINGLE MOM.

AND IT WAS JOEY that got Rachel her first big break to get out of the coffee shop and into the fashion industry.

JOEY BRINGS OUT THE BEST IN RACHEL AND VISE VERSA. THEY MAKE EACH OTHER BETTER.

Reminder, Joey falls for Rachel when she’s PREGNANT. When he finds out that Rachel was looking for other apartments in order to get ready for the baby, what does Joey do? He BABYFIED THE APARTMENT JUST TO SHOW RACHEL THAT IT WASN’T A PROBLEM. He HAPPILY lets Rachel and Emma move back in with him DESPITE how much caring for Emma would disrupt his lifestyle.

The running joke about Joey bringing home terrible women ENDS AFTER RACHEL. Falling for Rachel LITERALLY teaches him that he wants something more than the chicks he used to pick up. He LEARNS! He starts loving Emma and stops being a terrible date punchline joke and TRIES to better himself.

AND HE’S GOOD FOR RACHEL.

LEMME TELL YOU, JOEY’S ROOMMATE RACHEL WAS MY FAVORITE RACHEL. SHE WAS AMAZING AF. ROCKING THE SHORT HAIR. PLAYING THE DRUMS. EATING SPAGHETTI OFF THE FLOOR. WATCHING CUJO. Joey teaches Rachel how to chill and not give a flying fuck. He brings out her fun side. She was cute. SHE WAS SILLY.

Her relationship with Ross was nothing but EXHAUSTING. Always fighting, constant jealousy and possessiveness, the DRAMA. Ross brought out the WORST in Rachel. She was snappy. She was harsh. She was uptight and it always felt like she could go off at any minute.

Think about it

Would you rather be with someone who you KNEW had sex with someone right after you told them that your relationship needed a break or with someone who respected your feelings and CONTINUED to treat you the same even after you turned them down?

Joey RESPECTED Rachel’s feelings.

Ross ONLY cared about HIS NEED to win every single time.

Not to mention, Ross thinks Rachel (and pretty much everyone in their friend group) is intellectually beneath him. (Which is why that “just a waitress” cuts SO DEEP) Joey just thinks she’s the best. Joey and Rachel giggling at “homoerectus” during Ross’s keynote speech is FUNNY. I laughed too. Who HASN’T laughed at a good old penis joke.

Rachel becoming Mrs. Geller is essentially a one-way ticket to a lifelong time of being treated like a child who doesn’t know any better. And this is NOT because Rachel isn’t smart. It’s because ROSS doesn’t think she’s smart. No matter how high she advances, to Ross she’ll always be that popular high school chick that he fell in love with.

The bottom line is, Ross never outgrew his teenage fantasy that was most likely an illusion from the very beginning (don’t get me started on how much of a creeper he was back in the day).

Whereas Joey fell in love with an intelligent, funny, strong, independent single mother he’d been friends with for a good 7 years and knew exactly who Rachel was inside and out.

“But Monica and Rachel can be sisters if she marries Ross”

There is NO ONE IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE that loves Rachel more than Monica and vice versa. They NEVER needed Ross to become sisters. They already were from the very beginning.

Ross and Rachel were endgame because that’s how the sitcom plots goes. Not because they were RIGHT for each other. That’s where the show was always heading BUT JUST IMAGINE HOW FRIENDS COULD HAVE CHANGE SITCOM HISTORY IF RACHEL AND JOEY REALIZED THEY WERE EACH OTHER’S LOBSTER.

And that’s my Tedtalk

[mydeardeath]

To belong to (part 4)

start here 

On AO3 

For almost a year, Damian barely ever saw Tim. He kept coming in Gotham as if unable to leave for too long but he never stayed more than a few weeks. And when he did came back, seemingly for good, he moved out to his own apartment away from the family, away from him. Damian guessed he could understand. He hadn't been nice to Tim, quite the opposite in fact. Blinded by his jealousy he had wanted to hurt the other man and now Tim seemed more out of his reach than he had ever been. And now with Brown reappearance, he had one more contender. Thankfully, Tim hadn't welcomed Brown like he had the Clone. He was mad at her for simulating her death and, hopefully, he would stay that way long enough for Damian to come up with a plan. Because he would need one.

It was Alfred that had reminded him of the event to come. One that he hadn't stopped to dread since he had been made aware of. Tim was going to be eighteen. He was going to touch the inheritance left by his father. An inheritance of millions of dollars that Jack Drake wasn't supposed to have had. Dollars that he had gained from Damian when he had bought Tim. Tim would know that something was off, he was too smart to not to, and Damian would have to tell him everything. Damian that Tim currently hated. The news would probably draw Tim farther away from him. He could even lose him forever. It left Damian with less than a month to try to win Tim over. He would have to do so subtly or the other would guess he had prior motives.

To do so, he decided to join the other for patrol. His rejection would be less likely on the field as arguing with Damian could be a loss of precious time so he would let him tag along. Still, when he landed next to Red Robin on a rooftop he was met with a hard glare. The latest Robin didn't let himself be discouraged by the other coldness.

"Mind if I join you on patrol, Timothy ?" he asked politely, to show the other that the choice was his and that he wasn't trying to impose.

"No name on the field."

Not an acceptance. But neither a refusal, Damian could do with that. He maintained a neutral expression, to not show his pleasure to Tim and not seem overeager to pass some time with him. He crouched next to Tim, taking his binoculars out to observe the building across the street. He had read Tim report on the computer cave and knew that the older boy had been monitoring this gang activity for a few weeks. Tonight was just reconnaissance mission. No fight. At first, Damian had wanted to fight alongside the omega to prove to Tim he could count on Damian to watch his back. But, as he had often question Tim skills, he had feared that the boy would interpret his help as Damian doubting his ability to do the job by himself. Which wasn't true, he knew how capable his omega was. So he settled for a night where his interference wouldn't be perceived as an insult.

They stayed in silence side by side for hours. Damian's attempt at discussion had been thwarted by Tim's monosyllabic answers. The man clearly tolerated his presence and nothing more. So Damian stopped trying to engage him in small talk. Anyway, he was no good at it. He could simply go ahead and apologize but he would seem to out of character and raised questions he did not wish to answer.

But as nothing ever happens as planned, the calm warehouse suddenly exploded in a deafening sound. They both were on their feet in a matter of seconds but Damian restrained himself from running to the scene and waited for Tim directives. The other seemed to hesitate, looking back and forth from the burning building to Damian. He must have decided that the younger was trustworthy enough since he gestured at him to follow.

They checked the area surrounding the warehouse but saw nothing and Tim deduced that the explosion had come from the inside, probably caused by the thugs themselves. They had recently put a new drug on the street, one that was still at an experimental stage. They had a few laboratory where they were trying to perfect the formula.

They didn't have much more left to do than get the thugs out before the building collapse entirely on them. As they had already located every one of them it was a pretty easy task. So everything when fine until Tim decided to get back.

"I need samples from their lab, I will be quick."

Damian didn't have time to protest before he was gone. It had been dangerous to enter from the beginning, the structure was unstable, ready to break down at any given moment. It was foolish to go back inside. He would be even more stupid to follow Tim in here, his presence could distract the other and make them lose precious seconds. The only thing he could do was wait for Tim return.

The police arrived before Tim had reappeared and Damian had to go hide on a rooftop near the fire, watching for afar as part of the building crumbled to the ground while hoping that Tim would make it out alive.

Which he almost didn't. By the time he got out, it was hard to tell that a building had been here just minutes ago. When Tim landed near Damian, the younger boy could see the dust and ashes covering his suit and the smile on his face. He made Damian snapped : "What were you thinking, you idiot ?"

"I had everything under control, Damian." Tim argued.

"No name on the field." At that Tim couldn't help the little smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

"Just... let's go home." The older sighed, dismissing the boy worry.

"You are coming back to the manor ?" Damian questioned, a bit too excited but Tim didn't seem to notice.

"I need to talk to B. So, yes. For tonight."

"I will drive !" It was Damian typical claim, rarely followed by acquiescence but surprisingly Tim did let him. And maybe that hadn't been a good idea, he thought now that the omega was pressed against his back as they rode Tim's bike. Thankfully puberty hadn't kick in yet so his reaction wouldn't be physically apparent. But he still was hyper-aware of the toned chest against his back, of hands on his waist. And if he took a few sharp turns on the way home, he had nothing to do with the way Tim's grip on him tighten.

Bruce was in the cave when they came back, a deep scowl on his face. He still refused to let Damian out unsupervised. He was probably angry that his son had sneaked out, once again. His father was about to lecture him but Damian interrupted him : "I know I wasn't supposed to be out alone. You said I couldn't but you also said that I could learn from the rest of this family. And it's what I did. I watched Timothy work all night on a reconnaissance mission." "It's true Bruce. Damian behaved...well." He seemed to not believe it himself. "He didn't try to jump in a fight which would have ruined weeks of work. He waited for my orders." Bruce was surprised by that. Not just Damian listening to the former Robin, but Tim siding with him. So he let Damian disobedience pass, simply sending him to bed.

***

It happened more and more as the days passed. Damian kept claiming he was coming with him by obligation and not by his own volition. Yet, he only did it with Tim.The few times he had been paired up with Stephanie, he criticised most of her choices. He did listen to Dick (and Cassandra, the rare time she came to Gotham) but he patrolled far less with Nightwing than with Red Robin.

Tim still rarely slept at the manor but he did let Damian come with him at his house time to time. Tonight was one of this few occasions and the younger would seize the opportunity to tell the truth to Tim. His birthday was in just two days so Damian didn't have much time left. This could be his last chance do to it when alone with Tim. The man had his back turn to him, typing tonight's report on his computer, letting Damian fidget helplessly behind him.

"Your birthday is in two days and..." Tim hummed noncommittally while the boy was struggling to find the correct words. "You will come of age and I may be only eleven..."

"Wow there Damian, it's sound like you're going to propose !" The older teased, turning toward the boy.

"Technically I already did".

Seeing Tim confused expression told him everything about his meeting with Jack Drake, about Damian buying the house and about the contract they had met. The contract about Tim becoming Damian's omega. He could see that the other man playful smile had slipped from his face as he became more and more upset as words left Damian's mouth but he couldn't stop.

"Get out I don't have time for your childish pranks !" Tim ordered him coldly.

"It is no prank, you are mine, you belong to..."

"Stop right there brat. I belong to no one !"Tim shouted at him, jumping out of his chair to push Damian toward the exit. "I don't care if you have suddenly decided you would be an alpha, which, I'm sorry to tell you, you can't predict, and that you wanted me as your omega. But it doesn't work like that, omegas aren't objects to possess. So the fact that you would like to fuck me doesn't give you any right to me."

"It is not a childish whim, I..."

"I guess I understand now why you were being so "nice" !" he said with the weak chuckle as if he hadn't heard Damian. "It suddenly makes a lot more sense."

"Timothy, would you please listen..."

"I think I heard enough Damian, you know the way out."

Defeated, Damian could only obey. Tim had resumed writing the report and was acting like the boy had already left. He didn't turn once as Damian disappear through the door. Tim reaction had been one he had expected, yet he had hoped it would go well. Tim had come to tolerate his presence, even smiling a few times at him. The older just kept misunderstanding his attention. He had genuine affection for Tim, it was no cruel joke to hurt the other.

To belong to part 5

[1800areyouslapping]

I went with just Big!Sis and Little!Sis I lowkey, high key want them to be in love :’) Big!Sister’s Perspective (mostly).

It had appeared when she was nine. This red string tied around her finger. One morning she awoke and it was just... there. She couldn’t feel it, not outwardly. But within herself, this taut thread connecting from her heart to her pinky finger. It tugged and pulled the more she ignored its persistent thrum.  

She headed its call. Slipped out of bed still wearing her jammies. Padded her way down the hall following this mysterious piece of string. Not acknowledging any of the handmaidens or staff that gave her greetings. The handmaidens and staff not acknowledging the thread. She had to find its end. It was a need, a compulsive pull, that she couldn’t help but give in to. 

The string had led her to her mother. Sitting at her vanity in the early morning. Brushing her hair, still in her nightgown and robe. The natural sunlight glistening against her skin. A goddess in the flesh. Her mother greeted her with a warm familiar smile in her eyes, and a slight upturn of her lips. “Ah, good morning, my darling, Musume.” 

Her mother extended her arms, offering her daughter a seat in her lap. But all she could see was red. The thin piece of string connecting from her pinky, and disappearing into his mother's tummy. Could her mother not see it? She lifted her arm up, beckoned her mother to look. To see. The graceful features of her mothers face scrunched up in concern and confusion. Eyebrows pulling into a point at the ridge of her nose.  

Mother reached out gingerly and took her wrist in her hand. She turned it over, carefully examined every inch of skin. Massaged her palm and her fingers with her own. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“Don’t you see it, Mama?”

Her mother frantically shook her head. Turned her daughters hand over once again. Quickly this time, became increasingly worried with every passed up moment that she did understand what was worrying her little girl so. “No... I-I don’t see anything. Darling, are you in pain?”  

She shook her head in response. How could Mother not see it? It was so bright, clear as day. Even brighter now, with an air of glow about it as it was illuminated by the Sun’s light. She explained it to her Mother. A simple explanation, really. From the moment the words “red string” had come out of her mouth, her Mother became exponentially uncomfortable. 

“That’s-- are you-- are you sure? Right here,” she asked as she pointed to her own midsection. “This is where it ends?” 

Later that day her Mother would find out that she was pregnant. With a child, she had no intentions of having. She and her brothers had each all been planned. Each child spanning roughly three years apart. And you would just so happen to have been conceived within the same time frame. Even if it had been unintentional. A seemingly mere coincidence.

Mother had begged her in a hushed tone. “Please, do not speak of the red string ever again. Tell me, is it still there?” 

She looked down at her hand to find that, no it wasn’t. In fact, it had faded out the moment she had heard the nice lady doctor tell her that she was going to be a big sister for the third time. It wouldn’t be ‘til later, after all of the excitement had calmed down, that she would notice the irritation on the inside of her pinky finger. The tiniest bit of red kanji; as if it was etched into her skin from the inside out. It was a name; your name. 

Her young gut instinct and guilt told her to keep it to herself. She didn’t want to bring any more attention to something that had caused her mother so much distress. Distress that at the time she didn’t understand. What was so bad about the red thread? Out of all of the stories that her father had told her, the one that she was living, had not been one of them. Not yet.

Her life revolved so deeply around you after that, and always would. She had been so consumed with her mother's health. Helped her at every chance that she could. Insisted on being there when you were born, and she was. From the day you were born, she’d be there at every pinnacle point in your life. Your mentor, protector, and most importantly your big sister. 

She loathes to remember them. Those worried... near sickened looks that her mother used to give her when she had been especially possessive over you. Affectionate with you. Let you sleep with her in her bed whenever you’d cry and cry. Protective when you were still in your mother’s womb, and even more so with every new year of your life. 

When her mother passed, she took the knowledge of that morning and the red thread with her. It’d be when she was cradling you. Still just a babbling baby at the age of three. Sobbing about missing your Mama, that Sojiro would attempt to soothe the two of you with the tail of the “Red String Of Fate.” She would listen in stunned silence, coupled with a bit of gut-twisting horror. You didn’t truly understand the tale your Papa was telling, but was cradled by the soothing sound of his voice regardless. 

The dramatic telling of two fated lovers, connected by a red string. One that could tangle, but never break. Calmed you down enough to lull you off to sleep in her arms. Sojiro put you to bed, while she sprinted to her room to do some of her own research. Laid back on her bed and stared at her ceiling for hours trying to wrap her head around being fated to be with her own sister. Came to realize just why her mother had been so... disgusted. 

It was like going through the five stages of grief twice over. Denied that the red string had ever shown up in the first place. It was a dream, a delusion. If no one else had seen it, then surely it must not have been real. As she got older the anger would settle in. Sometimes; often times at you. Irrationally lashed out at you for the smallest of things. Things you certainly did not deserve her scorn over. She had wanted so badly to hate you. It would have been so much simpler, much more natural to loathe a sibling than to lust after one.  

Of course, that never stuck. And she’d spend years fixing all of the damage she had caused during that time. Even if it would seem that you had forgiven her near immediately. Always chasing after you big sister’s approval. Then she’d find herself begging her own mother at night. “Please find a way to break the string. Asks the ancestors for me, would you? I’ll do whatever they want. I-- I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” She never did see the red string again. But she could feel it, wrapped tightly around her pinky and heart. 

The depression came with a heavy workload. An abundance of training and meetings. The realization that she literally could not give herself at all to anyone else. Not that she had ever been terribly interested in love. In a man or a woman to call her own. But she had tried and found that she couldn’t. She couldn’t give any real, genuine romantic emotion to any of them. No matter how charming, no matter how compatible they had seemed. The worst of the depression would come with she realizes that she might not ever get a chance to be with the one person she could give that to. 

It’s well over a decade later now. It’s been a struggle; damn near incapacitating at times. Eventually, she came to a conclusion. A long, long time ago; that if the two of you are truly fated, then you’d come to her on your own. If you ever do; she’s now confident enough in her stature, power, the amount of respect that she commands in these halls, to be able to keep you safe being with her.

The one thing that crawls under her skin is that you too have the red kaji spelling out her own name. It catches her eye constantly. You’ve never said a thing about it. Possibly don’t think much of it. After all, it’s barely visible unless you’re searching for it. The thing is, you’re far too genius to not of looked it over or noticed your name on her own pinky...

No matter how many times she had been tempted to make a move, she would deny herself any sort of resolution. It has to be you. Tempted; especially as of late. Every year you blossom more and more. Becoming a prominent part of the family. Most importantly because you are so damn smart. The smartest of the bunch. Even more clever than even her, and she is proud of that fact. Hyper-observant and even headed. With a heart of gold, and a winning smile. 

You turned twenty today. It was no surprise that the festivities were large and lavish. Sojiro never fails to spend and spend when it comes to the baby of the family. She sits and observes for the most part. Watching as you cackle and mingle with friends, and with Hanzo and Genji. While she sits back, perched like a hawk in a killer, backless dress. 

Swallowing down sharp stings of jealousy, and the hot anger that accompanies it, anytime some boyfriend or girlfriend of yours is a little too handsy with you. Besides the jealousy, you’re far too important to have every single person touch you just because they feel like it. You’re far too valuable for everyone to be putting their fingerprints all over you. Most of all, she keeps an even sharper eye out for any affections that you clearly are not happy to receive. 

As expected only a brave, or rather foolish few approach her and try to make conversation. The fools are easily scared off, while the brave ones sure do try and try. Sojiro will eventually take his place by her side, and keep her company ‘til the festivities are over. With talks of business, light arguments over politics, and a bit of gushing over you.

Later when the party has long been over, she’s sitting at her vanity when you walk into her room. Stand patiently in her doorway, awaiting permission to enter. She turns her torso to extend her hand out to you. “Why hello, Clever Girl. Did you have a good birthday?”  

You giddily skip into the room, wearing a beautiful widespread grin. You love it when Big Sister calls you clever. Hearing that word come out of her mouth never fails to make your heart swell, and tummy to fill up with warm fuzzies. It means everything in the world to you to have the strongest woman you know think your smart. Like having a seal of approval from the one person in the world who means the most to you.  

You happily take Big Sister’s hand and a seat next to her at the vanity. “I had a great birthday,” you state. Leaning into her touch as she brushes a bit of hair behind your ear. 

“I am very happy to hear it.” 

As your sister turns to get a makeup wipe, your eyes home in on all of the sharp contours of her back. Stunning slopes, and smooth skin. Nobody can wear a dress quite like she can. Your eyes flutter closed as you get a whiff of her perfume. She smells amazing. Otherworldy, like she's a mythical creature. You’ve smelled this perfume right out of the bottle many times. Even smelled it on yourself. But it never quite smells as addicting as it does when it’s on her.

Big Sister grabs ahold of your chin and holds it steady. Causing a shudder to run wild through your chest, settling into your core. You nearly whine from the commanding but gentle touch. In fact, you do a little. Let out the smallest of restrained whines. “Hush. Your face is filthy.” 

Her hold may be strong but the swipes of the wipe are gentle. Slow and meticulous. More precise than they really need to be. So careful that this process gets dragged out far longer than it really needed to take. You both mind and don’t mind. Her touches are a privilege, feel like an addiction. Big Sister doesn’t just touch anyone or let just anyone touch her. You’re lucky. 

When she’s done cleaning your face, she leans back and admires her work. Turning your jaw from side to side, and humming. Big Sister sighs through her nose and says, “Perfect.” Her eyes falling closed into cat-like slits. Remarkable brown eyes still able to bore into your own. Commanding that you listen and believe her simple one-word complement. 

You’re not sure what it is that comes over you. It might be the way that you swear her eyes have fallen and locked on to your lips. Maybe it’s the thumb that’s grazing back and forth over your cheekbone. The way it seems like her own chest is heaving just as much as yours is. But you give into it. The taboo desire that you’ve had for your Aneki for so, so long. 

This has happened to you many times before. A heat that suddenly wells up in your chest when in close proximity with your sister. This time, you let it overflow out of your mouth in the form of a pressing kiss against your sister’s mouth. As your lips finish pressing against her’s and a more... lustful moan echoes in your chest, you’re deeply regretting what you’ve done. Pulling away abruptly, quickly standing up, and placing your hand over your mouth in horror over what you did.

Tears are already forming and spilling from your water line. Spilling down your cheeks as you start to apologize profusely. You’ve been painfully ashamed of your feelings, and now that you’ve let them out in the open like this there’s no turning back. Your heart is beating rapidly. So much adrenaline running through your veins, that you would like very much to flee. It would kill you to lose your sister’s favor over one incredibly weak moment. 

“Shhh, shhh,” she says as she slowly gets up off of the bench. Cups your face in both of her hands and asks, “you want to kiss me?”

That question makes you feel crazy. As if it has been painfully obvious this whole time, over all these years. That the question is just so ridiculous in your world. Of course, you do. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years...” Your lips trembles as more tears flow down your cheeks. Your voice cracking as you whisper, “i-- is some--something wrong with me?” 

Big Sister gently presses her forehead to your own. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” Kisses your top and then bottom lip, each one long, each one tasting like her honey lip balm. They cause your legs to nearly buckled out from underneath you. Your arms violently shaking as you grasp onto her hips for purchase. “Not a single thing is wrong with my Clever Girl.”

Her arm slips around your waist, while the other cradles the back of your head. This time when she kisses you she kisses you properly. Holding you flush against her body. Makes your perky little red lips even redder, chasing your tongue with her own. Both of your breaths becoming even heavier, louder. Your body relaxing into your sister. Becoming a pool of heaven and goosebumps.

She only pulls away from you when shes’s sure that you’ve stopped crying. Reaches for the makeup wipe and cleans your face once more. Takes you by your hand and seats you down back onto the vanity bench. 

“I have something I need to tell you.”  

[thoughtsfromfiction]

Colossal: The Kaiju Honey-Trap to Lure in Misogynists

**WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD**

When I walked into the theater to watch Colossal I thought I knew what I was getting into: the film had set up its audience for a fun mash-up between a kaiju film and an indie romcom. Anne Hathaway plays Gloria, a thirty something screw up trying to make it in NYC. She drinks too much, parties too hard, and just does not have her sh** together. The story starts when her uptight British boyfriend can’t take her shenanigans anymore so he breaks up with her and kicks her out. Gloria returns to her hometown where who should she run into but childhood friend and Resident Nice Guy, Oscar (played by Jason Sudeikis). Maybe with the help of his down-to-earth charm and small-town thoughtfulness Gloria will experience some good, old emotional growth. Just look at that budding romance:

Oh, and Gloria also discovers that she is somehow connected to a giant, even colossal, monster that mysteriously appeared in Seoul, South Korea that nicely sets up all sorts of metaphors about inner demons and alcoholism and the external consequences of our actions, and whatever, that’s not what this essay is about. But minus the giant monster, we’ve all seen this movie, right?

Spoiler alert: Wrong.

When Oscar drives into Gloria’s life in his red pickup truck, he is everything you’d expect from a small-town nice guy. Laid back, friendly, helpful, and the antithesis of her ex-boyfriend Tim (played by Dan Stevens) who was uptight, British, and hyper-critical. Oscar in contrast doesn’t judge Gloria’s behavior but unobtrusively tries to help her. He gives her a job at his bar and introduces her to his friends. He even gives her a TV and a futon. We learn that he has long-lasting feelings for Gloria dating back to their childhood, but he doesn’t push it because he’s a “nice guy.”

Enter the Robot.

Oscar emerges from the wings in which he’s been perpetually waiting for Gloria to come back and fall for him with a colossal counterpart of his own.

What’s going to happen next? What evil will emerge for the two of them to join together and fight? What life lessons will our protagonists learn about themselves?

In short: Oscar is going to metaphorically chain Gloria to him because the evil that emerges is domestic violence and the only lesson they’ll learn is that a guy doesn’t have to be a rich, megalomaniac to be an abuser (although that certainly doesn’t inhibit - for more details see the current US president), abusive a**hole potential can just as easily be found in the boring, average, nice guys.

One could try to argue that his giant robot avatar sets him apart from most guys, but that isn’t what makes him a bad guy. His ability to control a giant robot in Seoul only enables him to exert power and control over Gloria, it doesn’t create that desire; that is all him. Speaking of power and control, I think it’s time to direct our attention to the Power and Control Wheel:

Oscar manages to use most of these tactics over the course of the film. The first red flag the audience saw that the Resident Nice Guy wasn’t so nice was when he got unjustifiably jealous over his cute friend. He used the fact that she slept with his friend to justify his mean and controlling behavior. As if they had made some silent agreement that his niceness and generosity were contingent on the fact that they would eventually enter into a romantic relationship. A silent, imaginary agreement that she violated and therefore deserved to be treated like garbage. By giving her a job and furniture he is able to control her economically and make her feel that she is somehow in his debt. When Gloria tried to call him out on his behavior, rather than owning up to it, he deployed some armor-piercing emotional abuse and minimized his behavior by comparing it to the time that she fell, accidentally killing hundreds of people. Finally, he threatened the people of Seoul to blackmail her into staying much like real-life abusers use children and loved ones.

Now because we didn’t know that we were in a domestic violence movie, most of us probably overlooked or were quick to forgive all of these microaggressions. The fact that he had been keeping tabs on her ever since she left was sweet, not obsessive. The fact that he repeatedly watched her get drunk to the point of memory loss was just him letting her make her own choices (unlike that hyper-critical Tim); he wasn’t purposefully getting her drunk so that he could more easily manipulate her. The fact that he freaked out at Joel when he tried to kiss her wasn’t possessive it was protective.

It's only with hindsight and context that the audience can reinterpret Oscar’s actions as controlling.

Even after Oscar goes full, evil villain and threatens to destroy a town, Gloria (and probably a lot of people in the audience) still treat him like the Resident Nice Guy. Oscar isn't set up as the domestic abuser like in the movies Enough and Sleeping with the Enemy. Those abusers are shown very early to be basically pure evil. Oscar isn't like that. While none of his actions are excusable, it is possible to come up with excuses and explanations for his behavior. He only acts like that when he's drunk, he feels trapped in a small town, he never lived up to his potential, he's trying to hold on to a childhood sweetheart. None of those excuses are valid, but they are very typical. Everyone knows someone who gets unreasonable when they're drunk, who's bitter about their lot in life, and occasionally takes it out on others. So when he apologizes so sincerely, Gloria’s willingness to let it go and to blame his behavior on how drunk he was is understandable. And for like, five minutes, Oscar goes back to being a nice guy, but as soon as things stop going his way again, he reverts right back into his controlling, demeaning tactics towards her.

Which is when I direct attention to the Cycle of Violence.

The film shows its audience two full cycles of violence. This is critical because it is the only way to show that Oscar’s recent behavior isn't an aberration. His apologies, promises, and pleas that he makes at the end of the film cannot be trusted because he has broken those promises before (it helps that literally hundreds of lives are at stake in Seoul). But that moment of hesitation when her avatar monster has Oscar in her clutches is incredibly tense. I for one, didn’t know if she was going to let him go or flick his head right off like a quarter. Ultimately, what justifies her actions is that knowledge in the back of the audience’s head is that he cannot be trusted to keep his word. Because he didn’t before. By taking the time to show two full cycles, the film rejects the idea of a linear devolution from Nice Guy to Piece of Garbage and instead shows that Oscar is actually both...and neither, it depends on where he is in his cycle (menstrual pun intended).

Oscar is so average, he isn’t even the only average a**hole in the film; there are two more. Tim has two major jerk moments, one at the beginning and one when he pretends to be on a business trip to see her again. After that first scene, I really didn’t think we’d see him again. When he showed up again halfway through I was surprised and a little disappointed. Really? The uptight ex really loved her all along and he’s going to swoop in and save her from her nightmare? But Colossal subverted my expectations again. First, they didn’t paint his lying about a business trip and flying all the way out there as cute, they painted it as what it truly would be: weird and disconcerting. Second, the film also showed how equally unromantic and sexist and gross it is for two men to compete with each other for a woman without consulting her at all.

Third, they showed that Tim too had his place on the Power and Control Wheel. He regularly used emotionally abusive tactics to make Gloria feel worthless. He proved that he wasn’t there to help her, but to wear her down with criticisms until she fit his expectations.

Then there’s Joel. Joel is not abusive. He seems like a nice guy, but you know what else he is? Frakking useless. He knows Oscar, has known him for years, he witnesses Oscar’s behavior, sees how vile it is, and does NOTHING. He doesn’t call Oscar out when he mistreats Gloria, and he doesn’t call him out when he’s laying waste to entire neighborhoods. He doesn’t even comfort Gloria, show her any support, a single pat on the shoulder. This is his chance to punch a robot...(once removed)! Be a hero! Instead, the only thing he does is give a tiny little thanks-for-nothing smile while he watches Gloria take care of her own self from the warm safety of a bar.

I’m not saying that by not interfering Noel is “just as bad” as Oscar, what I am going to say is that by not calling Oscar out, he’s perpetuating the idea that what Oscar’s doing and the way he’s treating Gloria is no big deal.

Really the only halfway decent guy the film has in it is the drug addict. He does make some feeble attempts to hold Oscar accountable for his garbage behavior. But once he starts taking on some of the heat himself he’s quick to jet. Gloria is utterly alone. Surrounded by run-of-the-mill jerks who are all part of the problem. The problem being a culture that equates jealousy and obsession with romance, aggression with assertiveness, and demands bros before hoes.

When viewed in that context, the actions of Oscar, Tim, and Joel are no longer so surprising.  Oscar wasn’t in a lab accident that turned him into an evil psychopath, he wasn’t secretly an evil psychopath the whole time, he’s just a run-of-the-mill jerk.

He’s the guy who insults you when you try to give him a criticism, the guy who thinks because he bought you dinner so many times that he’s definitely going to get some, the guy who gets jealous of how much time you spend with your friends, the guy who thinks you should be grateful that he didn’t make out with your roommate when he had the chance, the guy who tells you to not be such a b*tch. What makes Oscar a compelling villain is that he isn’t compelling at all: he’s the Jerk Everyman.

...and he need to be stopped.