#lyss says things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloodstainedsapphic · 10 days ago

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lyss. lyssbug. i am on my hands and knees begging for you to write reader HARDCORE teasing ellie and getting poor baby so worked up...only to not give her what she wants. the greedy little hip thrust when she chases r's hand..her wetness seeping through her boxers OH I AM UNQELLLSLSLSLSLKWKWN please and thank you i owe you my life 💚

omg hiii plubug. i can feel the feralism pls 🫡 my take on flustering extreme!nerdy perv ellie.. hardly edited. you're welcome!

"can.. can you repeat that question? sorry-"

she wasn't quite getting it.

you had re-explained the same section for the millionth time to ellie williams, the nerdy, socially-stilted girl who'd come into your apartment this afternoon to try and make sense of the coursework from your upper-level sociology seminar.

for a girl so bright, it was like she'd short-circuited the second she stepped through your doorway. you had no clue what caused it.

not that she was much of a smooth talker any other time. in class or when you passed her in the common areas, she was all stammered, bashful greetings and dropped pens, making constant blunders by knocking over her water bottles or running straight into inanimate objects—you'd caught her apologizing to them like they had feelings. ellie’s usual stuttering had escalated into full-on, barely coherent blabbering the second the two of you sat down on your couch—shoulders brushing—going through the reading line by line. something about the set scene, the proximity, the way your voice dropped an octave when reading... had launched her into an entirely unprecedented level of fluster.

her thick-rimmed glasses slipped to the tip of her button nose, her rosy lips slightly parted. ellie's deep green eyes were unsubtly directed at your lips instead of the page, clearly entranced by something other than sociological intersections.

it wasn't the first time you caught her zoning out like that. you weren't oblivious. ellie was trying so hard to suppress whatever little crush had wormed its way into her chest, but she was terrible at hiding it.

and she was absolutely adorable, sat there in her cinematically dorkish spectacles.

some of this fell on you, so keen to her antics to begin with. the loserishness definitely had its appeal… but there was more to her than meets the eye. you’d snuck a peek of a tatted arm under her rolled-up hoodie, her fit figure, a cute, firm butt. you could take a bite out of her.

you figured it wasn't entirely fair to let it slide without teasing her a little.

"what… would you say it means when these two groups culturally intersect?" you asked, voice soft, coaxing her back to the present.

ellie blinked, slow and dazed. she hadn't heard a word.

"ellie, are you listening?" you asked, though the answer was obvious. "you're off in space…"

that snapped her out of it. like a whip crack. she straightened her posture, eyes darting to yours with a flicker of panic like she was trying to figure out just how much you'd noticed of her wandering attention.

without thinking, you reached up and gently pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"there. that might help your sight," you said with a pleased little hmph.

ellie shifted on the couch, muttering, "right… erm, thanks…"

"alright, now, eyes on the book," you instructed, mock-stern, pointing to her face and guiding it back toward the page.

for a while, things went peacefully. ellie seemed to settle, at least for a stretch, finally receptive to your guidance. this subject came easily to you, and she kept reminding you of that.

"you're so good at this. i really appreciate you helping me," she'd said earlier. and then again. and again.

"thank you, els," you'd replied each time, the nonstop doting giving you a slightly inflated ego.

but eventually, the silence stretched on once more. no questions. no reaction. you leaned forward to point out a new concept—

—and sure enough, she wasn't looking at the book.

you sighed and looked up, catching her once again mid-stare. she really couldn’t help her urges, could she? this time, however, it was with a heavy focus on your top, the curves of your cleavage visible with how the scoop neck dipped slightly.

how lewd of her, you thought. was the ellie williams actually a closeted horn-dog? the idea of it..didn't actually surprise you at all. it tended to be the shyest ones who harbored the raunchiest, ineffable perversions.

"…ellie," you drawled, voice half-teasing, half-warning. "do you need something?"

she jolted upright, clearly trying to play it off, shaking her head profusely and turning to face you a bit more.

"s-sorry, i really don't mean to—"

you brought your finger to her lips before she could spiral into apologies.

"shush," you said, gentle. "ellie… i know what you're doing."

ellie’s amber freckles stood out sharply as her face flushed crimson, naturally full brows raised in anxious anticipation. she didn't want to assume what you meant, but her guilty expression gave her away.

"what?" she played dense. "it's just hard for me to get all of this. you're so patient, thank you—"

"no, no," you cut her off again. your hand slid up her arm, resting on her bicep, fingers curling slightly. a tender pressure. tacit reassurance.

ellie gulped.

"do you need something else, maybe?" you added, eyes not once leaving her. "a… motivator?"

you let the question hang there, teasing, open-ended—flirting with the girl who was clearly, hopelessly pining.

and yeah, you were picking up what she was putting down. you just knew she'd never be the one to say it first.

you weren't even this bold typically. finding a girl far more timid than you seemed to embolden you in a way you'd never imagined for yourself.

"ellie..can you lay back for me?" you continued, voice lowering into dulcet danger. your aura dripped with a flirtatious, syrupy, tempestuous sweetness, yet still giving her an out if she so needed.

but ellie, of course, obliged. there was no way in hell she’d say no to anything you asked of her. you said to jump? she’d ask how high. so she shuffled backward—pressing against the ragged cushions, back to the rickety armrest. she looked at you, silently questioning your intent.

you found yourself slowly tracing your fingertips against her jeans, studying how the old, relaxed denim hugged her body. the fit was slightly loose, which worked in your favor.

"i've noticed your focus.. isn't where it should be," your pointer fingers mimicking a walk up her leg. "if we're going to get you a passing grade, i need your 110% effort."

in ellie’s mind, she could hardly comprehend what was happening—or what was about to go down. she’d been yearning for this moment, crushing on you for longer than anyone would regard as normal. really, the chance to come over and study had in itself felt like hitting the jackpot. getting to be this close to you, regardless of the reason, surpassed her wildest dreams. but now, your hand was working its way up her leg, and ellie found herself utterly awestruck at the fact. all she could do now was ditsily nod that she wanted you to keep going, more than anything, and so you did.

and then- fuck, she remembered one detail that could potentially derail your whole plan—she was wearing fucking dinosaur-printed boxers.

oh, she was so embarrassed. her hand shot up to try and intercept your movements, a feeble attempt to stop what now felt like an impending disaster, but you swatted her fingers away with ease. a silent reprimand.

you reached the buttons of her pants, pausing on them to look up with one more tentative check for consent. you caught a glimpse of trepidation in ellie’s eyes- a pitifully needy expression that gave you the confidence to pop the button open with a swift, single tug.

with the newfound freedom, you slid her jeans down, lifting her hips slightly. you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable pattern on her boxers. a teensy smirk came over your lips, but you kept your mouth shut. ellie saw your reaction, momentarily dying inside, but ultimately resigned to let this be the price to pay for having your hands on her. she’d simply accept that she’d be haunted by this moment for the next twenty years.

you trailed your fingers along the fabric first, glissading down her hips, pelvis, finally grazing her mound over her boxers. a wet patch had already formed, much to ellie's chagrin but to your delight.

"needy, huh? i see why you need my help, can't let you go on like this huh.." you teased, ever so slightly caressing. ellie could feel her pussy throbbing through her boxers, just aching for direct contact before she flooded through to your fingers. you were more in tune than she gave you credit for; you found it almost precious, her sheer desperation for your titillations and sudden lavished attention. you were her aphrodisiac.

you, admittedly, got a bit worked up, feeling your own pussy pulse with every breathless whimper escaping ellie's lips, the moistness you felt through her fabric-covered cunt. you, worked up to the edge of her boxers again, tantalizingly dragging your fingers along the hem, feeling the tickle of her happy trail. you softly exhaled when ellie bucked up, so preemptive. poor girl. the situation was clearly dire, the way her mouth kept parting and her eyes teared up with such frenzied lust and you hadn't even made it down yet. this was way too fun. your coy smirk grew ear to ear as you finally snaked your hand inside her boxers, descending her trimmed auburn bush.

ellie let out quivered fluxes of breath when your palmed her sopping heat, finally teasing her silken folds, middle and index fingers spreading her slippery lips to feel how aroused she was. ellie’s stomach was already fluttering, waves of excitement building.

you didn’t let on that you were actively resisting the urge to fingerfuck her into oblivion. you oh-so-wished you could break this dorky girl, teach her things about your body and you learn every button to press on hers to melt her underneath you. but for now, you simply wanted to relish in her bucking hips and how she was trying to greedily get herself off on your hand. your wetted thumb pressed on her twitchy clit, moving in small, gentle circles around the clothed area, eliciting the most pitiful wail from ellie yet, a full body squirm paired with it.

"fuck..this is what you really needed wasn't it, ellie?" you ask her, a slight mocking laugh following your words. "you didn’t want to study..came over here just to stare at my tits, hmm?" you taunt, the humiliated-yet-lustful look in ellie's eyes and the tide of wetness on your fingers answer enough.

"oh god…" she choked in a gasp, eyes squeezing shut as you kept trailing her slit, not quite dipping inside her aching center.

ellie truly was a sight for sore eyes like this, toned legs spread wide like a whore across your couch, splayed as much as she possibly could in her only half-shrugged-off jeans. her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose again from how her head bobbled with each of your teasing strokes. face roseated and glowing, auburnish strands tugged from her already-messed-up bun. the nerd had become your personal porn star, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

with a surge of confidence, your other hand grips ellie's chin, hoisting her face to meet yours as you sultrily mutter your next instruction.

“answer me. you wanna be my pretty little slut?" you asked, invoking a sly smile to ease her into the idea.

"yes, yes, please," she begs without hesitation, stumbling over her own words. you comfortingly pat her cheek, then lowering your hand to firmly cup and fondle her clothed breast.

finally giving ellie what she so needed, you pushed your fingers into her cunt, the wet tightness of it pulling an involuntary moan from you that came in sync with hers.

"you feel so fucking good, baby… all worked up for me…are you even gonna last?" ellie, in a blissful haze, overwrought with pleasure, couldn’t even sense your words. she just kept doing what a neglected, horndog ellie knew best, trying to rhythmically grind herself into your hand as you sunk your digits further inside, curling deep within to hear her mewls of pleasure.

“s’all for me..god, you’re gorgeous-“ you adopted a steady pace, spreading your fingers inside her spasming walls, to get her whole body trembling and roaring towards an impending release.

”ahh, aahh, fuck," she rambled dumbly, glasses clouded against her face thanks to hot breaths. her head was fully thrown back, a fist white-knuckling a cushion for dear life. what fucking luck. this perfect moment would fuel her fantasies for years to come.

maybe perfect, but still incomplete. perhaps she’d gotten her hopes up too soon.

listening to her jumbled words and sensing her getting close, a most wicked idea entered your mind.

“so easy.. gonna cum on my fingers so fast yeah? just needed to be treated like a whore, yeah? oh…fuck-” you sucked air through your teeth while continually pumping your fingers in her at a languid, torturous pace. your condescension made ellie’s cunt flood, coating your hand and dribbling down her thigh. you salivated over how her walls clenched around your digits with every tease. the deliciously obscene squelching sounds of ellie’s pussy getting wrecked on your fingers filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans in torrid harmony.

"so close aren't you, pretty girl?" you ask, increasing the vigor and depth of your pumps, causing ellie's back to arch up into your knuckles, angling as far as she could, trying to suck your fingers in.

"yes- yes- yes-" she spewed, climax coiling tight, ready to unfurl.

but you felt mean.

your wrinkled fingers eased up, pulling from her soaked cunt, followed by a trail of dripping, creamy beads. ellie humped the air, not instantly registering the loss of your fingers. the building pressure inside her started to wane, glossy eyes gradually fluttering back open. ellie whinged as she realized what you had done, the extent of your cruelty settling in. ellie responded by lurching forward, head slumped against your shoulder without shame, whimpering in protest off your actions. she was hopelessly pliant, completely lost in her desire to finish on your fingers. you tittered, rubbing a tender hand on her back. “tsk, tsk… so mean of me, i know..” you kissed her hair. it was all too much. you wanted to coo reassurances, leave her hanging, but her restless, fucked-out state caused a twist in your stomach. to be desired so fervidly made your own thirst insatiable.

betraying your own willpower, your hand gradually reached her dripped-through boxers again, pressing a feather-light swirl on her swollen bud triggering ellie to mindlessly rut, straining herself to roll against your hand.

you giggled in how sensitive she was to your attention. “you just look so gorgeous on edge like that.. how could i possibly let you cum?”

it was so beautifully pathetic. the captivating way the sheepish, nerdy ellie you knew had fallen from grace and crumbled under your every whim.. you could keep toying with her forever. but you were capable of bargaining, a charitable vixen.

“how about this..” gingerly dragging your hand away once more, settling purchased on ellie’s waist to keep her upright and ensure she heard you.

“convince you me you understood a lick of your coursework, i’ll let you cum.. you help me cum... sound good sweetheart?”

you’d never seen such a quick learner as after you motivated ellie with a prize such as that. maybe you’d hold up your end of the deal. maybe.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x you #lesbian #lesbian nsft #ellie tlou2 #bloodstainedsapphic works

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rosemariiaa · 2 months ago

Text

~The Party & The After Party~

𐙚— pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚— rosie’s note: why hello there..yes rosie wrote pazzi smut kill me this is the first and last okay it’s not that much bc i’m testing the waters, basically inspired by the song in the tile by the weeknd, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚— themes: language, sexual content (public sex?), jealous p and az

𐙚— taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersbitch @makethemhoesmad @imaginespazzi @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful @elliesglock @azzibuckets @sierrale8ne @ldapper

The music pulses through the air, heavy and slow, pressing against Azzi’s skin like the heat of too many bodies packed into one space. It’s not really her scene—never has been—but Paige had convinced her to come, her voice coaxing, her fingers tracing slow, persuasive circles against Azzi’s wrist. Come with me, baby. Just for a little bit. I wanna show you off. She begged.

Azzi had rolled her eyes, but she’d come anyway. She always does.

Now, Paige is standing in front of her, still close enough that Azzi can feel the warmth of her body even through the buzz of the room. Paige’s fingers slip under the hem of Azzi’s top, just for a second, a quick brush against her skin before she pulls away.

“I’ma go talk to Lyss and Dijonai,” Paige says, leaning in so Azzi can hear her over the music. “I’ll bring us back some drinks, kay?”

Azzi nods, already missing the feeling of Paige’s body, the way she makes all of this—the lights, the noise, the people—easier to deal with. Paige’s gaze flickers over her, something soft beneath the smirk she always wears.

“You good?”

Azzi huffs, nudging Paige with her elbow. “Go already.”

Paige grins, her fingers grazing Azzi’s wrist one last time before she disappears into the crowd. Azzi exhales, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly hyperaware of how many people are around her, how many unfamiliar faces blur together under the neon glow.

She lets her eyes follow Paige for a moment, watching the way she moves—easy, fluid, like she belongs here. She’s already talking to her teammates, her hands gesturing as she laughs at something one of them said. Azzi lets herself relax. She can wait.

And then—

“Didn’t take you for the type to come to these things.”

The voice is smooth, edged with amusement, and when Azzi turns, there’s a woman standing too close—tall, brunette, unfamiliar.

Azzi straightens, her shoulders tensing before she can help it. “I’m not.”

The woman smiles. “Then why are you here all alone?”

Azzi shifts her gaze, scanning the room for Paige. She’s about to tell this girl that she’s not alone, that her girlfriend will be back any second, but when she finds Paige, she’s laughing.

With someone else.

A worker, by the looks of it. Some girl in a black T-shirt, grinning too hard at something Paige just showed her on her phone. And Paige is eating it up, laughing just as much, her head tilting back, her hand brushing against the worker’s shoulder like it’s nothing.

What the fuck?

Azzi’s stomach tightens, instinct curling in her chest, but she swallows it down before it can become anything sharp. She’s not doing this. Not here.

So she breathes in. Exhales.

And then she turns back to the girl in front of her, schooling her expression into something lighter.

“You never answered my question,” the brunette says, tilting her head. “Why are you here?”

Azzi lifts a shoulder, gaze flickering down for just a second before she meets the girl’s eyes again. “Why are you?”

The brunette smiles, slow and knowing, and extends her hand. “Name’ Sophia. I play for the Aces.”

Azzi takes her hand, brief and firm. “Azzi.”

“I know,” Sophia says, her grip lingering just a second too long before she lets go. “I’ve seen you play.”

Azzi hums, noncommittal, before letting her gaze slide past Sophia’s shoulder, back to where Paige is—

Watching.

Their eyes meet across the room, and Azzi can tell, instantly, that Paige has seen everything. The way Sophia leaned in just slightly. The way Azzi hadn’t immediately shut it down.

But instead of coming over, instead of pulling her usual hey, baby and wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist, Paige smirks.

And then she pulls out her phone.

Azzi barely has time to process what that means before her own phone buzzes in her pocket. Her fingers hover over her phone as Sophia walks away to go get them drinks, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, disappearing into the crowd. Azzi exhaled slowly, the weight of the charade pressing against her chest. She glanced over to the other side of the room, where Paige was still leaning casually against the counter, her grin wide as the worker she was talking to laughed at something Azzi couldn’t hear. Paige didn’t look tense. Didn’t look bothered. Just relaxed, like she had the whole night ahead of her to charm whoever was in front of her.

But Azzi knew Paige better than that. The way Paige tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes flickering back to Azzi even while she smiled—it wasn’t nothing. Paige was watching her. Testing her.

Azzi bit her lip and unlocked her phone.

Azzi couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her chest this time. It was quick and soft, but it felt good. She slipped her phone back into her pocket just as Sophia reappeared, two drinks in hand and a bright smile plastered across her pale face.

“Miss me?” Sophia asked, stepping closer and offering Azzi one of the glasses.

Azzi took it with a polite nod, her eyes flickering back to Paige one last time. Paige was watching again,no surprise, her head tilted, her expression unreadable except for the faint smirk playing on her lips.

Azzi met her gaze evenly, raising the glass just slightly in a silent toast before turning back to Sophia.

“Not for long,” Azzi said smoothly, her voice steady as she let the weight of Paige’s stare roll off her shoulders. She took a sip of the drink and smiled at Sophia, keeping her expression just warm enough to keep the game going.

If Paige wanted to play games, Azzi could play too.

Sophia stepped in closer to Azzi, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the space between them. Her voice dropped as she leaned toward Azzi’s ear, her hand brushing lightly against Azzi’s arm. “Y’know,” Sophia murmured, “I don’t usually do this, but—”

Before she could finish, a firm tap on her shoulder interrupted the moment.

Sophia turned around, a touch of irritation flashing across her face as she asked, “Yeah?”

Standing there, towering over her by a good two inches, was Paige. The confidence in her stance and the sharpness in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t here for the bs. Paige didn’t say anything at first—just raised her eyebrow before muttering, “Excuse me,” and deliberately bumped past Sophia, sliding between her and Azzi.

Her hand found Azzi’s waist like it was second nature, her fingers pressing possessively into the fabric of her shorts. She leaned in close, her voice low but teasing as she asked, “You miss me?”

Azzi sighed, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. “Not particularly,” she muttered, but she didn’t move Paige’s hand.

Behind Paige, Sophia’s eyes widened in surprise. She stood there for a moment, clearly trying to piece together what was happening. “Wait,” she said, looking directly at Azzi. “I thought you were here alone?”

Paige sighed dramatically, turning around with an exaggerated eye roll. “Damn,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “You still here?”

Sophia’s mouth opened as if she was about to argue, but before she could get a word out, Paige cut her off smoothly. “Look, it’s obvious she’s not here alone. So why don’t you go ahead and find someone else to bother, yeah?”

There was a beat of silence before Sophia’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. She glanced at Azzi one last time, waiting for her to say something, but Azzi simply raised an eyebrow, silently sipping her drink. Defeated, Sophia muttered something under her breath and walked away.

Once she was gone, Azzi finally turned to Paige, brushing her hands off her waist. “What’d you make my friend leave for?”

Paige scoffed, crossing her arms as she looked down at Azzi. “Yo friend? You ain’t want her to stay. C’mon now.”

“Whatever,” Azzi mumbled, shaking her head. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Paige’s lips curled into a mock pout as she stepped closer, pulling Azzi back in by her waist. “Aw, you seem jealous, baby,” she teased, her voice dropping into a playful drawl. “Was it ‘cus I was talking to her?”

“Fuck off, Paige,” Azzi shot back, trying to sound annoyed, but the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “Baby, I wasn’t even doing anything.”

Azzi scoffed, setting her drink down on the table nearby. “Yeah? Sure didn’t look like it. You were having a grand ole time, laughing your ass off.”

Paige’s grin softened into something more genuine as she leaned back slightly, her hands still firmly on Azzi’s waist. “Oh, that?” she said, her tone almost amused. “You mean when me and the bartender were talking about you?”

Azzi frowned, her confusion flickering across her face. “What?”

Paige chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “She’s a fan, Azzi. She got so excited when she realized who you were. Said she’d been waiting all night to make a drink for the Azzi Fudd.”

Azzi blinked, her annoyance faltering. “What?” she repeated, quieter this time.

Paige’s smile turned softer as she continued, “She even showed me this old picture she had of you two as kids, y’all went to the same school I guess. You both had chocolate all over your faces. I couldn’t stop laughing, so I showed her one of mine from back then. It turned into a whole thing which kinda made me forget about our drinks.”

Azzi rubbed her face with her hands, a groan slipping out as guilt settled in her chest. “oh,” she muttered, dropping her hands to look up at Paige. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Paige interrupted, but there was no bite to her words. She pulled Azzi closer. Now their chests were pressed together, and Paige leaned down, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “You know I don’t want anyone else but you, princess.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs. Paige was so close, her breath carrying the faint scent of mint and Shirley Temple, her Dior cologne wrapping around Azzi like a second skin.

Paige leaned back just enough to meet Azzi’s eyes, her voice low and deliberate. “I think I’ve made that clear, haven’t I?”

Azzi couldn’t do anything but nod, her hands instinctively gripping the front of Paige’s shirt for balance.

The corner of Paige’s mouth quirked up, her confidence radiating as she murmured, “Good.”

Azzi swallowed hard, trying to pull herself together. “Let’s go,” she said suddenly, her voice firmer than she expected.

Paige tilted her head, her grin turning mischievous. “Go where?”

“To the car,” Azzi replied, already pulling Paige’s hand to lead the way.

Paige followed without hesitation, the smirk never leaving her face as she let Azzi guide her.

—

Azzi didn’t let go of Paige’s hand as they made their way through the crowd, her grip firm. She walked ahead, her pace steady, but there was an urgency in the way her fingers tightened around Paige’s. Paige followed with a smirk tugging at her lips, watching Azzi’s determination from behind, her ponytail swaying with each step.

When they reached the car, Azzi made her way to the passenger side, her hand still in Paige’s. Paige started to move ahead, her free hand reaching for the door handle. “Here, I got it—”

Before Paige could finish, Azzi spun her around, pinning her back against the car with surprising strength. The cool metal pressed against Paige’s back, but the heat of Azzi’s body in front of her erased it immediately.

Azzi didn’t waste a second. Her lips crashed onto Paige’s, her hands gripping the blonde’s hips as if anchoring herself. Paige’s initial surprise melted into something far more eager as she let out a quiet sigh, her hands instinctively finding their way to Azzi’s waist.

Azzi deepened the kiss, her fingers sliding to the back of Paige’s neck, pulling her closer as her tongue brushed against Paige’s lower lip before slipping into her mouth. Paige groaned into the kiss, her fingers tightening on Azzi’s hips before sliding lower.

“Damn,” Paige mumbled against Azzi’s lips, her voice slightly breathless. Her hands gripped the curve of Azzi’s ass through her shorts, and Azzi gasped softly in response, her breath hitching before muttering, “Fuck.”

Paige chuckled against her mouth, her fingers pressing more firmly as she whispered, “What’s that, princess?”

Azzi didn’t answer, too caught up in the way Paige’s soft lips moved against hers. Her voice came out as a broken mumble between kisses, “P…need you,” her words trailing off as her teeth grazed Paige’s bottom lip, her tongue following close behind.

She broke the kiss, her breath heavy as she looked up at Paige, lips swollen and slightly parted. Paige smirked, the glint in her eye making Azzi’s heart pound harder and her core wetter. The blonde leaned in, brushing her lips against Azzi’s ear, her voice low and teasing.

“Tell me, princess,” Paige murmured, her hand still gripping Azzi’s waist, keeping her firmly against the car. “How bad do you need it?”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on Paige’s shoulders. Her big, doe-like eyes met Paige’s, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip before she answered softly, “So bad.”

Paige licked her lips, the corners of her mouth curling into a wicked smile as she tilted her head. “Yeah?” she teased, her voice dripping with control. “Lemme make sure.”

Azzi’s brows furrowed in confusion, her breath hitching as Paige’s hand slid from her ass to the front of her shorts. Paige’s fingers unbuttoned them, slipping beneath the waistband and pushing past the thin fabric of Azzi’s underwear.

The moment Paige’s fingers brushed against her, Azzi’s eyes widened, a soft gasp leaving her lips. She instinctively pressed her forehead to Paige’s shoulder, her entire body shivering as the blonde’s fingers explored her slick heat.

“Fuck..,” Paige muttered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s temple as her hand moved slowly. “You’re so wet.” Her voice was low and heavy, sending a shiver down Azzi’s spine. “Why’s that, huh?”

Azzi let out a shaky breath, gripping the back of Paige’s shirt as if to steady herself. “Because of you,” she mumbled, her voice breaking slightly as she fought to keep her composure. Paige tilted her head, her smirk deepening as she pressed her palm more firmly against Azzi’s clit, making the brunette gasp sharply. Paige’s voice was low, her breath tickling Azzi’s ear as she asked, “Who?”

Azzi’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of Paige’s shirt, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, her lips trembling.

“P-Paige,” she finally stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck… P-please, I need it.”

Paige’s smirk only grew, the sound of Azzi’s desperate plea sending a rush of heat through her. Without saying a word, Paige slid Azzi’s underwear to the side, her fingers finally feeling her completely.

“Shit,” Paige groaned, her head dropping slightly as she leaned closer. The slickness she felt against her fingers made her chest tighten, and she couldn’t help but let out a low, satisfied moan. “God, baby,” she muttered against Azzi’s lips, the words barely audible as she pressed a searing kiss to her mouth.

Azzi whimpered into the kiss, her hands sliding up to grip the back of Paige’s neck, holding her closer as her knees threatened to give out. Paige didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning again as Azzi’s hips shifted slightly against her hand.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Paige murmured against her lips, her voice dripping with both desire and satisfaction. “All for me, huh?”

Azzi could only nod frantically, her breath hitching as Paige’s fingers moved in tight circles on her, each touch igniting a fire that spread through her entire body. “Only for you,” she whispered, her voice breaking, as her eyes fluttered shut. Paige smirked into the kiss as she rubbed azzis clit faster, fingers sliding up and down her wet making Azzi moan into her mouth, her soft sounds vibrating against Paige’s lips and only spurring her on.

Azzi’s hands gripped Paige’s shoulders tightly, her breathing uneven as she tried to form words. “P-Paige,” she gasped, her voice shaky. “W-what if someone c-comes out?”

Paige chuckled lowly, brushing her lips against Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “Don’t worry about that, baby. No one’s coming. Just… fuck—” she groaned, moving her fingers faster and Azzi closer, the heat and wetness making her head spin. “You feel so fucking good.”

Azzi whimpered, her head falling forward onto Paige’s shoulder as her legs wavered. But Paige wasn’t about to let her go anywhere. Her other hand gripped Azzi’s waist firmly, keeping her pressed against the car as she dipped two fingers deep inside her without warning.

Azzi gasped sharply, her head snapping back as her lips parted in a soft cry. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her nails digging into Paige’s shirt as her body shuddered against her.

Paige’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as she watched Azzi’s reaction, her own breath hitching as she felt how tightly Azzi gripped her fingers. “That’s it, baby,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. She leaned closer, brushing her lips along Azzi’s jaw before whispering, “You’re so tight, fuck. Taking me so good mama.”

Azzi tried to respond, but all that escaped her lips was a broken moan as Paige began to move her fingers, slow and oh so deep . Her hips instinctively bucked forward, and she squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of Paige’s fingers.

“Look at me,” Paige demanded softly, her free hand tilting Azzi’s chin up so their eyes met. The intensity in Paige’s gaze made Azzi’s stomach flip, and her lips quivered as she tried to hold back another moan.

“P-Paige,” Azzi whimpered, her breath hitching again as Paige curled her fingers just right, hitting that same spot Paige was always so good at finding. “F-fuck… please.”

“Please what?” Paige teased, her voice a low rasp as she leaned in, her lips grazing Azzi’s. “Tell me what you need, princess.”

Azzi’s head tilted back against the car, her lips trembling as she gasped, “Need to cum.. Please, I—”

Paige cut her off with a deep kiss, her fingers moving faster now, her thumb rubbing tight circles on Azzis puffy clit, each motion making Azzi’s soft cries grow louder despite her attempts to stay quiet. Paige smirked against her lips, knowing Azzi was losing the battle of keeping herself composed. Paige could feel her tightening around her fingers, the brunette’s body trembling against her as her breathing grew uneven. Paige smirked, her lips brushing along Azzi’s jawline as she whispered, “You’re so close, aren’t you, baby?”

Azzi whimpered, her nails digging into Paige’s shoulders as her hips rocked forward, chasing the building orgasm. “Y-yeah,” she gasped, her voice shaky and breathless.

Paige pressed a kiss just below Azzi’s ear, her fingers moving faster, deeper, as she tilted her head to murmur, “C’mon, Az come on my fingers. You’ve been so good—so damn good. I wanna feel you.”

Azzi moaned, the sound desperate and needy as her head fell forward onto Paige’s shoulder. Her thighs trembled, and she could barely hold herself up as Paige’s words pushed her closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Paige encouraged, her tone low and soothing, though there was a roughness in it that only fueled Azzi’s need. “You feel how good you’re doing? I’ve got you.”

Azzi whimpered again, her grip on Paige tightening as her breathing hitched. “P-Paige,” she stuttered, her voice breaking. “I—oh my god—I’m—”

“Y’gonna come for me, aren’t you?” Paige murmured, her breath hot against Azzi’s skin. She pressed her thumb hard against Azzi’s clit, rubbing in time with her thrusts as she added, “Come on, baby, give it to me”

Azzi’s eyes squeezed shut, and her body went taut as a sharp cry escaped her lips. Her climax washed over her in waves, her hips bucking as Paige held her firmly, coaxing her through it with soft murmurs.

“There you go,” Paige whispered, slowing her movements but keeping her fingers inside Azzi, riding out every shudder and tremble. “You’re so perfect, baby. So fucking perfect.”

Azzi sagged against Paige, her forehead pressed to Paige’s neck as she tried to catch her breath. Her body was still trembling slightly, and she let out a soft, shaky laugh. “You’re too good at that,” she whispered weakly, her voice muffled against Paige’s skin.

Paige chuckled, sliding her hand out gently and holding Azzi close. “I know ,” she countered, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “C’mon, let’s get you in the car before someone really does come out here.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆#rosemariiaa

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lyssified · 9 months ago

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good afternoon evening tumblr, get so absolutely ready for me to be so annoying about the gatsby musical because guess who saw eva noblezada and jeremy jordan live

#lyss says things #theaterposting #the great gatsby #gatsby musical #eva noblezada #jeremy jordan #samantha pauly

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ennabear · 4 months ago

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hehehe haii :P quick roblox with sevika blurb, inspired by lyss and pluto who are my roblox family 🤎 this is stupid and silly hehe don’t mind me i just think old woman playing video game is funny. also mutuals add me on roblox my username is sevikasgf_real!!

general:

ok so first of all, it would take FOREVER for her to make an account 😭 she does not know how to make a username and she’d probably try to enter something like “tittysucker2000” and get mad that the system says it’s not appropriate. but after a while of her struggling to come up with something that isn’t censored, she’d settle for something cute (like ennasgf_real) because you got tired of her struggling and being annoying.

her avatar would be so fucking funny!! purple skin and a bob, some random shirt that she found for free in the catalog, probably a picture of someone’s dog or something. she’d end up clicking around too much and find a way to make all of her limbs different shapes and sizes but not know how to fix it, so she just embraces the look of her avatar.

if you bought her robux she’d very likely spend it all in one place… she’d see a random costume that she wants to buy and suddenly all of robux are down the drain…

she would get banned from voice chat INSTANTLY. ignores all of the warnings that pop up on her screen for not following the guidelines. it starts with a ton of quick suspensions and then she’s just permanently in vc jail.

SCREAMS at the little kids who bully her. is not ashamed to get in a little online scuffle in order to protect her ego. nobody is about to call her ugly or old or uneducated if she can help it… this, obviously, is how she ends up getting banned.

also she gets noise complaints when she plays. multiple. from you and her neighbors both, she just completely forgets about volume when someone says that she’s probably lying about having a wife… but it is a little bit cute to know that she’s doing it in your honor.

it would take her FOREVER to figure out voice chat. she doesn’t know how to do it off the top of her head, so she googles how to do it but can’t find a straight answer. goes running around the house in search of her passport because she thinks that’s what she needs but you’re just like “babe… enter your phone number and it’ll let you… that’s all you need to do…”

dress to impress:

playing with her would be so fun because she does not know her way around anything. you’d force her on to dress to impress and she’d be so lost. is not aware that there’s a time limit or a theme to follow. by the end of the round she’s still gray and her outfit is half finished and she’s like “what is it doing?? why is there a runway??? i wasn’t done with my outfit.”

the people in the chat would respond like “bruh what is this” or “oh!” to her outfit, but you’re there to back her up and vote her 5 stars anyways <33. but if they start to get too mean, she’ll force you to tell her how to use the chat and she’ll type something like “fuck you guys at least i have a wife” which of course comes out as all ####.

and when she sees all of the tags, she’d be like “what the hell?? i didn’t type that 😭” and you’d have to gently explain to her that it’s because roblox filters certain things you say, especially like “fuck you” and probably every other thought that came to her mind when she was typing it.

ofc you and her would both get first and second place because you vote each other 5 stars, even though her outfits are… well… you know… not the prettiest…

murder mystery:

if you thought her in dress to impress was bad, it gets WORSE. no matter how many times you explain to her the rules of the game, she is LOST, as well as every single synonym for confused in the dictionary. perplexed. puzzled. stupefied. dumbfounded. all of the above.

as an innocent, she’d probably just follow you the whole time, waiting until the sheriff kills the murderer or time runs out.

as the murderer, she’d probably tell on herself IMMEDIATELY. has her microphone on in voice chat and says “what does it mean that i’ll get my weapon in 10 seconds??” and she’s shot before the round even lasts half a minute. either that or she’d keep it to herself, but walk around with her knife out the whole time absolutely cluelessly. she probably thinks that others can’t see it, or maybe she can’t see it herself.

she’d be like “babe i’m so scared :( i wonder who the murderer is…” and she’s standing in front of you like 🤷🏽‍♀️🔪 LMAOOO

as the sheriff, she’d either shoot some random person who walks past her and die for getting it wrong, or she’d freak out and spam 100 different buttons while trying to shoot the murderer. she’s jumping and running around, screaming at the top of her lungs because she’s so scared, clicking her screen in every place but where the murderer is standing.

with others:

imagine jinx and isha existing in this universe, she’d drain her whole bank account on robux for the 3 of them 😭 but, and as much as she’d HATE to admit this, she actually really enjoys playing with them.

isha is still learning how to spell, so her and jinx would cackle at everything the poor girl types coming out as straight hashtags. especially when she’s fighting with someone, they’d both watch her get heated and absolutely smash her little fingers into her ipad keyboard trying to type things out, but then comfort her when she gets too frustrated to continue.

also, if isha ever gets hit with “you’re probably a 5 year old” from someone, sevika would be like “yeah, she is 😭” but jinx would stand up for her and type out PARAGRAPHS about how isha is so young and still better than whoever insulted her. jinx 100% has memorized all of the words that roblox flags, so she has no problem facing the hashtags.

they’re also such bad influences on your wife, they manage to convince her to buy more robux for them almost every week. you’ve caught her up in the middle of the night, phone sideways in her hand running around in a new game she’s found. you try taking your family out to dinner and they all just pull out their phones (isha, her ipad, still too young for a personal phone) and hop onto some new game jinx found. it’s adorable, yes, but definitely not the best habit she’s ever formed.

#if u guys see me playing sevika obby every day… no you don’t…#sevika #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #arcane #arcane netflix #arcane league of legends

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delusional-day-dreamer · 10 months ago

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So High School Part¹- k.m

‣ kate martin x celebrity reader (inspired fully by @ellienator)

‣ wc: 1216

‣‣ synopsis: reader, who has been famous all her life (think mckenna grace or peyton elizabeth lee), reveals her celebrity crush in a Vanity Fair interview with close friend, Sabrina Carpenter.

‣‣‣ a/n: pre write: i'm so obsessed with the wcbb x celebrity trope, also sorry it’s so long but i wanted to use this fic to practice writing more dialogue! after: i started around one a.m. and somehow finished this at almost FOUR AM after writing non-stop... (IT WOULDN'T LET ME UPLOAD THIS, I TRIED LIKE TWENTY TIMES)

"I swear to god, you have to stop touching your hair y/n," my manager, Alyssa, looked up from her phone just to scold me for the second time in the last twenty minutes.

"I'm sorry but I literally cannot help it right now Lyss, you don't understand how nervous I am for this," I insisted to her. "I'm so stupid, out of all the men AND women in the entire celebrity pool world wide, why did I have to say that Kate freaking Martin was my celebrity crush," I whine, albeit childishly, while squirming in the leather seats of our limo.

Three Weeks Ago

"Hi my name is Y/N L/N, and today I am here with Vanity Fair with the one and only..." You introduced yourself to the camera before gesturing to the woman next to you, one of your closest childhood friends.

"Sabrina Carpenter! And today we are going to be testing out a little lie detector test," After growing up on Disney sets together and respectively journeying out of the acting industry into music, you and Sabrina had only grown closer over the years you had known each other.

As the proctor introduces how the interview will go, Sabrina volunteers you to be in the hot seat first, and with some small bickering, you relent.

"So let's start of small just to test it out you know, how old are you?" Sabrina asks you from the other end of the table.

"I actually just turned 23 years old," you respond calmly, happy that your friend was taking it slow. With the proctor's approval, the two of you move on with the questioning.

SMALL TIME SKIP

"What is your biggest ick in a relationship? Wait I think we've talked about this before right?" Sabrina animatedly asks, eager to hear you response.

"No yea we definitely have, but the thing is for me," you start, "I don't have a type, like at all. Man, woman, celebrity, athlete, a totally regular person, I don't really care. To me, if you're attractive then you're attractive right?" Sabrina nodded in agreement to your statement. "So it's not often I get icked out, however, my biggest and literal immediate turn-off is when they start being overwhelmingly jealousy or being possessive about me, even like just being overbearing about my every move is an immediate no for me. It's honestly why I've been single for a while now," You respond thoroughly.

It was no secret to your fans that you were bisexual, considering your last very public relationship was with a woman.

"That's honestly such a valid ick, like if you think you own me then please escort yourself out that's honestly so gross," Sabrina piggybacks off your answer. "But I'm dying to ask and there's no way you expected me to not ask you this question, but, you've been a single lady for quite some time now," Sabrina teases, wiggling her eyebrows repeatedly at you.

"Oh no, I know where you're going with this," You complain, already beginning to feel a flush rising in your face.

"Do you have your eyes on anybody right now? Specifically, do you currently have a celebrity crush?" Sabrina asks you with the widest, most smug shit-eating grin on her face as she watches the blush begin to form on your cheeks.

"Yes I do," you mumble, rolling your eyes at your friend in the process.

"Who is it?" She pushes, knowing that once she asked, you basically had no choice but to answer according to the interview rules.

"Dude that's so not fair I don't wanna tell the entire internet that," you protest weakly.

"Come on! It's not even that big of a deal, besides you're super hot, I'm sure she'll be flattered," Sabrina insisted to you while trying to hold back her grin.

"Sab!" You groan as her big mouth reveals the gender of your crush, automatically giving away part of their identity.

"Oh shoot sorry," She quickly apologizes, covering her mouth with the interview question card in her hand. "But like, you're gonna tell them who it is either way so I'm not sure it matters," She adds in slyly, reveling in the red flush that had now visibly engulfed the entirety of your face.

"Okay fine whatever, it's Kate Martin," you mumble under your breath looking down at your shoes, attempting to escape the embarrassment burning inside of you.

"No that's definitely cheating, you have to actually say her name," Sab giggled at the state you were in.

"Oh my gosh fine," you exclaimed while waving your face with a paper from the desk, trying to lessen the appearance of the blush on your face. "It's Kate Martin alright? She plays basketball at the University of Iowa, has just declared for the WNBA Draft, and she's incredibly attractive, so literally sue me." You end the mini rant with both hands in the air, embarrassed and mildly annoyed at the fact that your friend had coaxed you into admitting your crush.

Sabrina laughed in delight, smacking her hand excitedly on the table in front of you to in response to your confession.

"OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, tell me you've seen the edits of her on tiktok because there's no way you don't have any favorited or saved on your phone," Sabrina wheezed through her bout of laughter.

"Obviously I've seen them but I haven't favorited any of them," you defended weakly.

"That's a lie," the proctor informed you two, which sent Sabrina into a second round of wheezing laughs.

"NO WAY, how many? Like a hundred? Two hundred? More than that?" She exclaimed, somehow managing to tease you while still being out of breath with laughter.

"Like two or three maybe, like at most," You lied, despite knowing that they would find out.

"Still lying," the proctor slightly smiled, only furthering Sabrina's howling laughter to the point she nearly fell out of her chair.

"My god, you could at least pretend to be a little less overjoyed at this," you grumbled, attempting and failing to hide the giggles beginning to spill out of you at the sound of your friend's infectious laughter. You eventually gave up on trying to pretend being annoyed and joined Sab with her maniacal laughing, unable to control yourselves for the next few minutes.

"I hope you realize I'm so getting you back for that," You teased Sabrina as the two of you switched seats to continue the second half of the interview, your questions and Sabrina's answers.

END OF FLASHBACK

"Y/n it's not even that big of a deal, you just said she was attractive, it's not like you professed your deep-profound love for her," Alyssa insisted.

"I practically admitted to favoriting tiktok edits of her Alyssa, I'm literally doomed," you sighed dramatically leaning your head to the cool glass of the limo window.

"Yea well," Alyssa began, texting on her phone once again, "You're just gonna have to put on your big girl pants and deal with it because we're almost there and they wanna interview you on the red carpet and right when you enter the theater, and it’s quite literally the WNBA Draft, so there's no way they're not gonna bring up Kate," she informed you.

"I'm actually gonna die," you declare.

Thanks for reading all the way through! I'll be coming out with part two very soon!!

#Spotify #kate martin x reader #kate martin #uiowa #wnba basketball #wnba draft #wnba x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #kate martin fanfic #iowa wbb #wbb x reader #wbb #wnba imagine #wnba imagines #las vegas aces #wlw post #wlw #sapphic

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goldfades · 5 months ago

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TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON (part two)

part one!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | after that fateful night, you begin to see rafe cameron differently - and it seems like he feels the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | ooc!rafe, teasing, descriptions of bullying (?), sweet rafe, a lot of word vomit, um... idk what else? it's pretty sweet and wholesome

⟢ ┈ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | @psychicnatural @evermorx89 @slipawaylrh @renasjourney @aesthetic-lyss

The thing about Rafe Cameron is that he doesn’t linger.

Not in the way you might expect. He has a reputation for showing up, making noise, and leaving behind chaos in his wake. Rafe doesn’t hover, doesn’t check back, doesn’t get involved. But ever since that night—since the low rumble of his voice pulled you from the edge of panic and his steady presence walked you safely out of danger—it feels like he’s everywhere.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. A coincidence. But the truth is, you’ve caught him watching you more than once. At Sarah’s party last weekend, his eyes found you across the bonfire, the flickering light sharpening his sharp features and softening his smirk. At The Wreck, when you stopped by for takeout, he was there at the bar, casually nursing a drink, his gaze flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And now, standing in the backyard of the Cameron estate during Sarah’s infamous summer party, you can feel the weight of his presence even though you haven’t seen him yet tonight.

It’s like he’s threaded into the atmosphere now, an undercurrent you can’t ignore.

You’re holding a drink in one hand, the other resting on the edge of the pool as Wheezie chatters beside you about some drama from school. Sarah is off somewhere playing hostess, and the crowd is a mix of Kooks, tourists, and a handful of Pogues Sarah deemed “cool enough” to make the cut.

The air is warm and heavy with the scent of salt and chlorine, and you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not scanning the crowd for him.

You tell yourself you’re not hoping to see him.

But then, you do.

Rafe steps out onto the patio, a drink in hand, his posture relaxed but commanding as he surveys the party. He looks effortlessly at home here—like the house, the lights, the music all belong to him in some unspoken way.

When his eyes find you, it’s immediate, like he knew exactly where to look.

Your pulse quickens, and you glance away, trying to focus on Wheezie’s story. But even as she rambles on, you can feel Rafe’s gaze burning into you. It’s a mix of heat and challenge, daring you to acknowledge him.

And when you finally give in and glance back, he’s smirking.

He doesn’t approach right away. He never does. Instead, he takes his time, drifting through the crowd like he’s in no rush, talking to people here and there, all while his attention keeps circling back to you.

It’s maddening.

You take a sip of your drink, willing the flush in your cheeks to disappear, and try to focus on Wheezie’s latest complaint about her friends. But then Rafe’s voice cuts through the noise, low and unmistakable.

“Having fun?”

You look up to find him standing beside you, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other holding his drink. He’s close enough that the faint scent of his cologne reaches you—something warm and sharp and entirely too intoxicating.

“Trying to,” you reply, your voice steadier than you expected.

His smirk deepens, and his eyes flick to Wheezie, who’s already grinning at him. “Don’t let her bore you to death,” he says, nodding toward his sister.

“Hey!” Wheezie protests, shoving him lightly.

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and easy, but his attention is back on you in an instant. “Come find me later,” he says, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and Wheezie’s teasing grin.

“Are you blushing?” Wheezie asks, her tone all too knowing.

“Absolutely not,” you say quickly, turning back to your drink.

But you are. And the worst part? You know Rafe knows it too.

There was a time when the idea of Rafe Cameron being anything but insufferable would have been laughable.

You remember those long, sticky summer evenings spent at the Cameron house, sitting at the kitchen island with Wheezie while her parents were out at one fundraiser or another. Babysitting wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was better than working at the marina, and Wheezie was sweet enough to make it bearable.

Rafe, on the other hand, was a different story.

He had this knack for showing up just when you thought you’d have a quiet night. You’d be helping Wheezie with her math homework or making her one of those ridiculously specific sandwiches she liked, and then—bam. There he was, leaning against the doorway with that signature smirk plastered across his face.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he’d say, nodding at whatever you were doing, even if it was as simple as slicing bread.

“Doing what wrong?” you’d snap back, barely sparing him a glance.

“Existing,” he’d tease, stealing a chip off your plate and popping it into his mouth like he owned the place.

It was endless. He’d make fun of your clothes, your car, your playlist. Anything and everything was fair game, and he never missed an opportunity to remind you that you didn’t belong in their world. You were a Pogue, after all, even if your dad’s business had climbed its way into something respectable.

But there was one night—one moment—that always stood out, no matter how much you hated to admit it.

You were sitting at the island again, Wheezie at your side, her little hands clutching a glass of milk while you tried to get her to eat a handful of carrots. Rafe was there too, slouched in one of the barstools with his phone in hand, half-listening to whatever you were saying just to mock it later.

Everything was normal—until Wheezie came stumbling into the room, tears streaming down her face.

“What happened?” you asked immediately, rushing over to her.

“They—they were making fun of me,” she hiccuped, her words barely audible through her sobs.

“Who?” you pressed gently, crouching down to her level.

“Those boys…from down the street,” she managed, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “They said I was weird and that no one likes me.”

Your heart clenched, and you reached out to pull her into a hug, murmuring something soothing about how those boys didn’t know what they were talking about. But before you could say much else, Rafe stood up.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. He didn’t say a word. He just… stood.

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him as you sat there, stunned.

“What—where’s he going?” you asked, looking down at Wheezie, who just shrugged.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe came back. His knuckles were scraped, his nose was bleeding, and there was a bruise already forming on his cheekbone.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What the hell happened to you?”

He grabbed a dishtowel off the counter, pressing it to his face as he shrugged. “It’s taken care of.”

“Rafe…” you started, but he just waved you off, heading for the stairs like nothing had happened.

Looking back on it now, it’s almost funny how you didn’t see it then. He didn’t make a show of it or stick around for the praise. He just… handled it. The same way he handled everything, quietly and with a bluntness that often left more questions than answers.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t always like this.

You can still remember the version of him from when you were younger: loud, impulsive, and seemingly incapable of taking anything seriously. He was the type of kid who would shoot spitballs in class just to watch people squirm, who cared more about his next thrill than the consequences that followed. There was a recklessness about him then, a streak of carelessness that made you write him off without hesitation.

But now, standing on the edge of Sarah’s party and watching him weave effortlessly through the crowd, you can’t help but notice how much has changed.

His hair, once a shaggy mess of blonde that fell into his eyes, is buzzed now, the sharp cut emphasizing the strong line of his jaw and the defined shape of his cheekbones. He’s leaner, but more solid too, his movements deliberate instead of erratic. Even the way he holds himself is different—confident but restrained, like he no longer feels the need to demand attention because he knows it’s already his.

It’s not just his appearance, though that’s hard to ignore. It’s the way he seems more grounded, more present. You’ve heard whispers about him stepping up to help his dad with the family business, even if people still question his motives. You’ve seen him around town, not in his usual haunts, but at the construction sites or walking out of Grady’s hardware store with blueprints under his arm.

He’s working. Actually working. And it’s not just for show.

The realization hit you that night, downtown, when he pulled you out of a situation that could’ve gone sideways fast. The way he handled it—calm, capable, and protective—was so at odds with the Rafe you thought you knew that it left you reeling. You’d always thought of him as a spoiled rich kid, someone who relied on his family name to coast through life without lifting a finger. But in that moment, when his steady presence shielded you from danger, you saw someone entirely different.

And now you can’t unsee it.

It’s driving you insane, honestly. Because no matter how mature he’s become, no matter how different he seems now, he’s still Rafe freaking Cameron. The boy who used to mock you for your Pogue roots, who once threw a party so wild that Wheezie had to call you to help clean up the next morning. The boy who, for years, seemed to exist solely to prove that Kooks always win.

And yet, here you are, catching yourself looking for him at every party, every gathering, even when you don’t want to admit it.

You hate it. Hate how your pulse races whenever his sharp blue eyes meet yours, how your mind replays the way his voice softened when he asked if you were okay that night. Hate how, even now, as you stand with Wheezie by the pool, your thoughts are consumed by the memory of him leaning closer in the kitchen just a few nights ago, his tone teasing but his eyes saying something else entirely.

It doesn’t help that Rafe seems to sense it. The shift in the air between you, the way you’ve started noticing him in ways you never did before. And the worst part? He seems to enjoy it.

He’s not obvious about it, not in the way he used to be when he was younger. No, this Rafe is far more subtle. He doesn’t shout or flaunt or draw attention to himself. Instead, he waits. Watches. Pushes just enough to leave you questioning everything but never enough to let you get comfortable.

It’s infuriating.

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping the buzz will drown out your spiraling thoughts. But even as you try to focus on Wheezie’s chatter and the hum of the party around you, your eyes keep drifting back toward him.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even have to try.

It’s like he’s rewritten the rules of who he is, and now you’re stuck trying to figure out where you fit in the story.

You shake the memory from your mind, blinking back into the present as the Cameron estate buzzes around you. The party has shifted into full swing now—music booming from portable speakers, a few brave souls splashing in the pool, and clusters of people laughing and drinking under the string lights that crisscross the patio. Wheezie’s long gone, swallowed up by her friends, and Sarah is playing hostess somewhere, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Or rather, alone with the memory of Rafe, the boy who used to tease you mercilessly but once left the house with a determined glare and came back bloody for his sister’s sake.

The worst part? That moment, that side of him, wasn’t as much of an anomaly as you’d tried to convince yourself. Sure, he was arrogant and annoying and drove you up the wall, but when it came to the people he cared about, Rafe was all-in. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t back down. And now, years later, you can’t stop replaying the way he showed up for you downtown, the same intensity in his eyes, the same protective edge to his voice.

It’s maddening, really.

You hate that you’re noticing these things about him. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his shirt fits just snug enough to hint at the strength beneath, the way he moves through the crowd like he knows exactly how to command attention without asking for it.

You catch sight of him again, standing near the bar and laughing at something one of his friends says. The golden glow of the string lights above him catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, the subtle curve of his smirk. He’s relaxed, leaning casually against the counter, completely at ease in his element.

You should look away. You should focus on something else, anyone else. But your gaze lingers, drawn to the effortless way he commands the space around him. It’s maddening.

And then, as if sensing your attention, Rafe’s eyes flick up and find yours across the yard.

The breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re frozen, caught in the intensity of his gaze. He doesn’t smirk this time, doesn’t do anything but hold your stare, his expression unreadable. It feels like an eternity before he finally moves, pushing off the bar and heading in your direction with that same unhurried confidence that drives you crazy.

You glance around, your nerves buzzing. Part of you wants to walk away, to avoid whatever game he’s playing. But your feet stay rooted in place, and before you know it, Rafe is standing in front of you, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy that makes your pulse race.

“Looking for someone?”

Speak of the devil.

You turn, already knowing what you’ll find, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His smirk is firmly in place, but his eyes carry that same quiet intensity you’ve come to associate with him, the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not proud of.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly, and his smirk deepens.

“Sure about that?” he asks, stepping closer.

You resist the urge to step back, holding your ground even as your pulse quickens. “Positive. Just enjoying the party.”

“Right,” he drawls, his voice low and amused. “Because you look like you’re having so much fun standing over here by yourself.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that always feels too knowing. “You,” he says finally, his tone soft but laced with something that sends a shiver down your spine, “are way too easy to mess with.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks. “Glad to know I’m such a source of entertainment for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he replies, his grin widening.

He’s teasing, you know he is, but there’s something else beneath his words tonight, something that feels more real than the surface-level banter you’re used to.

“Seriously,” you say, trying to shift the conversation before your heart gives itself away. “Don’t you have a crowd to charm or something?”

“Maybe I’m right where I want to be,” he says, leaning just slightly into your space. His voice drops a fraction, soft enough that it feels like it’s meant just for you. “Ever think of that?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s too close, his presence overwhelming, and all you can do is stare at him, your mind spinning with thoughts you shouldn’t be having.

You huff, turning to look out at the pool instead of his stupidly smug face. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you glance back at him, surprised to find his expression softer than you expected. “You looked like you needed saving,” he says lightly, nodding toward the now-empty lounge chair where you’d been sitting.

You roll your eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” He leans a little closer, just enough to make your heart skip. “Because you seem a little... tense.”

Your breath catches, and you hate the way your body reacts to him—like it’s tuned to his every word, every movement. “I’m not tense,” you manage, though your voice betrays you with its slight waver.

He grins, and it’s infuriatingly charming. “If you say so.”

The silence stretches between you, charged and crackling with something you can’t quite name. You expect him to keep teasing, to push just far enough to leave you flustered before walking away like he always does. But instead, his gaze softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you—really looks at you, like he’s trying to figure you out.

“You’re not like the rest of them,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

The words catch you off guard, and your brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he says simply.

And maybe you do. Maybe that’s why your chest tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s looking at you like he’s seeing something even you don’t fully understand.

Before you can respond, one of his friends calls his name from across the yard, breaking the moment like a snapped string.

Rafe sighs, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you. “Guess I’m needed elsewhere,” he says, his usual smirk returning as he steps back.

“Shocking,” you mutter, trying to ignore the weird ache in your chest as he starts to walk away.

But then he pauses, turning back to you with a grin that’s equal parts mischievous and genuine. “You ever need saving again, you know where to find me.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you standing there, flushed and frustrated and entirely too aware of the fact that Rafe Cameron is under your skin.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of chatter and laughter, but you barely hear any of it. Your mind keeps circling back to Rafe, to the way he looked at you, the way his words lingered in the air like a challenge and a promise all at once. It’s maddening.

By the time the party winds down, you’re exhausted—not from the noise or the crowd, but from the mental gymnastics of trying to convince yourself that Rafe Cameron doesn’t affect you. It’s a losing battle, and you know it.

Wheezie insists on walking you to your car, her arm looped through yours as she chatters about some drama with her friends. You do your best to focus, nodding at all the right moments, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

When you finally get into your car and start the drive home, the silence feels heavier than usual. The streets are dark, the glow of the headlights bouncing off the familiar bends in the road. You roll down the window, hoping the cool night air will clear your head, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the memory of Rafe’s gaze feel even sharper, like a ghost you can’t shake.

You pull into your driveway and sit there for a moment, the engine ticking softly as it cools. Normally, you’d go straight inside and crash, but tonight, you linger, your fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The night feels unfinished, like there’s something left unresolved.

You shake the thought away, grabbing your bag and heading inside. The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards under your feet. You kick off your shoes, toss your bag onto the counter, and start the familiar routine of winding down.

But even as you wash your face and crawl into bed, you can’t stop thinking about him.

The next few days pass without incident, but the memory of Rafe sticks with you, weaving itself into the mundane moments of your routine. You see flashes of him in the strangest places—in the sharp line of a customer’s jaw at the boutique, in the golden sunlight filtering through the trees on your drive to work, in the steady confidence of someone walking down the street.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s Rafe.

And yet, no matter how hard you try to push it away, the memory of that night lingers. The way he stepped in without hesitation, the quiet assurance in his voice, the way he didn’t make a big deal of it afterward. It’s all so at odds with the version of him you’d built in your head, and it’s throwing you off balance in a way you can’t quite explain.

The next time you see him, it’s at the Cameron house again. Wheezie had texted you, begging you to come over for dinner, and you’d caved, mostly because you missed her and partly because you were curious.

You tell yourself it’s not about him.

But when you walk through the front door and spot Rafe leaning against the kitchen counter, his head tilted back in laughter, your pulse stutters.

“Hey!” Wheezie greets you, bounding over to give you a hug.

You hug her back, trying to focus on her and not the sharp blue eyes that flick over to you from across the room.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Wheezie says, pulling you toward the dining room. “Come on!”

You follow her, keeping your head down, but you can feel Rafe’s gaze on you as you pass.

The meal is lively, filled with chatter and the occasional bickering between Sarah and Wheezie. Rafe is mostly quiet, chiming in here and there but keeping his attention on his plate. You try to ignore him, but every time he moves, every time his fork scrapes against his plate or his voice cuts through the conversation, your stomach twists.

After dinner, Wheezie and Sarah disappear upstairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen as you help clear the table. You’re stacking plates by the sink when you hear footsteps behind you.

“You always this helpful?”

The voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

You glance over your shoulder, finding Rafe leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Just trying to earn my keep,” you say lightly, turning back to the sink.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You don’t have to do that here, you know. You’re practically family.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you pause for a moment before setting the plates down. “Didn’t realize you thought of me that way.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he says, his voice closer now.

You glance back again, finding him only a few steps away. His expression is softer than you expected, his smirk replaced by something more thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “Guess I figured you’d still see me as the annoying Pogue babysitter.”

Rafe’s lips twitch, like he’s holding back a grin. “You were annoying,” he says, his tone teasing. “But you’re not a babysitter anymore.”

The air between you shifts, the playful edge to his words giving way to something heavier. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves buzzing like live wires.

“I should—” you start, but your words falter as Rafe takes another step closer, his gaze locked on yours.

“You should what?” he asks, his voice low.

You don’t have an answer. Or maybe you do, but it’s lost somewhere in the haze of his closeness, the way his presence seems to fill the room.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the tension crackling like a live wire. And then, just as quickly as it started, Rafe steps back, his smirk returning as he grabs a glass from the counter.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he says, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer than necessary.

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the overwhelming realization that you’re in deep trouble.

That night, lying in bed, you stare up at the ceiling, your thoughts running wild. The familiar shadows stretch across your walls, the faint hum of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room. Normally, this is when your mind would wind down, drifting into blissful silence. But tonight, there’s no such luck.

Rafe Cameron is an enigma that refuses to leave your head.

You keep replaying the evening in your mind—his teasing smirk, the way he stepped closer like it was the most natural thing in the world, the way he looked at you with something you couldn’t name. It’s maddening.

And then, unbidden, another memory surfaces. One you haven’t thought about in years but suddenly feels impossible to ignore.

You were sixteen, still babysitting Wheezie regularly, and you’d just gotten a new pair of shoes. Nothing extravagant, just a pair of sneakers you’d saved up for with months of odd jobs. You were excited about them, maybe a little too excited, and you made the mistake of mentioning it when Rafe wandered into the kitchen where you were helping Wheezie with her art project.

“Nice kicks,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned against the counter. “Did they give those away for free at the thrift store?”

You glared at him, bristling. “I bought them, actually.”

“With what? Spare change you found under the couch cushions?” he shot back, smirking as he reached over to steal a cookie from the tray you’d set out for Wheezie.

“Leave her alone, Rafe,” Wheezie piped up, frowning at her brother.

But Rafe didn’t listen. He kept going, poking fun at everything from the color of the shoes to the brand, all with that infuriating grin plastered on his face.

At the time, you’d been furious. You’d wanted to snap back, to tell him off, but you didn’t. Instead, you’d rolled your eyes, muttered something about how he didn’t know anything about fashion, and went back to helping Wheezie.

Now, though, lying in bed, the memory feels…different.

You remember the way his eyes lingered on your shoes, the way his teasing felt more pointed than usual, like he was testing you. You remember how, when you finally left the house that night, you caught him watching you from the window, his expression unreadable.

And then there was Ward.

Ward, who always seemed to have some sly remark about how much time you spent at the house, about how Rafe “just couldn’t leave you alone.”

You’d dismissed it at the time, laughed it off as some weird dad joke that didn’t land. The idea of Rafe Cameron—spoiled, obnoxious, impossible Rafe—having a crush on you was absurd.

But now?

Now, as you lie there, replaying every interaction in excruciating detail, the idea doesn’t feel so absurd anymore.

The way he teased you relentlessly, always finding a reason to be around when you were at the house. The way he’d watch you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his smirk would falter sometimes, just for a second, like he was debating whether to say something more.

It all takes on a new light, and the realization sends a shiver down your spine.

Rafe Cameron had been in your orbit for years, a constant, infuriating presence that you’d never thought to question. But now, as the pieces start to fall into place, you can’t help but wonder if you’d been blind to something that was always there.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to see it now.

The realization lingers with you, threading itself into your days like an invisible tether you can’t shake. Every time you think you’ve managed to push Rafe Cameron out of your head, something brings him back. A passing thought, a fleeting memory, the sound of a voice that’s too close to his. It’s driving you mad.

It doesn’t help that the Cameron house has become a second home again. Sarah and Wheezie keep pulling you into their plans, which always seem to conveniently land you back at the sprawling estate. And Rafe? He’s there more than ever now—clean-cut, focused, and still as infuriating as ever.

You keep telling yourself it’s nothing. That whatever strange shift you’re feeling is in your head. But the tension between you is undeniable, crackling in the air every time you’re in the same room.

The Cameron living room was alive with laughter, the sounds of dice clattering against the wooden coffee table and Wheezie’s triumphant cheer filling the air. Game night had started with its usual chaos, everyone fighting over who got to pick the first game, but now the competition was in full swing.

“What are the odds,” you muttered under your breath, eyeing the tiny slip of paper in your hand with a mixture of resignation and disbelief.

Sarah leaned over your shoulder, peering at the name written there, and burst out laughing. “Oh, this is too good.”

You shot her a look, crumpling the paper in your fist. “What’s so funny?”

“Just… you and Rafe? On the same team? It’s poetic, really.” She wiggled her eyebrows before ducking out of reach as you swatted at her.

Rafe, of course, was leaning back against the kitchen counter like he didn’t have a care in the world, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. His eyes slid to yours as if he’d been waiting for this moment, his smirk just wide enough to make you want to throw something at him.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

You forced a tight-lipped smile. “Looks like it.”

It wasn’t that you disliked Rafe—not anymore, at least. But being paired with him for family game night meant opening yourself up to endless teasing and that annoyingly competitive streak he’d never quite grown out of.

“Don’t worry,” he added, pushing off the counter and heading toward you. “I’ll carry us.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” you shot back, earning a quiet laugh from Wheezie, who was busy setting up the game board in the living room.

By the time everyone gathered around the coffee table, the mood had shifted to something lighter, easier. You found yourself sitting shoulder to shoulder with Rafe, his broad frame taking up far more space than was necessary.

“Alright, Cameron Dream Team,” Sarah said with a grin, motioning between you and Rafe. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The first few rounds went about as expected—Rafe being overly confident, you rolling your eyes, and the rest of the Camerons watching the two of you with varying degrees of amusement. But as the game wore on, you realized something strange: you and Rafe actually worked well together.

It wasn’t just that you were winning (although that certainly helped). It was the way he’d glance at you for confirmation before making a move, or the way your banter seemed to flow effortlessly, pulling laughter from the rest of the room.

“Unstoppable,” he declared after another win, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

You snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Rose, who had been quietly observing from her spot on the couch, chimed in then, her voice cutting through the lighthearted chaos. “You two make a good team,” she said, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “In the game and… otherwise.”

The words hung in the air like an errant firework, startling and impossible to ignore.

You felt your face heat immediately, your fingers fumbling with the edge of your sleeve. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe shift in his seat, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

“Maybe she’s right,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Your stomach flipped. Whether it was the implication behind his words or the way his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that the heat in your cheeks was impossible to shake.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of laughter and friendly competition. Rafe stayed closer than usual, his elbow brushing yours every so often as he leaned over the board or reached for the dice. You told yourself it was nothing—coincidence, proximity—but your heart betrayed you, skipping every time his eyes found yours.

By the time the last game wrapped up, the clock had crept past midnight, and everyone was beginning to drift. Sarah and Wheezie headed upstairs, Rose disappeared into the kitchen, and Ward had retreated to his office hours ago.

You stood by the front door, pulling on your jacket, when Rafe’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up. I’ll walk you out.”

You turned to find him shrugging into a hoodie, his hands already sliding into his pockets.

“You don’t have to,” you said, though you didn’t mean it.

He shrugged. “It’s late. Humor me.”

The cool night air hit you as the two of you stepped outside, the faint crash of waves in the distance punctuating the quiet. You walked side by side down the driveway, the gravel crunching under your feet.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “remember when Wheezie tried to convince us she’d trained that stray cat to do tricks?”

You laughed, the memory flooding back. “She was so serious about it too. I think she even made a schedule for ‘training sessions.’”

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “And then it scratched the hell out of me when I tried to pick it up.”

“Serves you right for thinking you could pet a feral cat.”

“It wasn’t that feral,” he said, grinning. “Just… misunderstood.”

The conversation flowed easily, memories and laughter spilling out like water from a cracked vase. It felt natural, effortless, like no time had passed since the days you spent chasing Wheezie through the halls of the Cameron estate.

When you finally reached your car, the laughter faded, replaced by a quiet that felt heavier than before. You turned to face him, leaning against the door as his gaze dropped to the ground, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

“So, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I was thinking…”

You tilted your head, waiting, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Would you wanna grab dinner sometime?” he blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Like… just us?”

For a moment, you stared at him, thrown by the nervous energy radiating off him. This was Rafe Cameron—confident, sharp-tongued Rafe—and yet here he was, looking at you like a boy afraid of being turned down.

You couldn’t help it—a soft laugh escaped you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” you said, your smile widening. “You’re just… nervous. It’s kind of cute.”

He rolled his eyes, but the faint flush in his cheeks betrayed him. “Is that a yes or not?”

“It’s a yes,” you said, still smiling.

His relief was immediate and almost comical, his grin spreading wide enough to make your chest ache. “Good,” he said, nodding like he was trying to play it cool. “Good.”

As you slipped into your car, he leaned against the door, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice softer now.

“I will,” you replied, your heart still thrumming as you pulled away.

For the first time, the idea of Rafe Cameron didn’t feel impossible. It felt… right.

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should-know-better · 3 days ago

Text

I came across a copy of a French music magazine, “Rock & Folk” with TLSP on the cover. Here’s the scans and interview (via Google Translate). Enjoy! ☺️

THE LAST SHADOW PUPPETS

THE POP LIGHT CAN COME FROM TWO SCRUBBY BRITISH KIDS. AN ARCTIC MONKEY, ALEX TURNER AND HIS BUDDY, MILES KANE UNVEIL THIS INCREDIBLE PROJECT. BY PHILIPPE MANOEUVRE, PHOTOS BY CHLOE DES LYSSES.

A pop, pop, pop world? Why not? But here we return again and again, to the same abracadabra concept of the pop masterpiece. Everyone knows pop masterpieces, everyone has their own favourite. Tell me your pop masterpiece and I'll tell you who you are. Because since the beginnings of the Beatles - and even Elvis had already indicated the direction with "Heartbreak Hotel" - modern pop has never stopped going back and forth between raw discharges of ultra-violent electricity and research into atmospheres, and especially melodies.

For the May 68 special edition, we meet Philippe Paringaux, retired from Paris but not from rock. Working from his Brittany home on numerous musical translations, personal writings, and other works, Paringaux never stops listening and re-listening to rock, like the rest of us. His vision is clear: "From 1962 to 1972," he explains, "we experienced the age of melody. Then it dried up, and since then, we've experienced something else." The era of the riff? The great shaker world? Something else.

Extraordinarily, the examples of the great masters remain. We could have filled a column with them, with sleeves and notes to back them up. But a simple statement of the facts will suffice for the reader: "Pet Sounds", “Rubber Soul”, “…Melody Nelson”, the White Album and "Abbey Road”, “Ziggy Stardust”, Roxy Music, Marc Bolan, Scott Walker, Todd Rundgren, Big Star Dwight, Twilley Band, Robert Wyatt's "Rock Bottom," Love, Gene Clark, The Byrds, and CSN&Y. Not to mention Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. There it is, very hastily summarized, the pop of rock 'n' roll. Sometimes it's good to sort and organize your ideas. Especially when you're writing about the Arctic Monkeys.

A band that appears in these columns on the express recommendation of Hedi Slimane. When the first album comes out, it's immediately madness in Great Britain: on the day of the record's release, 300,000 buyers. And it should be noted, there's no local smear campaign, no old fogey explaining that it was better before, that they should have rehearsed more. No, the very British Monkeys fever attracts colossal worldwide attention, the forums go wild, and the Arctic Monkeys become the darlings of festivals overnight, offering their frenetic, tense, and hard-hitting rock to totally captivated crowds. It's beautiful, a rock 'n' roll country.

London, very special correspondent

Precisely, on this Monday in February, Great Britain is warming up under a timid spring sunshine. From St Pancras, we take a cab to a faux-designer, truly posh hotel. We're munching on a lukewarm burger when our guests for the day, Miles Kane and Alex Turner, arrive. With their shrew-like looks and bowl cuts, they look like two runaway schoolboys who've come to flirt in the hotel bar. In fact, our two pop stars have left their respective bands to record a kind of improbable kind of UFO, a twelve-track album that's like a collision of an entire, ultra-enjoyable catalog of pop effects plucked from a fertile past. Are there any songs, or have our two buddies simply piled on the effects to feign the real thing? Impossible to say before a hundred listens. But judging by the reception on radio and some TV stations, there's a risk of a small tsunami surrounding this record, something nothing in the Arctic Monkeys' two albums could have predicted.

Putting down their sodas, Alex in a pea coat and Miles in a jacket introduce themselves and follow the press officer into a simple conference room. The decor is reminiscent of a police office. A table, three chairs, and a pencil lying there. Everyone opts for coffees at the generous suggestion of the hostess. Here we go...

Rock&Folk: OK, here we go... And the questions are plentiful... Where did this record come from? How did the idea come about? Who's behind it? Your respective bands, what do they think of it?

Miles Kane: That's a lot of questions!

Alex Turner: There's a lot of people at the door!

Miles Kane: Please choose your questions (general laughter).

R&F: OK... it's your turn!

Miles Kane: Once upon a time...

Alex Turner: Ah, you're starting from there?

Miles Kane: From the beginning of our romance, yes.

Alex Turner: Years ago... Miles was playing in his band, the Rascals, and I was playing in my band, the Arctic Monkeys. We did our first tour together. And then something happened, we became friends. Miles and his band toured with us again, a friendship was born, and we said to ourselves... Anyway, we made this project that...

Miles Kane: One day...

Alex Turner: So, one day, we would make an album together.

R&F: So what's the name of the band?

Miles Kane: This is the first interview we're giving. It's pretty important for us to tell you, because we haven't told any journalists yet, you'll be the first to know, it's going to be called...

Alex Turner: It's called The Last Shadow Puppets.

R&F: Wow!

Alex Turner: I like first times.

R&F: Are you the same age?

Alex Turner and Miles Kane: Yeah, yeah, sure, okay, the same, that's it, yeah.

Alex Turner: Miles is from Liverpool. I lived two hours away...

Miles Kane: After two years, our friendship has become amazing. Hasn’t it, Alex?

Alex Turner: Totally!

Miles Kane: And we made the record, but not just any record, because we decided to create—very dramatically on our part!—an epic masterpiece-

R&F: Totally pop nonetheless...

Alex Turner: Yes, pop, so what?

R&F: Listening to this record might be quite a shock for the Arctic Monkeys fan...

Alex Turner: Very true.

Miles Kane: Sorry, we listened to the album "Scott Walker Sings Jacques Brel" and I wouldn't say it changed our lives, no, but it had a huge impact on us.

Alex Turner: Exactly.

Miles Kane: Scott Walker and Bowie, always Bowie of course.

Humor, dignity, and madeleines

R&F: To continue very quickly, we noted influences on this record from Lee Hazlewood, Phil Spector, Ennio Morricone, Love, The Byrds, Burt Bacharach, Scott Walker, Suede, Gainsbourg...

Miles Kane: Don't forget the Beatles and especially David Axelrod, for the strings. For example, "My Mistakes Were Made For You" is a tribute. We even found Axelrod's drum sound, identical strings, everything.

R&F: For our photographer, "it sounds like film music"...

Alex Turner: That’s it. We wanted to make a cinematic album.

R&F: Miles, your favourite film?

Miles Kane: The "Pink Panther" series. (chuckles).

R&F: From the first song, the rhythm races, it's like a spaghetti western...

Alex Turner: Absolutely. We wanted to make this record, I wanted to get these songs out of my head, OK? We met a guy named James Ford who had worked with the Monkeys and Miles too. We set aside two weeks in the summer and, immediately after the Benicassim festival, in the middle of August, Miles, James, and I left for the Black Box studio not far from Angers, in the smiling French countryside.

Miles Kane: Two weeks in France! We had never drunk so much red wine, devoured so many cakes. Do you know madeleine?

R&F: Madeleines? What do you mean, madeleines (follows a long rant about Proust and the Search for Lost Time)?

Alex Turner: Well, I'm addicted to madeleines.

R&F: Listening to the record, we wondered what strange drug had presided over the creation of this album?

Alex Turner: Madeleines.

Miles Kane: Come on, Phil, it's the new trendy high, admit it!

R&F: We find it hard to believe that mushrooms didn't play a role in your lush creation...

Alex Turner (laughs): No, no mushrooms entered the composition of this record, no... On the other hand, the idyllic atmosphere of sunsets, dawns over the countryside, all that, yes...

Miles Kane: Stop it, we didn't leave the studio for two weeks!

Which mentor?

R&F: Tell us about James Ford. Is he the mentor behind the whole project?

Miles Kane: Mentor? Alex and I write the songs, after all.

Alex Turner: James plays the drums, he does all the drums. He plays a lot of bass, keyboards, but in a way this record was made by three of us, the two of us and him. James plays the drums not too loudly while all modern drummers pound heavily like furious people. He digs the rhythm, discreet and chic, it's important...

R&F: At the same time, pop project or not, the sound remains rough, not polished. In short, an overall indie rock sound...

Alex Turner: Totally. Because if we set out to make a pop masterpiece with strings, which was totally our intention from the start, there's the risk of being corny.

R&F: Not corny, ever...

Miles Kane: There you go! Not corny or vulgar.

Alex Turner: Enter Owen Paley, formerly of Arcade Fire, who was fed up with concerts and came back to settle in Canada. This guy is our age, he hasn't done much before, so he wanted to express himself through us, but above all, he knows where not to go with the strings.

What pop music lacks

R&F: Another obvious question would be: Are you going to tour with this project?

Alex Turner: ...and the good answer would be: Why not, we hope...

R&F: There you go...

Alex Turner: There you go.

R&F: What this record says is: Apart from the brutal success of the Arctic Monkeys, we need pop, we need melodies to hold on to, right?

Alex Turner: Some fans will follow, that's clear...

Miles Kane: In pop, we have nothing! This stuff that's on TV is hot air.

R&F: Well, well, explain that to us. What is pop missing at the moment?

Miles Kane: It lacks class. The production is unreal, soulless.

Alex Turner: It lacks singable harmonies, it lacks melodies. It lacks everything, if you look at it closely.

Miles Kane: There's no sophistication anymore. At the same time, mind you, we didn't come to save the world either (laughs). We simply wanted to make a magnificent record, a pop record... And we didn't want to wait until we were fifty to buy violins.

Alex Turner: Nobody does that anymore. The rockers in English bands, if you talk to them about orchestration, it's immediately offensive.

R&F: What could you add?

Alex Turner: Nothing, just details. We can reveal that the first song on the record, the one that gives the album its title, was written last... Are you interested?

R&F: Are there any studio outtakes? Any unreleased tracks?

Alex Turner: Oh yeah, for the future box set in twenty years (laughs).

Miles Kane: Starting in January, we recorded some unreleased material for the B-sides. During the Christmas period, a new title stood out, "Separate And Ever Deadly." We added it to the album, keeping the number of tracks to twelve.

Alex Turner: We recorded in August, then we both went back on tour with our bands for two months. At Christmas, we listened back, recorded the B-sides, and Owen arrived in London for the strings. After three days, the mixing began, and that's it.

R&F: Were you surprised by the impact these strings had?

Alex Turner: Owen brought the record to life. It was amazing, suddenly our little demos, our sketches, were coming to life. We'd only been writing these songs since 2006, but we had no idea they would come out like this. The arrival of the strings boosted everything.

Clean, clean, clean

R&F: And the internet?

Alex Turner: What, the internet?

Miles Kane: I've never downloaded a single song in my life. Downloading is something I've never done. I collect my records, I'm a vinyl person without snobbery, CDs out of obligation, that's it...

R&F: The internet has certainly accelerated people's knowledge of music. On forums, everyone is always one click away from discovering loads of masterpieces. But what are your favorite Beatles albums?

Alex Turner: "Rubber Soul."

Miles Kane: "Revolver." The harmonies...

R&F: Serge Gainsbourg?

Alex Turner: That's James. He's a huge fan of "...Melody Nelson." I really like watching Gainsbourg's TV appearances. Every time he invents something, he does something amazing or hilarious. What a character!

R&F: How do you both compose? On guitar or piano?

Alex Turner: On guitar. Acoustic, eye to eye.

Miles Kane: We walk like caged lions, we twirl, we strum, we write, we throw the book of lyrics at each other. We start from nothing, we build these little songs and I write, I submit stuff to him, and he's like, "Yeah, that's it!" And if he rips his shirt off with joy at the end, it's good.

R&F: How do you divide up the vocals?

Alex Turner: Hell of a lot. Sometimes it's him, sometimes it's me, sometimes we harmonize.

Miles Kane: Alex loves to harmonize, and when we started singing together, it was a miracle. Our voices blended beautifully. As with songwriting, it's really a twin project.

R&F: Alex Turner, unlike your colleagues Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty, you're never in the tabloids...

Alex Turner: That's just the way it is, I rarely go out. Most of the time, in fact, I stay at home composing. I'd describe myself as quite a boring guy, you know, I stay in my basement slaving away at my melodies. Not enough to stop the presses.

R&F: Explain your title, "The Age of Understatement"...

Alex Turner: Well, precisely because this album was created in a period when no one was trying anything anymore. Why not? That's a good reason.

R&F: How could we define good pop?

Alex Turner: If we knew, we'd make it. Pop can't be too subtle...

Miles Kane: That said, you shouldn't force anything either. It's somewhere in between.

R&F: Scott Walker is your absolute master, and yet he doesn't sell many records...

Alex Turner: That's the point. I know a lot of people won't like this record or understand it. Releasing this project on the market now is madness, almost utopian. I don't care about the result because we'll move on very quickly.

And the end

R&F: The rest?

Miles Kane: We're going to make videos, the first one is being filmed in Russia, the second for the upcoming single, and there will eventually be concerts...

Alex Turner: We might play the Olympia in Paris. This album calls for a beautiful venue like that. If people like the record, we'd like to play it in very beautiful venues. That would be fabulous. That's our dream at the moment.

R&F: You're not worried either...

Alex Turner: Very excited. That's what we wanted to achieve, and we did it. What could be better?

R&F: Do you recommend listening with headphones?

Miles Kane: ...And with dark glasses.

Not superstitious

An incredibly dynamic photo shoot follows, on the fly, in the hotel corridors, the meeting room, and then out in the street. Everything goes well, very quickly. The press officer rushes to phone this excellent news to her office. The photographer really directs the two rockers, who decide that "since she knows what she wants, we'll cooperate." Alex Turner barely refuses to pose in front of a green mural ("I'm not superstitious, but..."). Suddenly, the two boys look to the side, deaf to the photographer's calls, fascinated, hypnotized. A young Dutch woman, a top model, passes by in the street. An impromptu session ensues between the two pop stars and the Dutch beauty. We return to the hotel. Still under the spell of the divine and unexpected encounter, Alex Turner remains dreamy. Our hearts beat a little faster. What if this was pop, for real? ★

#not miles calling them a romance 🥰#baby puppets #taotu era #rock and folk magazine #may 2008 #miles kane #alex turner #tlsp

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