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abiiors · 2 months

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on the road // george daniel x oc

valentine's week - day 5: lovers' quarrel

a/n: this is a bit shit but i wanted to resurrect george and cleo and give them a valentine's day because i miss them. also because i need motivation to finish the series cw: nothing much, just a bit of crying wc: 3k

if someone had told cleo a year ago that she’d be spending valentine's day with george daniel, with her boyfriend george daniel, she would have cackled until her stomach hurt. she would have called them insane for even thinking such a thing and moved on with her life.

but the night before the big day, cleo sighs into her pillow and turns to glare at her empty bed, and by extension her empty apartment.

turns out she actually isn’t spending valentines day with her boyfriend—not in the way she wants to, at least.

she picks at a hangnail and hmms noncommittal to whatever matty’s just said on the phone.

“are you listening to me?” matty asks, and she can practically imagine him snapping his fingers at her. “i said george is picking you up tomorrow. 8 am.”

cleo gapes and sits up in her bed. “no he’s not!”

there’s a silence on the other end of the line, some static. “uhhh… yes he is,” matty says, confusion clear in his voice. “i just confirmed that with him.”

“no, i meant… he doesn’t have to. i’ll take the train.” she chews on the pad of her thumb, waiting to see how matty would react to this. predictably, there’s some shuffle on the line. then the background noise dims before matty speaks again.

“cleo,” he begins, exasperation clear in his voice. “have you fought again?”

her first instinct is to be defensive. what does he mean again?! it’s not like they fight a lot! sure they bicker maybe, sure they bicker a bit more than a regular couple whatever that means but they don’t fight. well…

apart from a few days ago. and she’s still dealing with the fallout from that.

“you did, didn’t you?” matty sighs. “no wonder george was so short with me.”

“it’s just a spat,” cleo mumbles and massages her temples. “‘s fine, matty. i’ll take a train tomorrow. he doesn’t need to go out of his way.”

she expects him to argue back, to insist that george should pick her up as planned. instead he just hums.

“sure,” matty drawls. “if you’ve got 160 quid to throw away, be my guest.”

cleo almost chokes on air then, her eyes wide as saucers. “fuck off!”

but matty only laughs at her. “it’s either that or a road trip with george. you pick.”

and then the little shit hangs up, leaving her to fume in silence.

cleo curses at her empty room, at the any and every train operator she can think of. she even plops herself back on the bed to dramatically check for train tickets only to discover that matty absolutely wasn’t lying. once the annoyance drains away, though, her eyes sting with unshed tears. her throat feels tight.

she really misses george, so much so that she doesn’t even want to sleep in the empty bed anymore. but she settles for hugging the other pillow tightly and closing her eyes.

cleo promises herself that she’ll talk it out with him tomorrow. she has to. there’s no way she’s going to be stuck with him in a car for six hours while they both fume silently in their respective seats and not talk for the entire duration of it.

george is there 8 am just like matty said. cleo looks at him through the window of her apartment, curtains half drawn so she could sneakily ogle at him and gauge his mood. to her annoyance, his face is absolutely blank.

not that that’s the first thing she sees of course.

he’s in a plain white t-shirt that fits him perfectly—it’s just the right amount of loose on him, the sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and the sun reflects on his stupidly gorgeous hair making them shine. to cleo’s utter annoyance, he looks fucking hot. just like he always has.

on top of that, he’s leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling between his lips so carelessly, every time he holds it between his fingers, the rings on his hand glint and her mind flashes with all the times she’s spent obsessed over those fingers, all the times they’ve made her feel maddeningly amazing. over and over again.

he takes his phone out to type something and two seconds later her phone buzzes.

something warm spreads through her chest—sure, they’re mad at each other but at least he’s texting her. at least, there’s some form of communication.

she runs to look at her phone and it’s like a bucket of cold water’s just doused the warmth in her chest. it’s not a text from george, it’s a text from matty – he’s waiting downstairs. where are you?

then a moment later – pls don’t make me your messenger pigeon

she stomps like a child and staches the phone in her back pocket. then, just to be annoying, she takes extra two minutes to perfectly apply her lipgloss—let him wait. she’s not in the mood to be nice to him anymore. no matter how good he looks.

by the time cleo gets to the car, it’s already ten past eight. his eyes widen just a smidge when he sees but he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression and flicks the cigarette butt away. then he stomps on it a couple times and turns, about to go to the driver-side door, leaving cleo to gape at the back of his head.

he’s never, never let her open the door even once since they got together. not even a single time. but this time he simply slides into his seat and taps impatiently on the steering wheel without saying a word.

cleo yanks the car door open and slams it shut once she’s inside, she even clicks her seatbelt in place with a scoff and then resolutely turns to the window, turning her face away from him as much as possible.

by the time they’re out of her neighbourhood and onto the freeway, she can feel his burning stare at the back of her head, so much so that she can’t help but turn around slightly and take a peak at him from the corner of her eye. a muscle feathers in his jaw when someone honks at them and george mutters a low curse under his breath.

it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak today, and even this isn’t directed at her. the realisation makes her throat feel tight but she refuses to cry any more about the fight than she already has. and so cleo stares straight ahead, vowing not to be the first one to break the silence.

“coffee?”

cleo startles when george speaks out of nowhere. they haven’t been driving for that long, only about an hour judging by the time blinking on the car’s radio but the tension in the vehicle is thick enough to cut with a knife.

he looks at her briefly and then points to a costa on the side of the road. cleo nods and waits for him to park the car.

“i’ll get it for you,” he mumbles just as she’s about the exit the car and flees before she can make a single noise of protest.

cleo just sits there, absolutely stunned.

is this what it’s going to be like for the next six hours? tense silences and george running out on her whenever he has the chance to? bitterly, she thinks about how he can’t even stomach spending any more time with her than absolutely necessary. sighing, cleo closes her eyes and gathers her knees to her chest.

“i just… i don’t get you!” george almost yells, exasperation coating every syllable. they’ve been at it for thirty minutes now. ever since since they got back to her apartment from fucking ikea of all places.

every since george mentioned “their” home and cleo shut down on him.

“what’s not to get?” cleo yells back. she can’t even bring herself to stand up and fight, she just sits in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket on her lap almost like a shield. her hair’s a mess from running her hands through it so many times but her scrunchie is around george’s wrist and the middle of a fight is not the time to ask for it.

“cleo…” he tiredly rubs his face and her heart cracks just a little. “we’ve been together for four months. it’s been amazing. hasn’t it been amazing for you?”

she just nods, not trusting her voice enough to speak.

“an we’ve lived together before!” his voice cracks.

“that was different! we were roommates. not– not—”

“oh you can’t even say it now?”

he completely stops pacing then and stares at her intently. cleo tries not to curl into herself under the sudden attention, she tries not to let the anxious ball in her stomach get the best of her. she tries not to be such a bad girlfriend.

but one look at george and she knows she’s doing a pretty shit job of it. her heart breaks at how upset he looks but cleo can’t bring herself to say the words he really wants to hear.

“so it’s a no then,” he sighs, “you don’t want us moving in together.”

the weight of his hope settles on her chest, almost suffocating her and george’s shoulders slump.

“okay,” he says quietly and picks up his car keys.

cleo doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut softly or when his car comes to life and drives away. she just fidgets with the blanket and wallows in self pity. she could have said yes so easily.

but cleo’s scared of how much she likes him—maybe even how much she loves him at this point. she’s scared of going all in so soon after how it ended up for her the last time. she’s scared of letting him see the cracks in her armour.

she wants to make a decision so badly! but her heart wants to give in and her brain reminds her of the last time and cleo can only sit there miserably on her sofa and not come to a decision at all.

“cleo?” his voice makes her head snap up and she blinks against the sudden brightness. “did you fall asleep?”

she’s about to say something but her throat feels clogged and her eyes sting. quickly, she averts her eyes from him and takes the coffee cup from him. george lingers by the door, almost like he wants to say something but then he shuts it gently and goes back to the driver's seat. the whole time she says nothing, not for lack of trying. but she knows the moment she opens her mouth the dam is going to burst and everything’s going to come out and she definitely can’t stand another fight within the first hour of a six hour roadtrip.

so she shuts up and takes a gulp of her coffee, hissing when she scalds her tongue.

“you okay?” george asks, then inhales like he’s about to say something more but cleo quickly hums and turns to her window once again.

with a pang in her chest she realises it’s a caramel latte with extra drizzle of caramel, her favourite. even in the middle of a fight, he’s remembered her favourite.

she chokes out a quick “yeah” and takes another sip of her coffee. it’s so sweet, she knows george would make a face instantly if he had a sip of it. she wants to see him make that face now—his nose all scrunched up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. and then she wants to kiss the grimace away.

quietly, george slides his hand into hers over the gear stick. and that’s the thing that finally breaks her. big fat tears roll down her cheeks like she’s a cartoon character and she can’t fucking stop sniffling like a child.

“oh baby,” he whispers softly and cleo just cries harder. she’s already made a mess of everything, she can’t stomach his kindness on top of the guilt. but he’s having none of it.

george takes the cup from her hands and puts it in the cupholder. then unclicks her seatbelt, slides his seat back and, as if she weighs absolutely nothing, he pulls her from her seat and onto his lap. his hold around her is so gentle, it makes cleo cry harder.

“i’ve messed up everything,” she wails and buries her face in his chest. his t-shirt is so soft (she makes a mental note to steal it later) and fuck, he smells so good too. everything about him is familiar and nice and he’s just… he’s her george. but then his hand wraps around the nape of her neck and she remembers his sad face from a few days ago.

she remembers his quiet “okay”

“you haven’t, love—”

“no i have!” she states adamantly, “i made you sad.”

he holds her even tighter then, his fingers gently stroking the back of her head but he doesn’t say anything. at any other time she would have huffed and bickered with him about using her own tactic against her, about staying silent until she feels the overwhelming urge to fill it.

“can i ask you something?” george asks and she lifts her head up to look at him properly. up close, cleo realises how tired he looks. there are circles under his eyes, and she could easily attribute them to late night studio sessions but she has a sneaking suspicion she’s the reason behind them.

she can so clearly imagine him too, tossing and turning in his bed, waking up from a half-sleep only to find her not there, not spending the night with him just like she does at least five times a week.

“yeah,” she chokes out again.

“do you really not want us to live together?”

“that’s not—” her throat closes up again and she swallows forcefully, “i didn’t mean— it’s just—”

“okay deep breaths,” he encourages and starts rubbing small circles on her hip. the pad of his thumb is rough and scratchy, it creates just the perfect kind of friction against her skin that keeps her grounded. and cleo does as she’s asked.

when she feels sufficiently calm, she tries again. “it’s really scary,” she starts and looks at him again to try and gague his reaction, but george just presses a kiss to her temple and encourages her to go on. “the last time i let someone in so quickly, it didn’t… it didn’t end well.”

“i’m not him,” his jaw ticks for a moment but he swallows again and gives her another little kiss.

“i know you aren’t. you could never be.”

“so then…why?”

it takes cleo a minute to mull it over in her head. he’s right to ask that question. he’s right because she has absolutely no answer for it.

“i don’t know,” she mumbles quietly and looks down in shame. they stay like that for a minute. no one moves, no one speaks, but cleo feels his desperation. she knows he wants it so bad. fuck! she wants it so bad—

“a drawer,” she says. “i’ll clear out a drawer. and we can work up from there? please?”

for thirty whole seconds he says absolutely nothing and cleo’s brain conjures up horrible scenarios—he’s going to flinch away from her and tell her to get out of his car. he’s going to call her something hurtful and abandon her in a fucking costa car park an hour away from home. he’s—

george snorts. “did you just suggest exposure therapy?”

cleo blinks at him in surprise. for a beat they both stay silent, and then just like that cleo cracks up, george following suit. two seconds later they’re giggling like teenagers. a couple more tears leak from her eyes but this time she knows it’s not tears of sadness. she’s laughing too hard for that.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” george flicks her nose and she kisses him. it's their first kiss in the last few days and if she could melt, right here in his lap, she would. she would be an absolute puddle right here but george holds her together and kisses her back so deeply that her head spins. she kisses him with equal ferocity and in that moment none of it matters, not their fight, not this stupid roadtrip, not even her fears. in this moment he’s the only one that matters.

“but you’re my idiot,” he whispers on her lips once they pull back just enough to breathe. cleo is breathless and blushing. she hasn’t been kissed like this in, well…days, and she kind of hates the fact that they’re in public.

“i am,” she nods and hugs him tightly. “sorry for being such a loser,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck and feels him nod sagely.

“‘s alright. not everyone can be as perfect as me.”

“fuck off, george!” she pokes him in the sides, “or i’ll—”

“or you’ll what, huh?” he pokes her right back, “revoke my drawer privileges?”

“too soon!” she whines but they’re giggling once again, kissing each other like they’d die if they don’t make up for the last few days.

“we’re going to be so late,” she mumbles once they’ve stopped kissing. “matty’s going to yell at us, i hope you know.”

george just shrugs and looks at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. it makes cleo’s chest ache, it makes her whole body tingle.

“i’m going to give you the best drawer in my apartment,” she promises.

“yeah?” he smiles at her and kisses her forehead again. it’s so tender that she almost cries again but george tickles under her chin. silently cleo makes a promise to herself—she’s going to get over this silly fear. she’s going to be the girlfriend he deserves. and most importantly, she’s never going to make him sad again. he’s far too precious for that.

lemme know what you think <33

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tv-moments · 8 months

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The Diplomat

Season 1, “Keep Your Enemies Closer”

Director: Alex Graves

DoP: Julian Court

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oxideblack · 2 years

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#Blake's 7 #whumptober2022 #No. 19 ENOUGH IS ENOUGH #Kerr Avon #Servalan #Keep Your Enemies Closer #Illustration #art

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emotionalsupportemoboys · 2 years

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🔞 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

Hawks wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten himself into this situation.

Actually, that was a lie...

Weeks of stolen glances and indirect flirting was what had landed the pro hero here, trapped with his back against a wall, caged in by the long arms of a serial arsonist.

To be fair, when Hawks had received Dabi’s text not thirty minutes prior, saying ‘meet me at the bar,’ this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured things unfolding.

Most of his impromptu meetings with Dabi had been all business, making it next to impossible for him to garner any new information about the League of Villains. That’s why he’d been shocked to see the lanky villain come stumbling through the front door of the bar, looking like something the cat dragged in.

Dabi’s appearance was rough, even on a good day, with his badly damaged skin, mussed black hair, and a machine shop’s worth of metal sticking out of his face. Between the piercings and the staples, he literally sparkled, all while sporting a poor man’s wardrobe of ripped t-shirts, jeans, and a single pair of combat boots that were beat to shit. Underneath it all, he had a roguish charm which no one could seem to explain, but that wasn’t enough to disguise the fact that he was wasted.

Hawks’ second thought was geared toward himself, and what a horrible friend he was. Not that he and Dabi were friends, per se, more like friendly acquaintances. They’d gotten as close as two people who were constantly lying through their teeth possibly could. Their once tense, sarcastic back-and-forths had become easygoing and flirtatious over time, in what had seemed like a very natural progression. Hawks had fantasized about having sex with the villain on more than one occasion, but the solemn reminder that he would betray him one day was usually enough to snap him out of it. If he happened to be left with a hard-on, then he would simply jerk off before rolling over in bed to pretend like he hadn’t.

There was no rolling over now, though, no running away from the problem that was standing right in front of him.

Dabi swayed on his feet and reached out to grab the edge of the bar for support.

“Heya, Hot Stuff...” Hawks silently cursed himself for sounding more concerned than enthused, “What’s up? Why’d you wanna meet?”

“Upstairs. My room. Now,” the villain said, slurring every other word as he glowered at his companion with crazed blue eyes.

Hawks had never been invited into Dabi’s room before and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this sudden development. Could it be a trap? Was Dabi testing him? Had he found out that Hawks was a double agent? Or was he just high out of his mind and spewing crap?

He smiled while holding up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “Whoa, hey, where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly.

“It’s going to be up your ass in a minute if you don’t listen to me.”

“Yikes,” the blonde chuckled, “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” Hawks slid off of his stool and walked toward the back of the bar. Although he’d never been allowed on the second floor, he was familiar with the narrow hallway that led to the stairs and the cramped bathroom, where he’d once touched himself to the thought of Dabi bending him over the sink...

He brushed the memory aside, choosing to consider all the things that could possibly go wrong during this meeting instead. Dabi could try to catch him in a lie or, worse, just flat out roast him. Either way, Hawks wasn’t looking forward to it. His mind continued to race as he made his way up the stairs, before following Dabi’s murmured directions to open the first door on the left.

The bedroom was dark, but he could make out the shape of a mattress on the floor, covered by nothing other than a thin white sheet. A milk crate beside the mattress was being used as a makeshift nightstand, with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a glass ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts sitting on top. The air smelled of stale smoke and the only light was coming from a closed window with a fire escape on the outside. At least if Dabi turned on him, he would be able to jump through the glass and flee into the night sky.

He fought the urge to sharpen his feathers as Dabi closed the door behind them, and he’d nearly lashed out at the hand that grabbed his shoulder before shoving him none too gently against the wall.

And THAT is how he’d come to find himself in his current predicament, with one of Japan’s most dangerous criminals looming over him.

“What the hell are you— mmph!”

He’s shocked when Dabi’s mouth is suddenly on his, swallowing his words and making him forget all about the discomfort of having his wings crushed behind him. He can taste the cheap whiskey on Dabi’s breath, can feel himself getting drunk on it as the taller man works a thigh between his legs to rub against his already half-hard cock. His heart starts pounding like crazy and he can hear the blood roaring in his ears, like an echo of the ocean.

Dabi makes a quiet sound, not unlike a moan, and Hawks reaches out to rest a hand on his chest before gently pushing him away, “Hey man, what’s gotten into you?” He hopes that the feigned irritation in his voice is enough to conceal his breathlessness, “I think you’ve had one too many.”

Dabi smirks while licking his lips, making it impossible for Hawks to look away, “No need to be so gallant, hero. I know what I’m doing.” He sneers without stumbling over a single word.

Hawks quirks a brow, struggling to save face as his cock twitches impatiently against the villain’s thigh, “And what if I don’t swing that way, huh?”

“I may be ugly, but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen how you look at me whenever you think I’m not paying attention.”

Hawks wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He pretends to study the staples on Dabi’s chin just long enough to collect his thoughts.

He swallows, then takes a deep breath,

“I don’t think you’re ugly.”

He jumps when Dabi reaches to feel the indisputable evidence of his arousal through the fabric of his cargo pants. His wings twitch and he groans while snatching at the front of Dabi’s stained t-shirt, hunching forward until his forehead is resting against the other man’s shoulder.

“I know, pretty bird,” Dabi hums, sending shivers down his spine, “You couldn’t lie to me even if you wanted to.”

The irony of his words isn’t lost on Hawks.

He could lie, alright, but not about this. He wanted to have sex with Dabi.

If only his handlers from the Commission could see him now—their precious golden boy who never failed or questioned the rules—clinging to his sworn enemy as if for dear life. They were the ones who had driven him to this point, after all, insisting that he get close to his target by any means necessary.

“How much longer do you plan to keep me waiting, hm?”

Dabi’s raspy voice so close to his ear is enough to distract him from his thoughts.

“I know you want this, birdie.”

He bites down on his lip to stifle a moan as long, dexterous fingers start palpating his cock until he’s fully hard.

“Yes...” Hawks says tersely, “But you’re the one who’s drunk and high. Are you sure that you want this?”

Dabi scoffs a laugh and rolls his hips to grind the bulge in the front of his jeans against Hawks’ hip, affirming that, yes, he did in fact want this.

Hawks can’t help but be impressed by the size of that bulge.

“Don’t worry about me, birdie. If I have any regrets, I’ll deal with them in the morning.”

Such a nonchalant answer. He envied how easy it was for Dabi to make reckless lifestyle choices; to indulge in whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Hawks deserved to indulge in something that he wanted for once, too.

Throwing caution to the wind, he tilts his head back and captures Dabi’s mouth in a kiss, sucking roughly on his scarred bottom lip. This seems to catch the villain by surprise and he tenses before gradually relaxing again, resting his hands on Hawks’ hips and melting against him in a desperate attempt to erase every last inch of space between their bodies. They fit together nicely, like two pieces cut from the same cloth.

Hawks can feel the liquid heat coursing through Dabi’s veins. It penetrates his heavy flight jacket and makes him sweat. He shrugs his shoulders and thins out his wings, sending feathers flying around the room until his jacket is free to slide down the wall and onto the floor. Meanwhile, he uses his hands to unbutton Dabi’s jeans, scrambling to unzip his fly before tugging the waistband of his boxers down to touch the head of his large cock, which was already leaking pre-cum.

He savors Dabi’s reaction, his sharp intake of breath and the impatient thrust of his hips. Hungry for more, Hawks pulls his boxers down further until his finger tips graze the underside of his shaft. The feeling of something metallic gives him pause, and he breaks the kiss in order to look down.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, “Your dick is pierced!”

Dabi grabs his chin, forcing him to lift his head, “Sure is, little bird,” his voice is low, husky, and he leans in close enough for Hawks to feel his words vibrating against his lips, “Just imagine how good these barbells are gonna feel rubbing against your insides.”

He does, and it makes him weak in the knees.

His thoughts must be written clearly on his face because Dabi smirks at him, “Good birdie. Now go get on the mattress.”

Hawks makes quick work of removing the rest of his clothes, tugging his skintight shirt off over his head before unbuckling his belt. He glances over his shoulder while pushing his pants down, suddenly self-conscious of being completely naked in front of Dabi. Hawks knew that he was considered to be attractive, by most standards, but he had a long history of meaningless hookups with people whose opinions he’d never cared about. Whereas he actually kinda cared about Dabi’s opinion, or so he was starting to realize.

What if the villain thought he was too stocky, or too short? Little did Hawks know that Dabi was struggling with his own insecurities and, if he’d been able to hear half of what was going on inside the avian’s head, he probably would have smacked him—HIM, the golden boy with the body of a Greek god.

Dabi despised his own body.

Intoxicated or not, he was reluctant to let Hawks see him without a shirt on, as few people had ever laid eyes on the extent of his patchwork skin. He takes his time kicking off his boots while considering how he should proceed. He’d be severely disappointed if he got undressed, only to scare the hero away, and he knew that alcohol wouldn’t be enough to temper the sting of rejection.

Dabi had never handled rejection well.

Hawks had said that he didn’t think him ugly, but had he meant it? Or was he just looking to get his dick wet? The villain wasn’t sure.

It was almost funny how the two bold and brazen men were suddenly so shy around each other.

“How do you, uh...how do you want me, Hot Stuff?” Hawks turns his face away to hide his blush as he lingers in front of the mattress. It had been a while since he’d last had sex with a man, but there was a box of toys hidden underneath his bed which helped keep him loose. He had a habit of fantasizing about Dabi whenever he used them, though he now knew that his brightly colored, silicone replicas paled in comparison to the real deal, with its piercings and thick shaft.

Dabi gets caught up in admiring the contours of Hawks’ toned back, with his beautifully tanned skin, and the light dusting of freckles between his shoulder blades. He was gorgeous, mouthwateringly so.

“Dabi?”

“Huh?” He blinks and finds Hawks staring at him. He really needed to get his shit together if he was going to remain in control of this situation. He was the one who had dragged the hero upstairs in a heated rush, after all.

So much for his drunken and opiate-fueled bravado.

“Get on your hands and knees.” He snaps.

Any other position seemed too personal, too intimate.

Hawks peels off his black boxer briefs, then obediently does as he’s told, presenting his ass to the man who should have been his mortal enemy. The springs in the old mattress creak beneath his weight as he gets comfortable.

“Good birdie.” Dabi purrs, regaining some of his confidence when he notices Hawks ruffle his feathers. Did the number two pro hero have a praise kink?

It would certainly make sense if he did.

No longer worried about taking his clothes off, Dabi moves to kneel on the mattress behind Hawks, and it once again groans in protest. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his wallet, where he kept condoms and packets of lube. He’d had enough sloppy, back alley fucks with random men and women to know that it was best to always be prepared.

He places a silvery square between his teeth to rip it open, and the sound must resonate with Hawks because he lowers his head while clenching his ass cheeks around nothing.

Dabi smirks as he rolls the condom onto his cock, “Someone seems eager.”

Hawks bites his tongue to stop himself from confessing how long he’d secretly been dreaming about this moment. He’d never thought that Dabi would reciprocate his interest, and yet, here they were, getting ready to do it doggy-style.

Next, Dabi tears into the lube, and then squirts some onto his fingers.

The second that Hawks feels one of the villain’s slick, bony digits prodding at his ass, he inhales a shuddered breath. Dabi even reaches around with one hand to fist his dick, which was steadily leaking pre-cum onto the sheets. Hawks had a nice dick. It was well groomed, just like the rest of him—fitting for a hero.

“Oh, fuck...” Hawks moans, crimson feathers ruffling again as he shamelessly bucks his hips, fucking Dabi’s hand before pressing back against the finger that was slowly penetrating him.

“That’s it, just relax.” Dabi murmurs, almost surprised with himself for being so gentle. Although he was loath to admit it, he’d fantasized about having sex with Hawks before, but in his mind, their interaction had always been ruthless, with kisses full of teeth and no time for lube. Was he getting soft for this overgrown chicken?

No, no, he was just more of a gentleman than he’d ever given himself credit for.

“Dabi!” Hawks gasps when Dabi adds a second finger to gently scissor him open.

“Deep breaths, pretty bird.”

The avian suddenly spreads his wings, reacting to the delicious sensation of Dabi curling his fingers in search of his prostate. And, when Dabi finally hits that tender spot, while simultaneously squeezing his cock, Hawks moans loud enough for the entire block to hear him.

Dabi didn’t even care if the others overheard them. He was the only one in the League who was getting any—from a fine piece of ass, no less—so let them all be jealous. Let them all listen to the lewd sounds of him screwing hero society’s finest.

Hawks pants like a bitch in heat as he starts fucking himself back on Dabi’s fingers, desperate for more stimulation. Being the kind, understanding soul that he was, Dabi adds a third finger, until it seems like Hawks is finally stretched out enough to handle his cock.

Hawks whines at the loss of contact when Dabi slowly withdraws his fingers. A few more good pumps from both ends and he would have been a dribbling mess at the villain’s feet, but his gorgeous, pierced manhood seemed worth the wait. He takes a few steadying breaths, then glances over his shoulder just in time to watch as Dabi grabs his ass and spreads his cheeks wide.

Dabi lets out a low whistle, smirking when he notices Hawks’ hole twitch.

“Please fuck me, Dabi. God, my cock is throbbing, please...” He says, voice barely above a whisper.

Dabi had never heard Hawks beg before, but he quickly decides that he likes it. Unable to stave off his own carnal desires any longer, he slides his dick between Hawks’ cheeks before easing the tip inside of him. The squelch from the lubricant is like music to his ears.

“Shit...you’re so big.” Hawks whimpers as he claws at the sheets. He was glad that his talons hadn’t grown in for mating season yet, otherwise he probably would have shredded the mattress. He’s able to feel each rung on the villain’s Jacob’s ladder stretching his rim as he slowly sinks inside of him. Hawks had banged some big dudes before, but Dabi’s cock surpassed all of them.

Or maybe he only felt that way because it was Dabi, and everything Dabi did, everything about him, was out of this world.

“Fuck, birdie, you’ve gotta relax a lil’ more.” Dabi grunts when he finds himself unable to go any deeper, “You’re too tight.”

“S-sorry.” Hawks weakly flaps his wings, and that’s when his companion gets an idea.

His feathers were sensitive. This was one of the first things that Dabi had noticed about Hawks after weeks of careful observation. He could harden or soften them at will, and they seemed to be full of delicate nerve endings, which allowed him to be completely in tune with his surroundings.

Dabi activates his quirk, and Hawks hisses when the hand with a firm hold on his hip sears his skin, though he doesn’t shy away from the fire user’s touch. He liked it, the pain felt good.

He is startled, however, when Dabi cards his opposite hand through the rows of vermilion feathers on his left wing.

Hawks screams, and his vision flashes white.

It takes a moment for him to get his bearings after that, “Sh-sh-shit...do that again...” He stammers.

Dabi smirks, already able to feel his cock sliding deeper. He does it again, only this time, he grabs the corded muscle at the base of Hawks’ wing and digs his nails into the small feathers there, earning another sharp cry of pleasure from Hawks.

Hawks hangs his head, trembling, and barely able to keep himself up on all fours with Dabi now fully seated inside of him.

“Are you ready, pretty bird?” The villain asks softly, while trailing a hand through the pool of sweat which had formed on Hawks’ lower back, “I’m going to ruin you now.”

Ruin him? Hawks shudders, “I’m ready.”

Dabi leans back, then gets a firm grip on Hawks’ hips. He’d been wanting to do this for a very, very long time...

He pulls out, almost all the way, then immediately thrusts back in.

Slam!

Hawks chokes.

Dabi sets a punishing pace, and he doesn’t stop, not even when the fire in his belly threatens to consume him. “Fuck! You feel amazing!” He snarls, head lolling backwards as he snaps his hips without mercy, getting lost in the feeling of Hawks’ hot, tight insides massaging his cock.

“Da-ah-ah-bi!”

Hawks couldn’t speak, asides from the broken ramblings of Dabi’s name. He could hardly breathe, and so he simply resigns himself to enjoying the ride. A knot forms in his abdomen, but he doesn’t find any relief from the tension until Dabi drapes himself across his back and reaches around to start jerking him off again, shallowly fucking into him all the while.

This was, by far, the best sex that Hawks had ever had in his life. Most people didn’t have the gall to handle a pro hero like a god damn rag doll, but Dabi wasn’t most people.

“Dabi! Dabi, I’m gonna cum! Fuck!”

“Then cum, pretty bird,” He sneers, “Sing for me. Let it all out.”

Even if Dabi hadn’t been squeezing his cock just right, he’s powerless to stop the violent, toe-curling orgasm that crashes into him like a ton of bricks. The knot inside his gut snaps, and he sees white again as he empties his load onto Dabi’s bed. He’s still panting the villain’s name as Dabi chases his own release, sloppily rutting his hips until he finally explodes inside of the condom—and oh, how Hawks wished there was no thin film of latex between them.

Dabi growls a string of curses, still weakly humping Hawks as they both come down from their high.

“D-Dabi,” Hawks sputters after a while, “M’not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you can fly, huh?”

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rosewind2007 · 1 year

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More Murderbot and Gurathin—

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Sun Tzu, The Art of War (attributed, and I did look and couldn’t see it so I call probably not actually Sun Tzu)

Which of Murderbot’s “crew” would be able to take it down (take it out) if it did go “kill all the humans” style rogue? I think there’s only really one candidate…

Would Gurathin do it?

#keep your friends close #keep your enemies closer #murderbot ships #the murderbot diaries #tmbd #murderbot x gurathin #gurathin and murderbot #gurathin my beloved #gurathinista

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mpxinvidia · 11 months

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“No, I didn’t change my schedule! Today is just a bad day!”

Lilsimsie

#|| you will know my name ||#keep your enemies closer #;musings #;;i guess I'm dreaming again;;

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maomango-doodle · 5 months

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"And I hope you die, I hope we both die."

(Lyrics : No children by The Mountain Goats)

#trigun #trigun maximum #nicholas d. wolfwood #midvalley the hornfreak #wolfvalley #hornwood #tw blood #trigun rareship week #aaand here i come with wolfvalley for the first day!! how unexpected #feverishly drew this THEY MAKE ME SO ILL!!! REACHING CRITICAL STAGE BRAINROT #the prompts made me discover this song. i think it suits them #wanting each other's downfall even if it ends in their own #digging their fangs deep in each other's throat and not letting go. “keep your friends close but your enemies closer” am i right #unfortunately(?) i dont have anything else to offer for this fanweek so i'll sit back and enjoy everyone else's rare pair art🫡#(ok but MAYBE just mayyyybe i have smth in mind for day 3 but idk if i'll have the time or skills to draw it...)#shinxo art

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olivsie · 4 months

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I said to keep the bag closed, but you weren't compliant.

#epic the musical #odysseus #epic the ocean saga #the oddyssey #the iliad #the ocean saga #aeolus #aeolus hunny a mortal can't just stay awake for entirety to make sure his crew doesn't do stupid shit- oh whatever what do you care #tagamemnon #keep your friends close #but your enemies closer #ruthlessness #luck runs out #strom

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seysei · 6 months

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Oh. My. God. (SPOILERS)

Tell me why I'm not surprised. I mean after knowing that Kiriko went to lily for counselling, I already suspected him to be 'that' person that Mikuni was talking about.

Really because he was in the perfect position to manipulate her. Which we are being told here by the way.

We all knew that tsubaki's escape was NO coincidence due to previous chapters and that Kiriko was used to cover it up, but that is just so sad now that it's been confirmed.

Do you know how much my heart is breaking for that woman?

Google translate didn't help me much in this chapter but PLEASE, do NOT tell me Mikuni was in on it. PLEASE tell me he is only pretending, so he can later on execute a perfect plan for the downfall of the people that toyed with his mother. PLEASE.

IT WAS SAID THAT YOU WOULD DESTROY THE SITH, NOT JOIN THEM-.

#...#You were the chosen one..#servamp #servamp manga #mikuni alicein #:(#kiriko alicein #servamp lily #Keep your friends close but your enemies closer right tanaka? Rightttt????

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not-rab · 11 months

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James, Sirius, Barty, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Alice get into a sticky situation after getting caught trying to rob one of the King’s allies

but it just so happens that Sirius’ brother in the King of Slytherin, so what’ll he do now?

• jegulus • wolfstar • pandalily • dorlene • alicissa • rosekiller • emmary •

Keep Your Enemies Closer (15/15 chapters)

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k-nayee · 2 months

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I don't know. Is it just me that giggles whenever hearing Odysseus sings 'No' in certain parts?

#epic the musical #especially in 'Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer'#lmaooo #NOOOOOooooo headass #its cute n quirky #epic the circe saga #odysseus #epic: the musical #epic the ocean saga #epic the cyclops saga #epic the troy saga #musical #i wanna walk around and sing it just to see who knows the reference #call it: the epic challenge

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abiiors · 7 months

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3. lost my head // george daniel x oc

a/n: i genuinely do think i might be possessed because this is not normal. but it certainly is fun <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated because i do thrive on validation. cw: some suggestive content, smoking, alcohol, and matty's usual sluttiness on stage wc: 3k masterlist

i try to settle into a reluctant routine after that. i block nate and delete his number—something i should have done days ago but it’s better late than never. the sooner i begin my moving on process, the sooner i can get my life back on track and get out of matty’s hair. the sooner i can stop existing around george.

speaking of george, things between us don’t improve. at all. i quickly discover that we both unfortunately share the habit of sleepily walking into the kitchen first thing in the morning to make coffee.

the first time it happens, george wanders into the kitchen, half dressed in only grey joggers, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and not exactly watching where he’s going. i am in no better state. i yawn into my hands, waiting for the kettle to boil while i sloppily mix my coffee and sugar together in the mug.

once i’m done, i set the mug aside, turning around and about the grab milk from the fridge when i bump face first into a hard chest.

george mutters a quick “oomph”, having the wind knocked out of him and i get knocked off balance, arms flailing, desperately grasping on anything to keep me fron falling.

that anything just so happens to be his arm.

before i know it, i feel the same arm around my waist, grasping it reflexively. pulling me flush against a warm chest. his warm chest. his breathing slows just as my heartbeat picks up from the combination of adrenaline and whatever else that’s fucking wrong with my body.

his body is still warm from having just woken up, his eyes still sleepy and in that one tiny, insane moment, he looks…good.

when i look up at him, his eyes are still soft—the situation hasn’t sunk in yet. until something hard brushes against my lower stomach and sleep drains out of me instantly.

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god.

i whip my head to look up at george again, whose eyes widen at the exact moment as realisation finally dawns on him. we both scramble to back away from each other.

george almost walks into the fridge, and it would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the mortification coursing through my veins like fire.

“watch where you’re going,” i weakly snap at him. although, we can both tell it lacks any conviction.

he splutters something that makes no sense at all and turns around to practically flee out of the kitchen. i am so dumbstruck by the entire exchange that i stare straight ahead, at his back muscles that flex and move with him, then lower, just as he rounds the corner and disappears.

for the longest time i stand there like an idiot, involuntarily feeling tingles in my stomach, exactly where i felt his—

nope. nope. absolutely fucking not.

the kettle clicks, the water’s done boiling. i even almost scald myself but manage to make the coffee pretty much unscathed. althought that would have served me right.

the second time it happens, we’re both a bit more cautious. once again, i am the first one in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil while mixing together my coffee and sugar. this time, i also scan my surroundings cautiously, looking over my shoulder every two seconds just in case he decides to sneak up on me like the shadow of death.

although, this time i hear him before i see him—an off tune whistle that’s just a bit too loud for this time of the morning. i silently thank the forces that be that i don’t have to go around bellling the cat.

george stops at the threshold, watching me suspiciously as if i were building a hydrogen bomb in his kitchen at 8 in the morning.

i give him a slow, judgemental once over that does more damage to me than it does to him. he’s in a white tank top that’s practically falling off his shoulder, exposing a collarbone that fascinates me for some reason and the same grey joggers that highlight… certain areas. the fact that he’s just woken up doesn’t help matters.

when i look back at his face, i catch him staring at my waist, where my tank top has ridden up to expose a sliver of skin—still golden and beautifully tanned from the last joyful summer i had.

i clear my throat and his entire face turns pink.

“i need the kettle,” he points out curtly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. after that george doesn’t meet my eye again.

“after i’m done,” i respond in an equally short tone and go back to my mug. the spoon clinks loudly, the coffee at the bottom of it foams slightly. george clicks his tongue.

“you’re gonna shatter that mug,” he tuts. “don’t care by the way, stab yourself with stray glass all you want. but it’s matty’s favourite mug.”

he smiles a maddening, sarcastic smile, that makes me want to throw the mug right at him. perhaps later in life i might reflect on how george brings out my violent side, how since meeting him i have plotted out at least ten ways to kill him and hide his body. for now, that particular statement makes me smirk.

“i know, george,” i let a saccharine sweet smile appear on my face even as my voice drips with smugness. “i bought it for him.”

this time i make sure to stand right there and stare at him as george scrambles for a response, getting more fidgety by the moment. it really does bring me peace like i haven’t felt in days.

“oh and one more thing,” i make sure to let some of the poisonous sweetness drip into my tone, taking my own sweet time to pour the hot water into my mug before i make my way to the kitchen sink, holding the kettle. i make sure to put extra sway in my hips as i walk, looking right at him when i pour the rest of the hot water down the drail. “boil your own water.”

it might not be the biggest victory in the world but the annoyance rising in his eyes makes it worth it. i might not have ruined his whole day, but maybe i did ruin a small part of his morning. and that’s soothing enough.

“you are…” he stops to take a deep breath, then mutters something that sounds like counting backwards from 10.

the thought of him—nonchalant, cavalier, george—using a fucking breathing technique is so shocking that it makes me burst out laughing. a sharp, sudden laugh that surprises even me. what’s even more surprising that it does come from deep inside—loud and boisterous, like i haven’t laughed in a while. george looks at me with a strange expression on his face, one raised eyebrow and something akin to…awe creeping in his eyes.

he shakes his head, walking up to the shelf to get his own mug down—plain black with no design or colours or joy.

“you’re weird, cleo.” he mumbles. we don’t speak after that.

wednesday night matty comes bounding into my room. he’s just come back home—his hair is a bit damp from the rain, he’s still in his skinny jeans and a band tshirt he might have stolen from me at some point in time. and he’s practically skipping with excitement.

“your jet lag must be gone,” he beams, bouncing slightly in place. i narrow my eyes at him. “yes…?”

“because we’ve got a gig on saturday night! my band.” matty grins with the energy of a thousand suns, something that instantly brings a smile to my face and makes me say yes to him.

“perfect!” he claps his hands once, “you’ll get to meet the rest of the band. they’re all going to love you!” then he winces slightly, “well ross and adam are anyway…”

“matty…”

“i know i know!” he whines “he’s your mortal enemy and you’ve sworn to hate him for the rest of your life etc etc but please, cleo… be nice?”

“i’m a fucking peach, matty!” i whine back just to take the piss but he only stares at me with a deadpan expression.

“i am always nice!” i retort, feeling a bit offended that my best friend would question my ability to be civil like this. “tell that to him! dunno which bridge you found him under—alright, alright!” i raise my hands in surrender at matty’s almost scolding look. he deflates quickly though, rubbing a hand over his face.

“i don’t know what went wrong between you two—“

“he—”

“ah! let me finish.” i sit there like scolded child, grumpy and cheeks puffed out. “after the gig on saturday we are all going out for drinks. well the band always does. and i’m inviting you. so you can properly get to know him—them all.”

i consider it. drinks with matty on a saturday night is perfectly reasonable. me from just a few months ago would have accepted it without thinking. hell, me from a few months ago would have been the one to make the plan.

“well… don’t expect me to be besties with him,” i warn but he knows i’ve already caved. “fine,” i roll my eyes at him fondly. “drinks after the gig sounds amazing.”

“and you get to see us play live!”

i nod at that. matty looks so happy, so excited. despite everything going down in my life, i adore the fact that everything is going well in his. and it must show on my face because his gaze softens.

“i know it wasn’t…ideal. but it’s nice to have to back, cleo. i mean it.”

i move closer to him, grab his hand and give it a small squeeze. “i think… i think it’s nice to be back too, matty. i think i mean it too.”

that night, i ask matty to stay. we talk, i tell him as much of my life in new york as possible. i skirt around the truth as much as possible… it’s not ideal. but he doesn’t push. i remember what he told me that first day. i can talk to him when i’m ready…

someday soon, i hope. he deserves to know the full truth of it.

the days blur together really quickly when you’re unemployed and before i know it, it’s saturday afternoon and i’m rushing to get ready before i’m late. i hastily blow dry my hair, picking the trusty clubbing black dress that fits me better than perhaps my own skin does. that paired with cute flats and for a fleeting moment, i feel like my own self again, putting on some killer eyeliner and getting ready to party the night away.

i try to bury the sadness deep down—when i leave this room, there will be no nate to pull me in his arms and tell me that i’m the prettiest girl alive. no nate to steal my breath away from the intensity of his kiss. and in spite of what happened, i do miss the little things.

to my surprise though, when i open the door i see matty mid-sentence, about to knock. he gives me one look and wolf whistles making me actually giggle.

“why thank you,” i do a little twirl for him, taking an exaggerated bow.

behind him george leans against the wall, trying to look bored. i will give it to him—he’s great at feigning disinterest. but he is, after all, a man.

i don’t miss the way his eyes linger on my legs a bit longer than they should. the way i can practically see his pupils dilate and the miniscule shake of his head as he refixates his stare on a random spot on the wall next to me.

i am, unfortunately, no better. as much as it pains me to admit—george cleans up well. gone are the boyish shorts and tank tops and old t-shirts. tonight he looks like a proper rockstar—ripped skinny jeans, a vintage leather jacket that i suspect cost a pretty penny on top of a v-neck. a cigarette dangles carelessly between his fingers, its ash dripping onto the carpet.

“we’re late,” he points out and takes a drag of it, blowing smoke in the wind. the movement makes his jaw look sharper than before… sharp enough to cut.

that gets matty going, who ushers me out of the house and to the car while george locks up the front door.

“remember what i said?” he asks with a warning tilt to his head.

i let my most winning smile take over my face, something that would put a pageant queen to shame, “i will be… sweeter than candy. i promise you.”

for the most part i stick to it, mainly because as soon as we reach the venue, george disappears somewhere backstage leaving me and matty alone which is just as well because matty introduces me to anyone and everyone he comes across—flitting from one person to the next, telling everyone that i am his childhood best friend who has just come back to london. the “for good” is implied.

i see so many new faces and learn so many new names that by the end of it, everything is mixed up. the only two people i remember properly are adam, the guitarist, who’s sweet and shy nods in my direction and ross, the bassist who instantly engulfs me in a hug. both of them ask about me, showing genuine interest and listening to everything i have to say.

looking at ross, adam, and matty interact with each other genuinely has me wondering how george would ever fit into this dynamic. almost as if he read my mind, ross asks about george, who’s still nowhere to be found.

“probably out having a smoke,” matty shrugs, “i’ll go find him.”

the conversation moves onto the band once he leaves. i tell them that i’ve seen the videos matty has sent me, that they all look and sound amazing in them but this is my first time seeing them live. i tell them i’m excited which i very much mean. for one night, i feel carefree again, victorious that i’ve successfully managed to push nate to the back of my mind.

soon enough they have to go, and i find the few girls i was introduced to before. one of them is adam’s girlfriend who’s sweet enough to accommodate me in her group, keeping me chatting until the lights dim and the curtains part.

the moment their logo shines on stage, we are all in rapture. when matty walks on stage, he looks nothing like he did before, he’s gone from a simple t-shirt to a floral shirt that’s entirely unbuttoned. in his hands is a bottle of wine and on his face in an expression of complete and utter heartbreak. it’s matty like i’ve never seen before and if it weren’t for the fact that i knew he was fine twenty minutes ago, i would be extremely worried.

what really takes my breath away, however, is the man behind matty.

george looks…different. smiling, practically grinning from ear to ear as he sticks to a mad rhythm, not faltering even once. his hair stick to his forehead and his sweaty t-shirt sticks to every contour of his body, highlighting muscles that i try not to stare at. his tattooed arms flex from the strain and glisten with sweat. between beats he throws the drumsticks up in the air or twirls them around his fingers, effortlessly catching them back without missing a single beat. it’s…fascinating to watch.

watching him makes my face feel hot. like i’m intruding on a private moment, something that’s not meant for me. and as much as i hate to admit it, george is magnetic—undoubtedly handsome when he’s smiling and happy.

he jokes around with the others on stage and i stare like a fucking fangirl, my heart skipping a beat involuntarily every time he looks in our general direction.

one of the girls laughs and taps my shoulder. “cleo, right?” she asks and i nod in response. “looks like you’ve got a crush on the drummer. he is single you know, i can introduce you if you want.”

the others around her laugh along, cheery and joking, nothing serious. but my blood freezes in my veins.

“i don’t have a crush on the drummer.” i want to instantly apologise for how short i sound, like a bitch when this girl was just trying to be nice to me. it doesn’t faze her. if anything, it eggs her on.

she rolls her eyes, laughing fondly, “you haven’t looked away for a moment, darling. don’t be shy, he’s actually a real sweetheart.”

that makes me baulk. george and sweetheart don’t belong in the same sentence. they don’t even belong in the same fucking universe actually. the girl, however, misinterprets my expression.

“i know what you’re thinking,” she smiles, “he’s in a rock band, for fucks sake, he’s bound to be a player or worse, a serial cheater. he’s not… trust me!”

“and you know this…”

“oh i hooked up with matty,” she shrugs casually, “they’re roommates, we talked a bit the next morning. he had a girlfriend back then but they broke up a couple months ago i think.”

i say nothing. first because i want to know absolutely nothing about matty’s sexual history and second because i am having difficulty wrapping my head around the fact that george is actually… nice.

“anyway,” she shrugs, “i’m sorry, it’s none of my business. i just got a bit excited.”

i wave it off distractedly, thanking her for looking out for me.

when i look back to the stage again, i catch george staring right at me, with an intense look in his eyes. something that i can’t seem to read or interpret but he quickly looks away, swallowing so harshly that i can practically see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat all the way from the front row.

my head spins with thoughts at the same time, my mind seems to have gone completely blank. not a single person has said a bad word about him. not a single person has even hinted at him being a dickhead.

so then why am i the only one he seems to hate?

lemme know what you think <33

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x oc #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #enemies to lovers #george x oc #george x reader #george x you #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #keep your enemies closer

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