#but cameron does think house would kill someone if he hated them enough. because he plays god constantly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mackenzielovee · 3 years

Text

jealous - rafe cameron

a/n: hi! im kinda a mess right now and this story is a little all over the place so im sorry if you hate it lol but i really wanted to write something based on what i think Rafe would really be like as a bf so here it is! (not my pic)

Summary: Your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, takes you to a party.

Warnings: swearing, drug use (cocaine), alcohol consumption, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2k

my writing

You can hear the music coming from the house before you see it. It's Friday night on Figure Eight, and you already know what that means. Accompanying your boyfriend to yet another party. You and Rafe have been together for almost a year, and some days, you really think you could rip his head off.

You hadn't even wanted to come tonight. When you voiced that to Rafe, however, he told you with a shrug of his shoulders that he'd just find someone else to dance with. Of course, it started a fight, and now, you're sitting in the back of Topper's Jeep beside Rafe, watching as he stares at his phone.

He isn't talking to you or looking at you, but apparently it's enough for him that he just knows exactly where you are and what you're doing. It's not enough for you, though. You reach over and grab his hand from his phone, looping yours through it. Rafe hesitates at first, wanting his hand back so he can continue what he had been doing. When he sees your expression, his eyes soften just a bit and he relaxes into his seat and your touch.

Topper parks the car and tells all of you to hop out, which you do with the help of Rafe. You appreciate that he doesn't let go of your hand, even though you know it's only because you all are approaching the party and he wants every single person to know that you are with him.

Rafe leans over and kisses your temple quickly, then brings his lips down to your ear.

"Stay close, yeah?" he whispers, his hand gripping yours even tighter.

You know the drill by now. Of course you're going to stay close, because Rafe never lets you get more than five feet away from him at these things. You envy the way Topper treats Sarah sometimes, even though you really think Topper's a tool and would never date him.

Once you all enter the house, Rafe moves his hand from yours to around your waist, leading you through the party and glaring at any guy that even looks over at you. You all make your way into the living room area and find seats on the couch, Rafe immediately pulling you down dangerously close to him.

"Yo, who got this shit?" Rafe points to the cocaine on the table in front of him, the rolled up dollar bill tempting him.

"Bought it from Barry this morning, bro," Kelce speaks up, grinning. Kelce is always trying to please Rafe.

"Always reading my mind, brother," Rafe smirks, and leads forward to take a line without hesitation.

When he comes back up from his line, he grins and daps up Kelce, telling him it's good shit. Then, without you even moving, he leans over and kisses you roughly. His tongue enters your mouth quickly, which you accept and grab onto his neck. He moans into your mouth and then pulls away, immediately going back to the coke.

You sigh and sit back, pulling your phone out. You know Rafe will be high as a kite when you two leave tonight, which only makes you hopeful that he won't turn into an absolute asshole once that stuff kicks in.

He turns back to you with a devious smirk on his face, and before you can even ask what he's doing, he's collecting a line up on your thigh.

"I don't want that shit on me, Rafe," you grumble, but you know better than to move. He might just kill you if you spilled that shit all over the couch and the floor.

"Relax, baby," he tells you, not looking up at you. He's too focused on perfecting his line.

His friends all watch as he snorts a line up your thigh, all of them silently wishing they could do the same. You try not to roll your eyes at him and end up catching the eye of some guy standing in the corner of the room. He's watching you both, curious why you're hanging out with a guy like that. You just shrug and roll your eyes only halfway, telling the guy you're over it.

You're not sure why you do it, you suppose it's the concerned look in his eye as he watches. Nobody ever looks at you like that anymore.

When Rafe glances back up to you and sees you looking at another guy, he instinctively wraps his arm around your waist.

"I don't like the way he's looking at you," Rafe tells you, "Come sit in my lap."

His voice is raspy and his jaw is clenched as he pulls you into his lap, kissing on your cheeks and your neck as he stares at the guy. After only a minute or so, the guy is intimidated enough that he ends up walking out of the living room completely.

"Did you know him?" Rafe asks you, his eyes trailing the boy out of the room.

"No, baby," you sigh.

He catches the frustration in your voice and looks up into your eyes, reaching up and tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. This is the Rafe you love; the intimate, soft one. The one who isn't afraid to show you how he loves you.

"Are you having fun, princess?" he questions, his voice softer than it had been before.

You're not, but you know Rafe is enjoying himself and wants to stay and hang out. So, you take a deep breath and nod your head, giving him a convincing smile. Rafe smiles back and strokes his fingers against your cheek, then brings his hand down to your neck to pull you closer to him. He uses his nose to move your hair away from your ear so he can talk into it.

"I can't wait to get inside of you later, sweetheart," he whispers, feeling you instantly start to squirm against his lap.

His dirty talk always gets to you. The way his voice gets all raspy and needy just does things to your body that no other guy ever could.

"Is that right?" you tease him, bringing your lips dangerously close to him.

"Mhm," he hums against your lips, then closes the gap between the two of you.

He loves when you play with his hair, so you do. You can feel him getting excited underneath you, so you continue. One of his hands wraps around your throat and the other goes down to your ass, making you moan.

"Yo, Rafe, get a fucking room, man," Topper groans.

Rafe smirks against your lips and pulls away, gently setting you down beside him again. You try not to be mad that Topper interrupted the first ounce of attention your boyfriend has shown you tonight. Rafe leans forward to cut another line, so you stand and look around for a bathroom. When he doesn't notice you get up, you decide to just run really quick to one and then come back.

You walk from the living room into a kitchen, then see a little hallway that looks like it probably contains a bathroom. Once you get down the dimly lit hallway, you feel a hand on your arm, roughly yanking you around.

"What the fuck are you doing going off on your own?" Rafe snaps at you, his grip on your arm tightening. You can feel his nails digging into your flesh, making you wince.

"Rafe, you're hurting me," you tell him softly, gently trying to move your arm out of his grasp.

"You need to tell me when you have to go to the bathroom," he says harshly, then releases our arm.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at the floor. He brings his hand up and grabs your cheek, pulling your head up to look at him.

"C'mon," he tells you, "I'll take you."

He reaches down and takes your hand, leading you down the hallway and stopping at a random door. There's one guy waiting outside of it, who Rafe pats on the back once the two of you approach.

"Find another one," Rafe tells him.

The guy turns around and looks at Rafe like he's crazy, his eyes glancing over to you for a second. Protectively, Rafe's grip tightens around your hand.

"Dude, I've been waiting for a while. The line was long when I got here," the guy tells him, watching Rafe sarcastically smile.

"Interesting story, bro. Move along. Now," Rafe's voice is harsh.

The guy rolls his eyes and pushes past the two of you, deciding he doesn't have to go bad enough to put up with Rafe being an asshole. Rafe moves in front of the door, pulling you with him, and bangs on the door.

"Time's up," he yells, continuing to pound on the door.

The door opens up a second later, the guy Rafe had removed from the living room with his eyes earlier stepping out. Of course, you think.

"Ah, if it isn't the guy who likes to stare at my girl," Rafe grins devilishly.

"Rafe-" you start, wanting to tell him to let it go.

"Go inside, baby. I'll be right here when you're done."

He drags his hand toward the door, which in turn drags you toward the door. He lets go as soon as you're in the bathroom, then leans in and shuts the door for you. You can hear Rafe sizing up that poor guy outside, but you choose not to listen. You use the bathroom and then wash your hands quickly, trying your best to hurry so you can save that guy.

When you pull the door open again, Rafe is leaning against the doorframe with his phone in his hand. He looks up at you when you come out and doesn't speak, he just wraps his arm around your waist and leads you away, still looking at his phone.

When you get into the kitchen, Rafe suddenly pushes you up against the wall with no warning. He leans forward and grabs onto your cheeks, bringing his mouth up to yours roughly and kissing you. He quickly picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you pinned up against the wall. You kiss him back, loving the way his hands feel all over your body. If you're honest, you're growing impatient for the night to end. You really just want Rafe to take you home and fuck you.

Rafe pulls away after a few minutes, gently setting you back down on the floor and taking his hand in yours again.

"You're mine, don't you forget it," he tells you, his voice demanding. You nod and reach up to wipe your lip, which seems to be covered in Rafe's saliva.

You watch Rafe's gaze as it lingers around the guy from the bathroom, who had just seen Rafe's explosive display of affection. You sigh, knowing that entire thing was just a way of Rafe to mark his territory.

"We're gonna go get Topper's keys," Rafe tells you, "I can't wait any longer. I need you, right now."

You give Rafe a real smile this time and nod your head, following him as he leads you through the crowd. After promising Topper you two wouldn't fuck in his Jeep, he hands Rafe his keys so you two can leave. Rafe tightens his grip around your hand as he pulls you back to the kitchen. He purposely walks past that guy again, muttering something in his ear as you two pass that you can't hear. When you look back, the guy looks disgusted.

When you two get back to Topper's Jeep, you're surprised when Rafe opens up the back door for you to get in.

"Why am I getting in the back?" you ask him.

He smirks, "We're getting in the back."

You look at the devious look on his face and figure out what he's up to, so you raise your eyebrow at him.

"You promised Topper we wouldn't fuck in his Jeep," you remind him.

Rafe rolls his eyes, "Yeah, and last month Topper promised me he wouldn't bend my nine iron when he beat up that Pogue on the golf course with my club. Trust me, baby. He owes me."

You sigh but do as you're told, watching Rafe's smirk only grow when you climb inside. No matter what that boy puts you through at these parties, the sex always makes up for it.

#rafe fanfiction #rafe x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe fic #outerbanks rafe #outerbanks netflix #outer banks netflix #outerbanks #outer banks #drew starkey

1K notes · View notes

witchlyboo · 3 years

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

#ben hardy imagine #michael b jordan fc #tom holland x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #pedro pascal #logan lerman fc #definitely maybe #fluff #angst #timothee chalamet #Tom Holland #Ben Hardy

111 notes · View notes

hartigays · 3 years

Note

please take this as a prompt to write as angsty a fic as u want. mwah mwah (💌 — astrid)

(to preface: this is basically just canon divergence nonsense after barry burns rafe’s arm on his bike in s1 👹)

rafe jerks awake with a start.

he’s not sure what roused him from his (not so peaceful) slumber, until he hears the sharp knock again. it’s something hitting one of his bedroom windows - the one closest to his bed.

the room feels like a deep freezer when rafe crawls out from between his sheets. he likes the room to be cold when he sleeps - he has dreams, and dreams make him sweat.

(maybe they can be classified more as nightmares. but no one is asking, so it doesn’t really matter either way.)

rafe enjoys the cold significantly less when he has to walk through it in the middle of the night. it feels good on his arm, at least, where barry burned him. it soothes the sting that he’d been able to ignore while unconscious.

when rafe walks up to the window to investigate, he nearly keels over and dies.

because the source of the noise is none other than barry the fucking coke dealer himself.

speak of the devil, and whatnot.

rafe shoves the window open with a grunt. it opens outward, nearly knocking barry off the roof and onto the ground below. the corner of rafe’s lips twitch - he really would’ve liked to have seen that.

if he knew barry had such bad balance and coordination, rafe probably would’ve shoved the window open a little harder.

“i said i’d get you your money,” rafe says, the first to speak.

barry just rights himself, arching one brow. “i know.”

“so why the fuck are you here?”

barry doesn’t wait for an answer. he simply stares at rafe for a beat, before crawling through the window, elbowing rafe out of the way in the process.

the movement makes rafe’s arm throb, and he clutches at it with a hiss.

not sparing rafe a single glance, barry just circles the room, whistling. far too loud for this time of night.

“sweet setup you got here, country club,” barry tells him. he finally turns to look at rafe head-on, his dark eyes unreadable.

rafe is still clutching his arm, wincing. “thanks. it looks nicer without you in it, so. bye.”

barry laughs, a full-bodied thing that should make rafe want to kill him. it certainly shouldn’t make rafe shudder like a bitch in heat, but it does.

it does.

“ain’t getting rid of me that easy,” barry snorts. then, his gaze zeroes in on rafe’s hand grasping his wounded arm. “get over here and lemme see that.”

“no,” rafe answers, immediately, shaking his head. “no fucking way.”

barry purses his lips. he stares at rafe like he’s staring into his soul, and rafe wants to gouge his eyes out so he’ll stop.

“wasn’t aware i gave you an option, baby boy.”

rafe’s heart does a messy little dance in his chest, and his insides feel like a puddle of goo.

he hates barry, he really does. the fucker gave him a 3rd degree burn not even twelve hours ago. and yet. here rafe stands, eyes and stomach full of hearts and butterflies and all that disgusting shit, all because of something as pathetic as a nickname.

it’s not even an affectionate nickname. it’s condescending, and it should make rafe want to tear someone’s head off. preferably barry’s.

it doesn’t.

rafe moves closer, cautiously. when he’s within reach, barry just reaches out and grabs rafe’s bad arm, yanking him in and closing the distance.

rafe bites his tongue so hard he nearly draws blood, trying to stuff his pained groan right back down his throat. it doesn’t really work, and barry notices, but doesn’t comment on it.

instead, he takes rafe’s arm and examines it, like the burn is something he’s never seen before. like he’s not the one who put it there.

“lemme fix this up for you,” barry mumbles, still staring at rafe’s arm. like maybe the burn will magically sprout legs and run off into the night, never to be seen again.

“why?” rafe asks, swallowing around the lump that has been steadily growing in his throat since barry’s arrival.

barry uses his free hand to grasp rafe’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “because you ain’t in control, rafe cameron. and you need to get that through your pretty little head.”

“that doesn’t answer my question, like, at all,” rafe mutters, then winces when barry’s grip on his arm and chin both tighten.

“because i’m in control,” barry continues, like rafe never even spoke at all, “you got that? you ain’t making the decisions around here no more.”

“wasn’t aware i was making any decisions in the first place,” rafe mutters, glaring down at his arm.

barry lifts rafe’s arm up, releasing his chin to gently trace his fingers over the tender wound. rafe winces again, and barry grins like a shark.

“quit arguin’ and be a good boy like your momma taught ya. and while you’re behaving, go get me some first aid shit.”

rafe feels like he’s frozen in place, the words turning over and over and over in his head. until barry’s nails dig in, and then he’s crying out, stumbling backwards. he’s out of the room a second later, practically tripping over himself as he heads down the hall to the storage closet where he knows ward keeps emergency supplies, disoriented.

by some miracle, the first aid kit is sitting right in the center of the middle shelf. rafe snatches it without a thought, turning to head back to his room before pausing.

barry has never been in control. it’s a pathetic illusion, rafe decides. he won’t gain control either - another thing rafe decides. and barry needs to be made aware of that.

rafe steels himself, trying to keep his chin up as he walks back into his room. he’s not going to let barry play this little game - not in his house, not after that little shitshow of a display this afternoon.

barry has his back turned, looking at some of the paintings hung on rafe’s walls. rafe walks up as quietly as he can, but he knows the moment barry realizes he’s behind him. because barry’s body tenses just so, just enough for rafe to notice.

when barry turns, rafe swings.

barry catches rafe’s fist easily, and okay. maybe barry isn’t as unbalanced or uncoordinated as rafe had thought. in a split second, barry has a hand wrapped around rafe’s throat, squeezing tight enough that rafe wheezes.

walking them back towards rafe’s bed - forcibly, rafe would like to make that clear - barry’s face twists into a furious snarl.

rafe collapses onto the bed with a gasp when barry lets go of his neck, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.

“try that shit one more time,” barry warns, “and you ain’t gonna like what comes next.”

then, barry leaves rafe sprawled on the bed, massaging his throat, and makes a beeline for the first aid kit. rafe can hear him rummaging through it, grumbling to himself, before returning with a few assorted items.

when barry kneels down in front of him, right on his knees, rafe almost passes out again. he feels like he’s trapped in one of his nightmares, with some added sexual tension to spice things up a bit.

“gimme your arm,” barry orders, and rafe complies.

his throat is still aching, and he’s not particularly interested in barry making that worse, too. it’s already bad enough that barry is probably about to skin him alive - he doesn’t need any more choking involved. unless it’s the sexy kind.

but even then, rafe isn’t particularly interested. not when slaughtering barry in his room feels so incredibly tantalizing right now.

instead of skinning him alive, barry just smooths burn cream over the blistered mark on rafe’s arm. the way barry rubs it in is almost soothing; a smooth circling of his fingers, his touch almost featherlight.

when the burn cream sets, barry grabs some gauze from the pile next to him. he’s about to plaster it onto rafe’s arm when he pauses, staring at the burn like he’s been hypnotized.

“you sure are pretty when you all marked up,” barry says, breathless, like just the thought of marking rafe leaves him reeling.

rafe wishes, fleetingly, that barry would be interested in marking him in ways that wouldn’t leave him in agonizing pain afterward.

but wishes never really do come true, do they?

barry finally places the gauze on rafe’s arm, carefully, then wraps it up in a sticky bandage. he looks up at rafe when he’s finished, finally not staring at the burn like it’s something fucking holy.

“you’re not in control,” rafe tells him, his voice trembling. “you’re not. just because you did this doesn’t- ”

“you damn right i did this,” barry hisses, lurching upright so he can tower over rafe.

it’s the only time he can, really, what with rafe being a walking skyscraper and all.

“i gave the pain, i took it away,” barry continues. “ain’t that control, princess?”

“no,” rafe argues, shaking his head furiously. “no.”

“what would you call it then, if you so damn smart?”

rafe glares up at him, gritting his teeth. “i don’t fucking know, sadism? narcissism?”

barry snorts, then leans down and plants both hands on either side of rafe’s head, boxing him in. “then we one in the same, rafe cameron.”

this is the part where they should angrily kiss, rafe thinks. but barry doesn’t kiss him. he just straddles rafe’s hips, pinning him down before closing the distance and sinking his teeth into rafe’s bottom lip.

rafe arches up into it, trying to tangle his fingers in barry’s hair, but barry just swats his hands away. when he pulls back, he runs his thumb over the teeth indents now decorating rafe’s bottom lip.

“i hate you,” rafe pants, staring up at barry, his pupils blown wide. “i’m gonna kill you, barry. i’ll slit your throat while you’re asleep in your shit trailer and you can die in your own filth. and i’ll like it.”

barry moves in again, biting down on rafe’s jugular. this time, he draws blood. it’s staining his teeth when he pulls back.

“not if i kill you first,” barry says, softly, like it’s a sweet promise and not a harsh threat. “in my shit trailer, where you’ll be sleeping, because you gonna come running back, rafe cameron. and you can die in my filth, all marked up by me, so everyone will know who you belonged to when they put yo’ stupid ass in the ground. six feet deep.”

rafe wants to argue, but that’s part of the problem. he wants too much with barry. and he knows he’s right. rafe will come running back, someday, some way, somehow. he will.

when barry climbs off of him, rafe feels like he’s lost a limb. he keeps losing things to barry. and this whole thing between them, it’s a death sentence. at least for one of them.

rafe shouldn’t feel emptied out, hollow and lifeless, when barry pushes open the window he’d come through and crawls back onto the roof.

barry turns back, just for a moment, to flash scarlet-stained teeth at rafe before speaking.

“see you soon, country club.”

#rafebarry #outer banks #is this angst? no! is it fluff? no! is it hurt comfort? no!#i don’t know what this is but it sure is Something!#maybe it is angst idk #all i know is it’s not happy and that’s what counts 😌#hope u enjoy beloved mwah #my fics #ask #astrid tag

85 notes · View notes

ivyaugustetc · 3 years

Text

the dead poets at hogwarts: a headcanon from hell

@aedan-mills @charlie-dalton-simp @pretentious-strikes YOU ENCOURAGED THIS BEHAVIOR SO YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. also i love you a lot but THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT.

also @aedan-mills i found out that some of the wand stuff is related to their birthdays and i am much too lazy to look all that up and figure it all out, but anyone else is welcome to lmao. sorry to disappoint but alas it's summer and i don't want to research that much. but other than that, please listen to me flex my extensive knowledge on harry potter :)

neil (half blood): i'm sorry,,,, can you say gryffindor? this boy would get up there and in a second the sorting hat would have him all figured out: big dreams with the will to pursue them, but not ambitious enough to step over others to achieve said dreams? sounds like a gryffindor to me. i just know he'd thrive at hogwarts, probably going on to play quidditch (def a chaser) and would excel in charms class. as far as pets go, i feel like he'd stay simple and classy with a chill barn owl he'd name after a famous broadway actor. he would kind of be a mix of james and remus, in which he's wild and crazy but still manages to get good grades. the teachers love him simply because they don't know much about him outside of class. he would absolutely LOVE going to hogsmeade and going batshit crazy at zonko's and honeydukes. he'd have a whole phase where he gets addicted to licorice wands and everyone else thinks they're disgusting but he simply cannot buy enough of them. he'd play a bunch of zonko tricks on the rest of the poets, saving the most harsh for charlie and the most wholesome for todd <3

todd (muggle born): ugh see i can see him being both a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw, but my heart says hufflepuff so i'm gonna go with that. he would absolutely HATE the sorting ceremony with a burning passion. getting up in front of everybody only to have a hat judge u??? no thanks. HAHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM ON A BROOM. i can't either because he would simply never get on one, probably referring to them as "flying death traps" more often than not. "hey todd, you think about joining quidditch?" "no thanks, i'd rather keep my limbs intact ;)". but he would love muggle studies a lot, even if the teacher was boring as hell. snape would scare the hell out of him for sure, resulting in his lowest class being potions. he would excel in classes that are more learning out of the book rather than in practice. for a pet, he'd want something that could not possibly turn on him and would just be sweet and loving, so ima give him a toad :) he'd name it something fancy and british, like nigel or sumn. and because of nigel, he'd love chocolate frogs because hey they're twins!!

fanon knox (pure blood): hogwarts fuck boy. okay well maybe not f boy but like...his favorite part is the fact that this is a co-ed school rather than an all-boys school so he can spy on both genders equally yknow. hmm i get hufflepuff vibes from him because he's a big romantic, sucker for cute relationships, etc. he would enjoy whichever class his current crush is in, although I feel like he'd do well with classes that involved spells and wand work mostly lmao. he'd want a really fucking cute pet, so i'd give him a kneazle (it's like a cat but a bit more lion like). he'd give it a strong sounding name, something german idk. but he'd love the shit out of that kneazle, i can tell you that much. i feel like he'd try out for quidditch his first few years, not make it on, and then make it on to the team around fourth year and somehow end up team captain in seventh (and that proves kids, that you too can have a redemption arc in sports). as far as candy goes, ima say he likes the super sour candy like acid pops n shit. like i feel like the others would dare him to each as much sour candy as he can and then he wouldn't be able to taste for a week. but he'd think it was worth it :)

cameron (muggle born): good god this boy just wants to learn. magic just fascinates him, what with growing up in a big muggle family (bestie he is the weasleys if they were all type a). he's a ravenclaw, no questions asked. he would love classes involving preciseness and attention, things like potions and transfiguration. i feel like he'd have a cute, stable relationship along the way ofc because he deserves so much love and happiness and UGH he's a baby. he'd stick with a lil ginger cat, naming it after one of the famous wizards he's read about. he would love spending christmas at the school and going places when the ground are nearly empty, enjoying the scenery. for candy, he'd go plain and simple with chocolate frogs. can't go wrong with those. he'd still have fun with his friends, but he'd skip a lot of parties for some studying (don't judge, i do it too lmao). would not play quidditch but would enjoy it, end of story.

charlie (pure blood): slytherin. don't dispute it. think the weasley twins but even more flirtatious. he would be a regular at every single party that happened, flirting with the guys and gals shamelessly and drinking butterbeer like it was water. look me in the eye and tell me he would not absolutely fucking HATE GILDEROY LOCKHART WITH EVER FIBER OF HIS BEING. he'd do spot-on impersonations of him though. teacher's worst enemy. like when he walks into class on the first day, every teacher collectively mutters "bloody hell not this kid again". asks the most incredibly stupid questions ("okay but is there a spell to turn my eyebrows green? just the eyebrows though, not my hair"). he would be the most aggressive beater on the slytherin team, though he would never deliberately try to hit someone, just distract the shit out of them ("put the fear of god in them and fate will do the rest"). he'd want a loud, aggressive pet but he'd probably end up with a mean cat that hisses at everyone. he'd give it the most adorable name that just. does not fit the personality. something like priscilla. for candy, he'd take his chance with bertie botts' every flavour beans and just roll with the punches. he's chaotic like that.

pitts (half blood): ASTRONOMY IS HIS JAM. he fucking loves that class. he tutors the entire ravenclaw house in that class. he's the guy that little first years who are terrified of the class go to when they're completely lost and don't understand what's going on. besides that, i feel like he'd just be everyone's cool older brother yknow? like he'd be in charge of helping all the first years figure out where stuff is and giving them advice to help them and stuff. he would be a die-hard quidditch fan although he would not play the sport (maybe recreationally on the weekends and holidays and stuff, but the fact that it's so fucking dangerous just does not appeal to him). he'd like the candy that does tricks and stuff, like fizzing whizbees and stuff. he gives me charlie weasley vibes, where he's hardcore in certain areas (in his case, astronomy) and just flipping chill in anything else. cool older brother vibes, man. it fits.

meeks (half blood): i've said it once and i'll say it again: nonproblematic ginger dumbledore. also a hufflepuff <3 this dude just wants to fucking coast along, getting good grades and not participating in the dumb shit that could probably get him killed (even though he would in a heartbeat if his friends were in danger. duh). he'd be a teacher's favorite, probably having conversations with his favorite teachers during free time. okay ik this isn't technically at school, but i swear to god he would be dumbledore one day. like he would be the chill ass headmaster who gets shit done while also being very la di da life is nice flowers are pretty type of person. that being said, his favorite candy is and has been lemon drops ever since dumbledore got him addicted to them. his favorite classes would be potions (he'd surprisingly get along well with snape) and he'd just be great and mixing shit right and just knowing how much of stuff to add in ("how much powdered root do i add?" "about three and a half shakes." "that's not a measurement, meeks." "*shrug* it works"). he'd stick with his small friend group and love them to death, but he'd be a friend to all really. he'll help anyone that comes to him asking for help with homework (and though he won't admit it, he gets super prideful when it's someone a few years ahead of him).

stick (muggle born): harry potter if harry potter could've been more harry potter. like he would just be a part of everything and end up being part of some prophecy that demands he'd save the world and at first he'd be like HEY i'm just a small boy but then he'd grit his teeth and finesse the shit out of this preventing the end of days stuff. he'd definitely be a gryffindor, and fucking proud of it. he'd be the seeker on the quidditch team because he is so short and small and yeah he'd fucking kill it there. he'd kind of be the shy one no one expected much from, but once he starts absolutely wrecking the shit out of the other houses' quidditch teams, he'd become sorta popular? like people would invite him to parties and stuff and he's too nice to say no, but he'd mostly just hang around the outskirts, saying hi to the other poets if he saw them and mostly talking to chris and ginny (danburry, not weasley). he'd like defense against the dark arts and minerva mcgongiall would become his literal mother i can't explain it. he'd have an owl as a pet and treat it like it was his own child, telling it thank you every time it brought his mail or took his mail. as for candy, he'd like drooble's bubble gum because the bubbles are all magic and shit and i just feel like that would make him so happy <3

chris (pure blood): the older sister lesbian <3 she'd be a sweet hufflepuff who would be friends with everyone while also being the greatest socialite the school has ever seen. you know that party that practically the entire school attended and talked about for months on end? she planned that shit. she'd be like pitts in the respect that she'd help all the first years find their way in the school and in life in general. she's just such a warm and kind person that everyone would love her. she's have a little pink pygmy puff to match ginny's purple one, and she'd give it such a perfect, human name like lila or something. she'd be great at muggle studies and all the teachers would love her. also every one is so invested in her relationship with ginny it's adorable. he favorite candy is acid pops even though they make her eyes water like crazy. she'd make pretty good grades, every once in a while getting one slightly lower than she'd expected, but she always manages to bring them up to her satisfactory level :) she would not play quidditch, but she would go all out to support ginny, even though they're in different houses. that's what i call love, baby.

ginny (half blood): the mom lesbian <3 she's a ravenclaw and also one of the sweetest people in the whole school. while chris helps other with the social aspect, ginny will help anyone in any subject they need help with (she and meeks are a help duo on this). she's quieter and less social than chris, but she's one of the best chasers the ravenclaw quidditch team has ever seen. she'd end up team captain by fifth of sixth year. she'd be like oliver wood in that she is sO invested in the team's success that at sometimes she'll go a bit crazy, but chris is always there to help her put things back into perspective <3. she'd make stellar grades of course, being good friends with all of her teachers. her favorite candy would be the sweetest things like fairy floss. as previously stated, she'd have a purple pygmy puff to match chris's pink one, and she'd also give it an adorable human name like lisa or something. ginny's just sweet to everyone, especially neil and his friends.

I DID IT. IT TOOK FOREVER AND A FEW HAIL MARYS BUT I DID IT. enjoy besties <3 love u all

#dead poets society #dead poets society headcannons #todd anderson #neil perry #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #nuwanda #knox overstreet #steven meeks #stephen meeks #richard cameron #james stuchelli #ginny danburry #chris noel

138 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #justice league

119 notes · View notes

incomprehensiblelentils · 3 years

Text

@loved-the-stars-too-fondly tagged me in a ship meme! I will try to make this interesting lol.

1. First ship

It’s a tie between Aladdin/Jasmine and Simba/Nala, because I saw both of these movies about the same time as a little kid. And my sixth birthday cake had a picture of Aladdin and Jasmine on it, and I used to tell stories about them to myself on the playground, but I had plushies of baby Simba and Nala with magnetic noses that could “kiss.”

2. First OTP

I am taking this to mean “first fic you felt strongly enough about to produce content for or engage with in a creative/fandom way,” in which case that would be Michael/Mia from The Princess Diaries. I wrote one (1) bad fanfic when I was 13 (about how Michael proposed and then Grandmere threw a fit BUT then he saved her life while they were horseback riding) that’s still on ff dot net somewhere, and I read basically every fanfic for them that was available on ff dot net. I still have an enormous soft spot for them and I reread the books every few years.

3. Current favorite ship

Since I’m on a Dimension 20 kick right now, even though I haven’t read much fanfic yet I’m going to say both Fig/Ayda from Fantasy High and Ricky/Esther/Sofia from The Unsleeping City. Fig/Ayda is incredibly cute because Fig is a tiefling with shapechanging ability who had a string of questionable romantic encounters with much older men before meeting Ayda, the teenage curator of a magic library who is also an autistic Black phoenix. Fig is very impulsive and brash, but also emotionally closed-off and insecure, but she starts bonding with Ayda because Ayda thinks she’s really cool and admires her bravado. Fig doesn’t know what to do with someone who’s so intimidating but cool who seems to really like her, and, well, you can watch this scene where they get together, it’s very good. It contains Fig vomiting into a bush, then saying “I think you’re perfect the way you are,” then skateboarding away in a panic. It’s maybe the most accurate sapphic rep I’ve ever seen.

Ricky/Esther are just two incredibly nice people who get together in The Unsleeping City, but I think that they should also get together with their friend Sofia because of reasons. I genuinely think the canon supports this reading quite a bit.

4. Your ship since the first minute

I have a fun story for this, which is that literally since day 1 of Korra, I wanted her to have a girlfriend (post date: 12/7/11), and the second Asami showed up I was like eyes emoji. And then I dropped off the show after the first season for a few reasons, kind of assuming they would never do an f/f couple and casually shipping Korrasami sort of out of spite, but THEN my friend messaged me immediately after the finale like DUDE YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED. And that was honestly one of the emotional high points of my fandom life.

5. Ship(s) you wish had been endgame

I have...many! Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13 is paramount, obviously, because that is a wound in my soul from which I will never recover. Cartinelli from Agent Carter slightly less so, but I think that was truly the last time that I had real hope for a canon f/f ship. I think Matt/Foggy/Karen should have all been romantic together because Matt/Karen by themselves has weird vibes and I don’t like it. Obviously I think Fitz should have died in the series finale and Skimmons should have been canon, and as far as I’m concerned he died of a brain tumor after that and then they got together. (Daniel is also involved still, he’s a chill dude and I like him and it’s fine.)

6. Ship you wish was canon

Grace/Dani from Terminator: Dark Fate, because wow did they shoehorn in an incredibly hilarious attempt at mommyzoning Dani (didn’t work, it’s still gay fuckos). But it would’ve been nice if they’d just leaned into it and let the horny lesbian ghost that possessed the screenwriters make it explicitly gay. Also I think Cameron/Donna and Gordon/Joe from Halt and Catch Fire should have been canon because that show is already basically about the world’s messiest polycule anyway, and Joe is canon bi and already treats Gordon like a booty call, and Cameron and Donna act like either romantic partners or bitter/awkward exes, so like. c’mon. Also I think Daisy/Robbie should have been a thing.

7. Ship that most of the fandom hates but you love

Natasha/Bruce is cute COME AT ME. Age of Ultron is a bad movie but they could have been cute!!!!

8. You don’t even watch the show, but you ship it

Uhhhh. Most things I end up secondhand shipping I end up consuming the canon for eventually lol. I was secondhand shipping Cameron/Donna from Halt and Catch Fire last year because my friend was watching it but then I just...also watched it lol. Uhhhh. The Killing Eve lesbians seem fun I guess? I’ll get to that eventually.

9. Ship you wish had a different storyline

I’m digging deep for this one, but Buffy/Faith from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I think they had SUCH a cool dynamic that kind of stopped getting explored after season 4, and it’s a bummer. I don’t think they’re like, endgame or true love or anything, but I think they’re sort of the messy pair that can’t completely disentangle from each other, and maybe they don’t even really want to? I think that they couldn’t live in the same house or anything but that they meet up and hang out and probably fuck every couple years, and it’s good.

10. Favorite ship(s) that’s endgame

GAMBIT/ROGUE GOT MARRIED IN THE COMICS. I’M SO PSYCHED. I don’t know if Karolina/Nico from Runaways counts as endgame but I love them, and I also love Gert/Chase. I’m rewatching Nikita and am delighted to know that Michael/Nikita is still very good. Priya/Tony from Dollhouse is also very good. Daisy/Daniel was honestly the best outcome SHIELD could have realistically given me and I was quite happy with it. I don’t know if Magnus Archives ships count but I really like Georgie/Melanie (we stan sapphic accidental apocalypse cult leaders). Oh and I like all the canon Avatar: The Last Airbender ships too.

EDIT: I FORGOT MY BELOVED ARAGORN/ARWEN AND WILL/ELIZABETH (PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN).

I’m tagging @swiftzeldas @toriasimmons @dollsome-does-tumblr @theomenroom @zenithofdork if you wanna!

10 notes · View notes

eberles · 4 years

Text

i hate u, i love u

Rafe Cameron

(gif by @toesure :)

Request: A Rafe fic based on the song “I hate u, I love you” by gnash (ft Olivia O’Brien) PLEASE MAJOR RAFE VIBES 🥺💖 @fav-imagines

A/N: I wanted to cry writing this lol idk why but it hit me right in the feels!! it’s kind of all over the place, if anyone is confused by, don’t worry bc i am too!!!! lol anyways enjoy!! (this is probably the first thing ive ever written that goes with rafe’s character) bold = lyrics, italics = flashbacks

Warnings: angst, mentions of drugs, cheating, lying, toxic relationship, swearing

feelin used, but im still missin you and i cant see the end of it just wanna feel your kiss against my lips and now all this time is passing by, but i still cant seem to tell you why it hurts me every time i see you, realize how much i need you

I’ve spent months sitting in my room staring at the ceiling, and at the walls. I did a full Bella Swan from New Moon and let 3 months go by without being present for any of them. I didn’t care honestly...Even after spending all that time alone, i’m not still not healed from the heartache that was caused by him. I still miss him, his scent, his kisses, his clothes, everything. Rafe.

I went out once and he was the last person I wanted or planned to see, but of course, he was the only person I actually saw. Sure, there were other people around, but none of them mattered. Everyone else felt greyed out except for him. He was the only light I could see in those short moments. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, my breath hitched in my throat and it felt like there was no air left to breathe.

After months it still hurts to see him again. It hurts because I realized I still need him even after everything. I hate him. So why do I love him? The feeling of him being the only one I want, the one nobody could ever replace...it’s overwhelming and I can’t seem to shake it. But me? He replaced. It looked like it was easy from my point of view. He needed her, wanted her, and i’m not her.

i miss you when i can’t sleep or right after coffee or right when i can’t eat, i miss you in my front seat, still got sand in my sweaters from nights we don’t remember. do you miss me like i miss you? fucked around and got attached to you.

My head was consumed on thoughts of you. It was constant. Like the leaky faucet in the bathroom or the loose floorboard. Always running, always broken. I miss you. Maybe you’ll come around, but for now...I wish you were here instead. When it’s late and I can’t sleep, I think about you. When it’s early and I can’t eat, I think about you.

“Where are we going?” you giggled excitedly, grabbing my hand from across the console in my truck.

“Shh, I told you it’s a surprise baby, we’re almost there anyways.” I laughed at her giggling like a kid, she had so much excitement in her eyes. She was always ready for anything, even if it was 2 in the morning and I love that about her. I love everything about her.

“Ugh fine!” she groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes in a full circle looking up at the ceiling. “Why are we at the beach?” you didn’t even give me enough time to answer before jumping out of the truck and running towards the sand laughing the entire way to the water. Once I caught up with you, I grabbed your hands and pulled you close into my chest, kissing your forehead. When we broke apart I laid down a few blankets on the sand, noticing you were cold, I also gave you my sweater.

We stared at the stars and talked about anything and everything for hours. It felt magical. We stayed until the sun came up, watching the sunset before driving back to my house for some much needed rest.

Walking over to my closet, curious to know if that same sweater ended up back in my closet after that night. I reached in, digging around not finding anything and decided to look in my dresser instead. Of course, it was folded neatly in the drawer you used to call yours. Grabbing and shaking it out I noticed the light pieces of sand that fell from it. I brought it in to my nose wondering if it still smelt like your perfume. It did. I’m always tired lately, but never of you. Do you miss me too?

if i pulled a you on you, you wouldn’t like that shit, i put this reel out, but you wouldn’t bite that shit. i type a text then i never mind that shit, i got these feelings, but you never mind that shit. you’re still in love with me but your friends don’t know.

To Y/N: i wanna talk, i think...maybe i miss y-

*delete*

To Rafe: I miss you so much, it hurt someti-

*delete*

“Y/N...what’s going on? You’re off in never never land! Do you still miss him?” Kiara asked, gently shaking my knee to gain my attention back to the group. I looked at her and around at the rest of the pogues and put a smile on my face, shaking my head.

“Of course not, it’s been months! I’m so over him, guys. Besides even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.” I tried so hard to sound confident. I hope they bought it. Of fucking course, I miss Rafe. I’m still in love with him for gods sake. I hate that I want him.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Sure, i’ve moved on, but I think about y/n, just about everyday. I guess for me, moving on is finding someone new, but not actually wanting anyone new. I just couldn’t bare to be alone anymore with my thoughts. I deserve better than that, personally.

“Anyways Topper, if y/n wanted me still, she would say so right?” I looked at Topper, silently hoping he would lie to me, just tell me what I want to hear, man. “If I were her, I would’ve never let me go. She’s missing out.”

“Hell yea, dude! That’s the right attitude.” Topper said, jumping up to high five me. Of course, that was the statement he was on board with. I hate that I want you.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

I haven’t been to a party in months, Kiara and Sarah thought that this would be the most fitting post-break up activity for me. Maybe meet a new guy or something. I tuned out when they were telling me about it and just agreed. What I neglected to listen to, was that it was a kook party. So now, i’m at a party alone, since my friends ditched me to dance with each other. And on top of that, I watch him watch her, like she’s the only girl he’s ever seen.

It took less than an hour of being at this party for us to end up in a room alone together.

“You don’t care! You never did!” Rafe shouted, running his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated with this conversation. I don’t even know how it started. One minute I was watching him with another girl, and the next he was hauling me off, away from everyone.

“You don’t give a damn about me, Rafe! How is it you never notice that you’re slowly killing me?” you wanted to yell back at him, to scream at him for putting you through this again, but you couldn’t. He didn’t say anything in return so you continued, “I hate you, and I hate that I love you, Rafe.” I’ve tried to move on, but even the simple thought of dating anyone but him, makes me physically ill. Why does it have to be like this?

“I don’t mean no harm, I just miss you on my arm, babe. Do you ever wonder what we could’ve been y/n?” He’s taunting me by asking dumb questions, as if I wanted this to happen, as if i’m the cause of all of this. Rafe’s the one that was closed off, not me. Of course, he switches the stories and i’m sure everyone at this damn party thinks I left him heart broken.

“You have a girlfriend, why are you even asking me that?” I was starting to get angry, I felt like he was toying with me.

He’s laughing. Of fucking course, he’s laughing at me. This is all one big fucking joke to him. “Lie to me, lie with me, get your fucking fix. Isn’t that what you always told your friends Rafe?” I was furious, how could he act that way after everything? He’s still a child though, that will never change.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

You were right. I did lie to you, multiple times. About where I was, who I was with, what I was doing. I didn’t want you to know I was such a fuck up. You didn’t deserve the pain of finding out I was lying and cheating and drugging. You did anyways though. Now all my drinks and all my feelings are all fucking mixed.

“Rafe! Come dance with me!” I downed the rest of my drink before throwing the glass down and walking away from the new girl I was seeing. I didn’t care anymore.

I don’t want you, Y/N. I shouldn’t fucking miss you. I don’t deserve to! Seeing you again is such bullshit. If you wouldn’t have shown up here, I wouldn’t have said those things to you. Sometimes you gotta burn some bridges, just to create some distance. You didn’t deserve that, I knew it, but at least now you might learn your lesson and stay away. It’s for the best, right?

I hate that I love her, but I can’t put nobody else above her.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

I wasn’t sure if I had the closure I needed, but after that particular conversation with Rafe I felt a little better. I returned to the party with my head held high and danced with my friends. I hoped he was watching me too since i’m not sure what he was trying to do by joking around at my expense. But maybe if he thinks it didn’t bother me he will know how it fucking feels.

I learned from my dad that it’s good to have feelings when love and trust is gone. I guess this is moving on. I hate you, I love you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #outer banks imagine

231 notes · View notes

thatbloodymuggle · 4 years

Text

the one with the kegger gone wrong

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 5/?

masterlist

word count: 2.9k

warnings: panic attack, major mentions of death, really heavy shit BE WARNED

read it on wattpad

playlist

"So we didn't see anything, we don't know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia," Pope panicked.

The Pogues were strewn about John B's porch after witnessing the discovery of Scooter Grubb's body, the owner of the boat.

Pope sat on the couch in between Kie and Rosie. Rosie, who had her arms wrapped around her knees, nodded in agreement. While their adventure was exhilarating, she absolutely was not about to get caught.

"Actually, Pope's right for once," JJ interjected.

"For once?" Rosie scoffed under her breath

"See I agree with you sometimes," he strode across the porch, "Deny, deny, deny."

"Guys, we can't keep that money," Kie scolded him.

JJ was quick to bite back, "Not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara."

"We have to pass that off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise it's bad karma," she argued.

Rosie furrowed her brows in contemplation. On one hand, she didn't want to be found with the money. But on the other hand, how would anyone ever know? There was so much money in that safe; and the cops had taken some for themselves, anyways.

"Wait, guys, just think about it," John B pulled Rosie from her thoughts, "this is Scooter Grubbs we're talking about. Same dude that's buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas," his friends leaned in closer as they listened, "we're talkin' about a dirtbag marina rat who's never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket and all of a sudden he's got a Grady-White?"

The teenagers sat in silence for a moment. John B was right, it really didn't make sense. Rosie, JJ, and Kie nodded along to his words, but Pope still wasn't convinced. John B sighed, before starting again.

"Think about it, Pope. How does a marina rat get a Grady-White?"

"Prostitution," Pope deadpanned.

"Square groupers, bro," John B ignored his sarcasm. "Flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance, they don't do that stuff during a hurricane!" John B threw his arms up. "What does that mean?"

JJ cut in, "They were straight smugglin'"

"Smugglin'."

Rosie and Kie sat up in their seats as the conversation got more and more interesting. They remained quiet, but listened intently.

Pope sighed, "If that is a smuggling ship with illegal contraband inside of it, it probably belongs to someone else and they could come looking for it. So taking it would be catastrophically stupid."

JJ reached forward and snatched the wad of cash Pope had been holding, "Right. Well, stupid things have good outcomes all the time," he flashed the money.

Rosie snorted, but didn't argue.

"All we need to do is figure out a way to get into the cargo hold of that wreck. Until then we just lay low, act normal," JJ finished.

For once, Rosie agreed.

"Right," Pope spoke with skepticism, "And how exactly do we do that?"

Rosie and Kie shared a look before speaking at the same time.

"Kegger?"

And just like that, Rosie found herself hauling a large metal keg, red Solo cups, and a tap onto the Boneyard as the sun set. The teenagers made quick work of setting it up, and soon enough they found themselves filling their plastic cups to the rim with alcohol. Rosie laughed as she sprayed beer into John B's mouth, soaking his shirt in the process.

It didn't take long for other people to show. First Pogues, then Tourons who likely heard the commotion and decided to check it out. Finally, in wandered the Kooks. Rosie hated the idea of a 'class war'. It sounded so French Revolution. But she had to admit, she absolutely despised the Kooks. Growing up in a nice, sheltered home for the first few years of her life, she didn't realize the full extent of how awful they were until she'd switched schools.

Rosie leered behind John B and JJ while they poured beer for a group of boys with styled hair and polos. She sipped her beer and stared the Kooks down. For hating us, she thought, they sure like our beer.

Buzzed and bored of standing around the keg, Kie and Rosie wandered off to find their prey for the night. Kie nudged her friend and nodded to their right where two unfamiliar, attractive boys sat. Rosie gave her a knowing grin. The two girls sauntered towards the tourists, exuding confidence.

"Hello, boys," Rosie sang as she and Kie sat down on either side of them. Rosie next to a bulky brunette, and Kie next to a lankier blond.

The boy beside Rosie turned to face her with a sly grin.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted back.

Rosie glanced down at the red cup in his hand, which was nearly empty. She let out an exaggerated gasp, "Oh no! You're almost empty. Here," she poured some of the beer from her cup into his.

"Cheers," he held up his plastic cup. She clinked hers against his with an alluring smile and looped her arm through his. The smirk on his face grew as they both took a sip of beer, arms intertwined.

"Pretty name for a pretty face?" the dark-haired boy turned to face her, forgetting about the friend he'd shown up with.

Rosie inwardly scoffed at the cheesy line, but played along, "Rosie," she subtly fluttered her eyelashes and leaned closer.

He went on to introduce himself, but his name went in one ear and out the other. They continued to make small talk, occasionally flirting in-between. The sky grew darker, and Rosie found herself becoming bored of his rather mundane personality. He might've been attractive, but it seemed all he could talk about was his blossoming football career. Rosie's eyes wandered across the beach. She spotted John B, who had clearly had too much to drink. Her gaze shifted to JJ who was already staring at her with an unreadable expression. She frowned at him and held his stare for a moment until he turned away.

"Rosie?"

Rosie whipped back around to face the tourist boy, "Hmm?"

She had clearly missed his question.

He started to speak again, but Rosie's attention was pulled back to JJ and John B as she heard shouting coming from their direction.

"Dirty Pogues!"

Rosie didn't think twice about the confused boy sitting beside her. She shot up and ran over to her friends who were fighting with Topper and his goons. Rosie arrived just as John B shoved Topper backwards, full force. She watched as Pope tried to pull him back from the fight, but to no avail. Before Rosie could make a move Topper punched John B, knocking him down into the sand. A crowd formed around the scene.

"John B, no!" Rosie dashed forward in an attempt to break up the fight, but someone held her back. She looked up to find JJ, but he was focused on the scene before him. The blond had pushed her slightly behind him to keep her from intervening.

"JJ let me go, we need to stop them!" she struggled in his grip, but he wouldn't let up.

"If you go out there you're gonna get clocked. You gotta let them fight it out," he argued, before cheering on his friend. "Come on, man! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

Rosie knew he was right. She watched in horror as John B went from having the upper hand to being slammed against the ground. Topper ran over to the knocked down boy and held his face down into the water. He was drowning him.

"JJ," she hit him his side frantically. "JJ! We have to do something, he's gonna kill-"

The blond was running towards the scene before she could finish her sentence. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him pull out the gun from earlier and hold it against Topper's head. The crowd went silent.

"JJ, no," Rosie spoke in a level tone while striding forwards. "JJ, put the gun down," she urged him just a few feet away. Sarah Cameron was freaking out and screaming at the blond Pogue, and Rosie couldn't blame her.

JJ released the Kook and threw him in the water.

Rosie's shoulders slumped in relief, only to tense up again as JJ began screaming at everyone on the beach.

"All right everyone listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" he shot the gun twice.

Anger overtook Rosie. She ran forward and tried to wrestle the gun out of JJ's grip. She could distantly hear her friends yelling at them, but she tuned them out.

"JJ give me the fucking gun," she seethed, pure rage taking over. He held the gun to his chest, pulling her closer.

Rosie stared into his crazed eyes, "Why don't you stop trying to be my savior and fuck off!" He shoved her full force, sending her tumbling in the sand. She watched him storm away, but the initial shock wore off and her anger returned.

Seeing red, she pulled herself out of the sand and sprinted towards him despite Pope and Kie's protests. She yanked his arm back and he whipped around to face her. Both their eyes wore matching fury.

"Let go of me," JJ seethed, shaking her off. He continued to storm forwards, but Rosie stopped him again.

"You're off the fucking rails, you psycho, I'm not letting you walk out of here with a gun," she bit back.

He turned around again, but this time walked straight at her, causing Rosie to stumble backwards. The anger in her eyes dissipated at his words.

"Just because you lost your mom doesn't mean you have to act like mine. You can't save everyone. Stop fucking trying."

JJ stomped away while Rosie stood unmoving. Her vision began to blur, and her ears started ringing. It felt like she was underwater and couldn't come back up. The girl stood there motionless, until she wasn't. She began walking blindly off the beach.

"Rosie!"

It sounded like white noise.

She walked forward