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ordinary-barbie · 6 months ago

Text

i burn for you.

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

summary: You hated Rafe Cameron. He lived to annoy you. There couldn't be anything more to your relationship—right?

word count: 3.5k

tags: fem!sassy kook!reader, enemies to lovers, cussing, sexual tension, underage drinking, dry humping, sappy ending

title from "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams!

~ • ~

It is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever you hung out with Sarah Cameron, her older brother Rafe was sure to appear. Didn't matter if it was at Tannyhill or the beach or some random Kook's party. Rafe always showed up at some point, to your utter dismay.

You'd moved to the Outer Banks the summer before ninth grade, feeling like you crash-landed on another planet. Kildare was not a huge place, and everyone else seemed to have known each other since birth, already forming their little cliques. You were a Kook—though you thought the whole "Kooks vs. Pogues" rivalry was pretty silly—but you felt like you couldn't fit in with all the pretty and popular girls. You thought making friends would be hopeless, until Sarah swooped in and took you under her wing.

Sarah was so sweet and funny; she quickly became like the sister you never had. It was just a shame that she had to be related to...him. Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. The guy always knew exactly how to push your buttons, whether it was getting into your personal space, snatching stuff out of your hand and refusing to get it back, and constant sarcastic comments—though you could always give as well as you got.

Today you were chilling at Tannyhill with Sarah, watching the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls because she'd somehow gone 19 years without watching one of the most iconic shows of all time. It was such a comfort show for you, and you were happy to be experiencing it with your bestie. Well, until you know who decided to flop down next to you on the couch, radiating with irritating frat boy energy.

"Y'all decided to have a movie night and not invite me?" Rafe fake pouted, putting his arm around you. You scowled, pushing it away.

"First of all, Gilmore Girls is a TV show. And secondly, why would we invite you? Don't need your mouth-breathing self ruining the vibes," you snapped.

Rafe rolled his eyes. "Chill out, princess. I promise I don't have cooties," he replied with a smirk.

"Now that, I highly doubt," you muttered.

Sarah sighed, pausing the episode. "Really guys? This again?" Poor Sarah had been witness to years of arguments between you and Rafe, and you did feel bad that she had to be caught in the middle. But maybe he should be less annoying—then you wouldn't be forced to bite back.

Rafe raised his hands in a show of innocence, though you knew he was anything but. "Hey Sar, I'm just here to watch the show. Not my fault your bestie here wants to bite my head off."

You scoffed, trying your best not to roll your eyes upwards towards oblivion. "Yeah, right, like you give a shit about Gilmore Girls. And I want to bite your head off because you're an insufferable ass."

"So you think about my ass, huh?" Ugh, you wanted to slap that smug look off of his face. You hated how the amused glint in his eyes and his lazy smile stirred feelings in you that you absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"In your fucking dreams, Rafe Cameron," you answered, scowling.

Rafe's smirk grew deeper. "Please, you wish I would dream about you."

"I think I'd rather have a root canal," you snarked.

"Okay, chill! Rafe, either watch the show with us or go away," Sarah said wearily, rubbing at her temples.

Rafe scooted closer to you on the couch, knocking his knee against yours. "I'm down. What do you say, princess?"

Your annoyance had morphed into a slowly simmering rage at Rafe's favorite nickname for you. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and plaster a smile on your face before saying, "Sure, why not?"

You came to regret your decision as soon as Sarah pressed play. While you and Sarah could watch shows together in comfortable silence, only adding occasional commentary, Rafe would not shut the fuck up. He always had something to say, whether it was about the dialogue ("Why the fuck do they talk so fast?") or the characters' appearances ("Lorelai is a fuckin MILF, I gotta admit.") It was a wonder you got through the episode without completely losing your shit.

Before you could at least try to enjoy the second episode, Sarah's phone rang. "It's John B," she explained, smiling sheepishly. She got off the couch and went upstairs to talk to her boyfriend in private.

"Well well well, looks like it's just you and me, princess," Rafe purred, taking the opportunity to put his arm around you again.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You were so close to Rafe that you could smell him—that heady mix of sea salt after an afternoon of surfing with Topper, cologne, and whatever detergent the maid had used to wash his clothes. If this was any other boy, you'd lean in, inhaling the scent. But this was Rafe, so you squirmed out of his grip, your stomach churning.

"Can you behave yourself for one second? You're like a middle schooler," you snapped.

Rafe chuckled. "Relax, princess. Get your panties out of a twist for once."

Your eye twitched. "I'd call you scum, but that would be an insult to scum."

"I love scum, drop the s though," Rafe casually responded, flashing you a lecherous grin.

You pretended to gag. "You're a Neanderthal."

"Keep talking dirty to me, baby, I love it," Rafe said, dramatically clutching his chest.

You were so relieved when you heard Sarah bounding down the stairs. She settled back onto her place on the couch, seemingly unaware of the tension that had sparked up in her absence.

Sarah stared at you and Rafe, arching an eyebrow. "Did y'all manage to behave yourselves while I was gone?"

"Rafe was—"

"Oh, we had a great time together," Rafe interrupted, smirking. "Just hanging out with my bestie!"

"I am not your bestie," you corrected, your voice dripping with venom, though that only amused Rafe more.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Who's ready for episode two?"

You picked up the remote and pressed play, immersing yourself in Rory and Lorelai's quirky world. Thankfully, Rafe was quiet—but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his gaze, laser-focused on you the entire time.

Against your better judgment, you'd allowed Sarah to drag you to a party.

Normally, you'd be along for the ride. As long as the music was good and the snacks and drinks were decent, you could vibe, whether it was a frat party at UNC or a bonfire at the beach. But this wasn't just any party; it was a Topper Thornton party. And as Topper's best friend, Rafe would definitely be there.

"You better not make me regret this, Sarah Cameron," you grumbled, fiddling with one of the spaghetti straps on your black tank top.

Sarah just giggled. "C'mon, it'll be fun! I promise."

You weren't holding your breath, but you allowed Sarah to hook your arm in hers and lead you into Topper's house anyway.

"Ladies! Welcome to the shit show," Topper greeted you and Sarah, wrapping his arms around both of you.

Shit show was an apt description. Music was blasting so loudly that it was making the house shake. A sea of people was milling about the place, with dozens of overlapping conversations. There were even loud shrieks and splashes as guests messed around in the Thorntons' pool.

"Oh, _____, Rafe is somewhere around here, I think," Topper said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "As if I would care where Rafe is."

Topper snickered. "Yeah yeah, sure."

Topper was convinced that you and Rafe had a thing for each other, which was, frankly, ridiculous. You and him? Please.

"You gonna get us some drinks or what?" Sarah asked Topper, putting her hands on her hips. Topper gave the two of you salutes and was back in a flash with two red Solo cups full of a bright blue liquid. He and Sarah may have been broken up, but there was still a part of him that was wrapped around her finger.

Sarah downed her drink immediately, but you were more cautious, giving it a sniff first before taking a sip. It tasted like blue Hawaiian punch with a dash of pineapple juice, vodka, and rum—not a terrible combo.

As the party rolled along, you began to loosen up. The playlist was banging, you and Sarah were having the time of your lives dancing, and the best part? Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

You dipped out of the living room area to use the bathroom, and when you came back, Sarah was putting her jean jacket back on, an apologetic smile on her face. "John B says the Pogues are having a bonfire at the beach so I think I'm gonna stop by there. Sofia's gonna pick me up."

You felt a pang of sadness but you understood. The Pogues were important to Sarah, and you weren't gonna keep her from her boyfriend and other friends.

"You wanna come? I'm sure Sofia has extra room in her car," Sarah offered.

You considered the offer for a second, but felt hesitant, as if some invisible tether was keeping you here. (A voice in the back of your head whispered thoughts of a certain guy, but you were quick to shove them to the furthest corner of your mind.) John B was chill, and his friends were always nice to you. But this time, you weren't in the mood for another party.

"Nah, I'll be fine here," you assured Sarah. "Go have fun! But not too much fun."

"Yes mom," Sarah responded, playfully rolling her eyes.

After a few minutes, Sofia arrived to pick up Sarah, leaving you to your own devices. You felt your social battery draining, so you flopped down on one of Topper's living room couches, mindlessly scrolling through social media to pass the time.

“Is this seat taken?” you suddenly heard a husky voice say. You looked up from your phone and were greeted by the sight of Spencer Bingham, who you vaguely knew from having a few classes together back at Kildare Academy.

To put it simply, the guy was cute. He had shaggy light brown hair, twinkling gray eyes, and the most dazzling smile. "Go right ahead," you offered casually, though you were internally swooning.

"So how've you been? I haven't seen you since graduation," Spencer wondered.

"Oh I've been good," you replied, smiling shyly. "Really enjoying it at UNC. How about you?"

Spencer matched your smile, putting his hands behind his head. "Oh I'm great. Loving Penn State and the lacrosse team. Though there are some things I miss about Kildare that I can’t find up north."

You giggled. “And what might those be?”

“Well, the girls, for starters,” Spencer answered, shooting you a flirtatious grin. “Specifically, you.”

Your mouth dropped open. You wouldn’t call yourself ugly, but you hadn’t exactly been Miss Popular with the boys of Kildare. You admittedly harbored a tiny crush on Spencer during junior year, but never even considered that he would be interested in you.

Spencer noticed your shocked expression and chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised! You’re a total catch—I’ve seen your Insta pics.”

You ducked your head down, suddenly feeling shy. Slowly but surely, you were being more confident in your looks and comfortable with your social media photos. You still had to get used to fielding compliments from people though, trying your best to silence that minuscule voice of self-doubt that lurked in the corner of your mind.

Spencer lifted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Can…Can I kiss you?” he asked, suddenly more bashful than before.

You nodded, giving him the green light. You’d been kissed before, but it was an unremarkable smooch during a game of truth or dare in tenth grade. Spencer gave you a real kiss—soft and slow, like something out of a rom com.

Eventually the two of you parted, catching your breaths.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “That was—I really liked that, Spencer.”

Spencer grinned. “We could keep doing it, if you want.”

“And what do we have here? The nerd finally hooks up with the jock. So cute.”

You stiffened, scowling at that all-too-familiar voice. “Rafe. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but I’d be lying.”

Rafe snickered, leering at you. “I noticed I hadn’t gotten to bother my favorite person tonight so I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I find you sucking face with Bingham. Are the pickings really that slim at PSU, Spence?”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Don't you have some blonde girl with big boobs you could be making out with instead of bothering us?" you snapped.

Rafe's smirk deepened. "Bothering you is more fun, princess. You're pretty hot when you're angry."

Your stomach betrayed you by doing a backflip at Rafe's words. Damn him. "You're insufferable."

"Thanks baby, that means a lot," Rafe smugly answered.

Spencer cleared his throat, looking awkwardly between you and Rafe. "Look...I don't know what's going on here, so I'm gonna go. See you around, ____. Nice chattin' with ya." He flashed you one last smile before getting up, leaving you alone with Rafe. Wonderful.

"What the fuck, Rafe? There was a perfectly nice guy who was totally into me, and you just ruined it." You were absolutely fuming. It was annoying enough that Rafe lived to push your buttons, but to essentially cockblock you as well?

Rafe snorted. "Come on, princess. Bingham couldn't handle a girl like you."

You clenched your jaw, glaring daggers into Rafe. "And what is that supposed to mean?" you demanded.

Rafe crossed his arms, huffing. "He's just not right for you, okay?"

"And how would you know who's right for me?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

For once, Rafe was silent. You rolled your eyes at him and hopped off the couch, completely done with his bullshit.

"Where ya goin'?" Rafe asked, furrowing his brows.

"Home," you curtly replied. "I'll just walk."

"Right, because it's such a genius idea to walk alone...at night...in those shoes," Rafe snarked. "Let me drive you."

You sneered at him. "No thanks. You're probably drunk anyway."

"'m actually sober, sweetheart," Rafe replied.

You let out a huff of surprise. "Rafe Cameron, not drinking at a party? Either the world is ending or you must've hit your head."

"Jus' didn't feel like drinking tonight, all right? Especially since Sarah asked me to make sure you got home," Rafe said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away from you.

You felt a pang in your chest. You loved Sarah for looking out for you, but you weren't prepared for Rafe to actually care about you or your well-being.

You sighed, not having the energy to argue anymore. "Okay, fine. Take me home."

The drive back to your place was uncharacteristically silent. Normally, whenever Rafe would drive you and Sarah places, he'd have a Spotify playlist blaring, or he'd be running his annoying mouth. But Rafe was focused on the road, not even sparing a second glance at you. You should've enjoyed this, relishing in the quietness. But something just felt...off.

You were relieved when Rafe finally pulled into your driveway. "Hey—thanks for driving me home. I appreciate it."

You went to open your car door, but Rafe put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you felt rooted to your spot, transfixed by his unreadable expression. What you wouldn't give to know what was going through Rafe Cameron's mind right now.

Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt and moved closer to you, cupping your face in his hands. Your heart fluttered in your chest in anticipation. Then, he softly kissed you on the lips.

A million different emotions raced through your mind as you felt his lips on yours. Before you could fully process what was happening, Rafe pulled away, stroking your lower lip. You shivered at his gentle touch.

Rafe cleared his throat, his ears flushing a bright red. "Um. So. Have a good night, princess."

You opened the car door and climbed out, flashing Rafe a nervous smile. "Yeah, have a good night, Rafe."

You found yourself replaying Rafe's kiss in your mind that night. Spencer's kiss had been nice, but Rafe? Of course, he was the one that had your head spinning.

Things had definitely shifted since...that thing happened after Topper's party. You and Rafe, usually firey with each other, had cooled off significantly. You felt like you would combust every time he spared a glance at you. It got to the point where you would refuse Sarah's invitations to Tannyhill, not risking the chance of seeing Rafe around.

Unsurprisingly, Sarah grew tired of both of your bullshit. "You're coming over," she said while the two of you hung out in your room, her voice not leaving any room for argument.

"Sarah, I—"

Sarah held up a hand. "Nope! No excuses! You and Rafe haven't spoken to each other for a week, and it's kinda freaking me out. You're coming over right now and both of you are gonna sort your shit out."

Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Sarah, so you conceded and agreed to go back to Tannyhill with her. You just had to ignore that your stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics at the thought of talking to Rafe.

When you reached Tannyhill, Rafe was on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Sarah whistled to get Rafe's attention and he looked up, blushing furiously at the sight of you. You nervously looked away, wishing you could sprout wings and fly out of there. Why did things have to be so weird?

"I'll leave y'all to it," Sarah said, bounding up the stairs.

Rafe cleared his throat. "So...you wanna sit down?"

You gulped, nodding, and joined Rafe on the couch. You wracked your brain, trying to think of a way to broach the subject you and Rafe had been dancing around for a week. Hey Rafe! So remember when you kissed me that night? I know I hate your guts, but I actually liked that!

"So—"

"Well—"

You and Rafe laughed, slightly easing the tension.

"So...about that kiss," you said, twiddling your thumbs.

Rafe awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Look, ____. I know I give you a lot of shit, but I actually really like you. Like, a lot. And I fucked around with you because it was the only way I could get your attention. When I saw you with Bingham that night? I was jealous. Because that should be me."

You took a deep breath, trying to process Rafe's words before you went forward with your own confession. "Rafe—I like you too. And I really didn't want to, especially with your charming personality." Rafe snorted.

"I tried so hard to push those feelings down to protect myself," you continued. "But when you kissed me, everything just bubbled to the surface. So I ran away instead of actually dealing with my emotions. I really liked that kiss. And I'm scared of how much I enjoyed it."

Rafe gazed at you fondly, and you felt like you would melt right there on the couch. You wished he would look at you like that for as long as he wanted to.

"You're probably the funniest girl I know. And you're kind, and smart, and hot as fuck," Rafe said, lazily raking his eyes over your body.

"You're all right too, I guess," you replied with mock indifference, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're insufferable," Rafe muttered, rolling his eyes, though there wasn't any real heat to his words.

You smirked. "But you like me anyway."

Rafe grinned. "That's true." He leaned in close, looking at you hesitantly before you silently gave him permission. Rafe kissed you deeply, pinning you to the couch. You eagerly kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've been wanting to do this for so fucking long," Rafe admitted, littering the side of your neck with kisses. You let out a whine, arching your back. You were such an idiot. You could’ve been experiencing Rafe’s mouth on you all this time.

“I think little Rafe is trying to say hello,” you wryly remarked, feeling a bulge poking you in the side. Rafe chuckled, his laugh warming your insides.

“So say hi,” Rafe purred in your ear, shifting you so your clothed crotch was right on top of the bulge in his jeans. You started grinding against his clothed erection, the two of you letting out moans of pleasure at the friction between you. You were trying your best to be quiet since Sarah was right upstairs, but it felt so so so good.

“Gonna cum, princess,” Rafe muttered before letting out a grunt. “Fuck…I haven’t cum in my pants like that in a while. You see what you do to me, baby?”

You shyly giggled, burying your face in his neck. Rafe softly smiled at you, kissing your forehead. The two of you laid on the couch, enjoying the comfortable silence before falling asleep.

Click!

Your eyes fluttered open at the intrusion, noticing a grinning Sarah holding her phone at you and Rafe.

Rafe stirred soon afterward. “Baby, what…” he trailed off, noticing his sister. “Sarah?”

“Sorry, but y’all looked too cute,” Sarah replied, giggling.

“I’ll forgive you if you send me that pic,” you said.

Rafe pouted. “Babe, I’m probably drooling and shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, it’s not like I’m gonna use it to hard launch us or anything. But it’s scientifically impossible for you to look bad in a photo anyway.”

Rafe smirked. “Wow, you’re really obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, giving Rafe a shove. He just laughed, giving you a peck on the lips.

You and Rafe’s phones both dinged twice with messages from Sarah, one with the candid photo and a follow-up message that said “You guys make me sick ❤️”

You looked at the photo, your heart swelling as you gazed at the image of you and Rafe. You were sleeping soundly, with your face pressed against Rafe's chest and his arms wrapping around your midsection protectively.

"Making this my lockscreen immediately," Rafe said, warming your heart.

Sarah pretended to gag, but she looked fondly at you and Rafe. "Glad y'all finally got your heads out of your asses."

"Me too. Especially Rafe. His was stuck waaay up there," you joked.

Rafe playfully rolled his eyes at you. "I was waiting for you to pull it out, babe."

"Okay, now I'm getting sick again," Sarah deadpanned, flopping down on the couch next to you.

You laughed. "Hey, why don't we watch Gilmore Girls again? I haven't forgotten your Stars Hollow education, Sar."

"Hey, I'm down," Sarah said, finding the remote and turning on Netflix.

"Where did we leave off?" Rafe asked.

"We didn't make it past episode 2 because someone decided they were bored," you dryly responded, shooting Rafe a pointed look.

Rafe smirked. "That was the old me, baby. I swear I've changed."

You shook your head, but you couldn't hide your ear-splitting grin. As Sarah started the episode and Rafe pulled you close to him, you felt a sense of peace. You never could've imagined yourself in this position a few weeks ago, or even yesterday. But in this moment, everything felt right. And while you were annoyed by it before, you'd let Rafe follow you wherever you went.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #tiff writes ✏️

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makeyoumine69 · 2 months ago

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hey! hope this isn't too weird lol but could you write headcanons for how patrick bateman would act if the woman he was dating was ovulating? like would he notice? get weirdly possessive or more obsessive? just curious how that would play out with his whole psycho control thing 👀 thanks!!

Patrick Bateman x Ovulating GF (Headcanons)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smut, Patrick is an animal.

𝐀/𝐍: Thank you so much for sending me this request! I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it. Many thanks to my dear @moriohpsyker for proofreading!💕

🪓He would know because he tracks it.

Patrick is a very organized man, and tracking your menstrual cycle is part of his practical nature. He probably has a calendar or spreadsheet of your cycle, but he wouldn't tell you because you might think it's creepy or weird, even though it really is. So he keeps this information to himself. Once he notices the subtle changes in your mood, the way you talk, how flirty and sassy your tone becomes, how wide your smile is, and how you're absolutely radiating from the inside, he'll definitely check the calendar to see if he's right on time. He can practically taste your arousal in the air whenever you’re around, and it drives him insane.

"You're glowing, darling," he murmurs into your ear, burying his nose in your hair and pressing you tight against him. "And this scent—so sweet. Lemme taste it.”

🪓His attraction would spike, but it would also piss him off.

Basically, I see him being much more aroused than usual because you’re glowing, your smile hits differently(it's more playful in his opinion), and you’re like a gift with a bow on it, walking around him, asking to be unwrapped. Patrick would be bothered by all of this, especially at work when it gives him a boner. He’s already upset that he has to lock himself up in his office and jerk off to trashy porn magazines instead of eating you out; to settle inside your dripping pussy. The notion that he could impregnate you would rile him up and speed up his orgasm. He'd see it as an obvious con and another reason to complain—you having a special effect on him while you're just living your life. He could blame nature, but it's easier to blame you and fuck you harder as punishment.

"Shit, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you all day long," he'd whisper into your parted mouth while doing you missionary style with your legs looped around his lower back. The curve of his cock would massage the front wall of your throbbing pussy so fuckin' perfectly. Patrick would groan, grabbing both your wrists with one hand and pinning them over your head. He'd slam deeper, his hips grinding against yours with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. "Hey, don't close your eyes, honey. I want you to see the things you’re doing to me.”

🪓The potential of breeding you? What if he has a breeding kink?

Okay, but what if the two of you were actually planning for a baby? That would change everything, since this man would take days off from work to have sex with you throughout your ovulation period. He'd be so genuine about it. He'd be dedicated as hell. Patrick would find ways to impress or shock you with his "absolutely normal" ideas.

One day, he'll suggest filming the conception process so he can rewatch it later. When he notices your face going blank, he'll raise his eyebrows and ask, "What's wrong with that, baby?"

Even if you say no, he’ll drill a goddamn hole in your brain with his whining and preaching about how he wants to memorize your perfect body when he manages to pump you full of his cum; and how he’d spread your legs wide open on camera to show it leaking down your thighs. No, there’s nothing depraved about it. Patrick will wait and let you simmer. He'll persistently feed you pieces of his twisted fantasy, like a demon sitting on your shoulder and buzzing in your ear, until you surrender.

And he eventually, of course, gets everything he wants.

He'll dress you in pretty pastel lingerie because he wants you to look soft and innocent for the video, to make it look like something that was made in heaven. First, he’ll make you suck him off before delving between your legs. After he’s sure the camera is recording, he’ll feast on your succulent pussy as if it were his last meal. Of course, he'd do it with the wettest, filthiest, slurpiest sounds to gratify his own desires while also humiliating you further. For the sex position, he’d debate between mating press and the prone bone only to try them both.

Then, Patrick will break you in half, with your legs splayed open and pulled up at your knees. He'll drape them over his broad shoulders and squat down so intensely that his heavy balls will slap your ass. God, he'll definitely jerk off to your moans while watching this recording on the days when the doctor forbids you to have sex.

🪓The opposite side of his hyperfixation over your ovulation would be his jealousy.

Patrick would be extremely jealous and territorial on the days when you’re ovulating. He’d be on edge, and even just a small smile given to a waiter, passerby, or anyone else would instantly set him off. He would lose his mind, and he hates it, but he hates other men staring at what's his even more, so you better not provoke him. If you do, be ready for revenge.

"We're leaving," he would hiss, annoyed and spitting venom. "This place is so fucking overrated. The alcohol they're serving here is pure garbage.”

He definitely wasn't acting like that just because you thanked a random guy for helping you pick up a napkin you dropped.

What a tragedy.

Yeah, Patrick is unhealthily possessive, especially when you’re vulnerable and blossoming like this. He’ll see every man as a potential threat if they dare try to get too close to you.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[KO-FI]

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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chrissturnsfav · 7 months ago

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hii! would it be possible for you do to smth with rapper!chris and singer!reader like in an argument? she's being like rlly sassy, and he's not having it.

love your work, xoxo!

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris gives singer!reader an attitude adjustment

the music pulses through the crowded house, a steady thrum that matches the beat of your heart. lil skies’ party is in full swing, packed with people flaunting their best outfits and vibes.

you stick close to chris at first, your hand looped around his arm as you weave through the crowd. he’s glowing tonight—chain sparkling under the neon lights, his grin wide and easy, and that confident air that draws people in like a magnet.

you try not to notice how the room seems to orbit him. it’s always like this. everyone loves chris.

you’ve had a couple of drinks, and he’s been passing a blunt back and forth with his brothers. the triplets are a force of their own, but chris stands out, as he always does. you watch him throw his head back in laughter at some joke nick cracks.

you love that smile. it’s what hooked you in the first place.

but then you notice her.

across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, a girl is staring at chris. no—staring through you, her gaze locked on him like you don’t even exist. her lashes flutter as she tilts her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. she’s doing it on purpose, you can tell. her body language screams it: the way she adjusts her skimpy top, showing just a little more skin, the way she sips her drink slowly, almost tauntingly.

you glance at chris. he hasn’t noticed her—he’s too busy talking to matt about something, his hands gesturing animatedly. but it doesn’t matter. her intentions are clear, and they’re pissing you off.

"really?" you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else. but the irritation simmers, fueled by the alcohol in your system. you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.

chris turns to you, his eyebrows raised. "what’s up?" he asks, that easy smile still on his face.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "nothing," you mumble, even though it’s not nothing.

he gives you a look, the one that says he knows you’re lying. he always knows. "c'mon mama, tell me," he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. "that girl over there has been eye-fucking you."

chris glances around, confused. "what girl?"

"don’t play dumb, chris," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend. "the one in the kitchen."

his expression shifts, his smile faltering as he scoffs, "ma, i didn’t even notice her," he says, his tone honest yet slightly irritated that you're mad at him for something he can't control. "m'not lookin' at anyone but you."

"that’s not the point!" you whine, your voice rising. "she’s staring at you, and you’re just fucking standing here like you don't give a fuck."

chris runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated now. "fuck am i supposed to do 'bout that?"

"you could at least act like you care!" you shoot back, your words slurring slightly from the alcohol.

"i do care ma," he says, his voice tight. "but m'not startin' a scene over sum'n i can't even control."

your chest tightens, the mix of jealousy and alcohol clouding your judgment. "you don’t fucking get it, chris. you never do."

his eyes narrow, the easygoing vibe he’s been carrying all night slipping away. "never?" he repeats, his tone sharp now. "really? that’s what y'think?"

you cross your arms tighter, trying to steady yourself. "yeah, i do," you say, the words coming out harsher than you intend. "you fucking act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter, but it does."

chris shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he takes a step back, his frustration plain on his face. "wow," he mutters, running a hand over his face. he scoffs, shaking his head as he looks at the floor, "'y'never do,' she said..."

"don’t you fucking twist this on me," you snap. "i’m not the one acting dumb while some girl—"

before you can finish, chris grabs your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you mid-sentence. his eyes are dark, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can get a word out, he’s tugging you through the crowd. you stumble slightly, his grip steadying you as he weaves through the sea of drunk celebrities. your heart pounds, both from the lingering anger and the sudden shift in his energy.

he doesn’t say a word as he pulls you down a hallway and pushes open the door to a bathroom, ushering you inside before closing and locking the door behind him. the sound of the lock clicking sends a jolt through you, the tension in the small space almost suffocating.

"what the fuck, chris?" you snap, crossing your arms, though your voice lacks the bite it had moments ago.

he scoffs, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he shakes his head. he sets his drink down on the counter before he pushes you against the door of the bathroom by your waist, his grip tight.

you gasp, caught completely off guard, confusion yet something else swirling in your slightly lidded eyes, "what're you doing?" you ask as you furrow your brows, keeping up your sassy tone.

"y'clearly need an attitude adjustment baby," he mutters, leaning in closer until his lips are a centimeter away from yours.

you don’t respond—can’t respond—because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours, claiming you with a heat that leaves no room for argument. his hands slide to your hips, pushing you harder against the door, and any protest you had dies in your throat.

every ounce of jealousy and bitterness is gone by the time chris has you bent over the bathroom sink, fucking you with remaining irritation and force. he has one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass while the other holds your face up by your throat, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart for him in the mirror.

"this what y'needed didn't you?" he snickers through a grunt, smirking at your makeup smudged face in the mirror as he fucks into your puffy pussy harder.

when you try to respond, all that comes out is jumbled and incoherent whines, your mind clouded with intoxication and pure bliss, your hands gripping onto the countertop harshly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

chris chuckles darkly, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he slaps your ass, making you squeal and gasp, "yeah, that's what i thought. fuckin' sassin' me over shit i can't control ten minutes ago, 'n now look at you," he scoffs, hissing in pleasure with a deep grunt before he finishes his sentence, "fuckin' goin' stupid over my cock like always."

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos

@chrissturnsfav ™

#ᰔᩚ rapper!chris x singer!reader prompt #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #ᰔᩚ rapper!chris x singer!reader #chrissturnsfav ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets x you

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nyxiswrites1200 · 2 years ago

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🩵𝑺𝒂𝒎'𝒔 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍🩵

Sam Winchester x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Crushing, friends to lovers, pet names, Sexual tension, Mellow sexual thoughts, Size kink, p in v, nipple play, multiple rounds, oral sex, praise kink, aftercare

Mentions: She/her reader pronouns, Reader wears a skirt, Reader is implied to be shorter than Sam, Imagining early seasons Sam, Dean is present

"In a world of boys, he's a gentleman"

AN: uhh I know I died for like a month but supernatural brain rot is incoming. Sam girl for life <3 anyhow, happy holidays loves. This is so self-indulging, sorry babes.

----

Sam Winchester is an awkward man. He's so respectful he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes. But don't mistake his sweet attitude for a lack of attraction.

When you bend over to pick his book up off the floor for him, he notices your skirt sliding up your thighs. He quickly looks away as he runs a hand through the back of his messy brown hair.

Sam always opens the door of the Impala for you when you join him and Dean on road trips. He notices the way you let your hand brush over his arm as you help yourself into the car. Dean just lets out a small laugh as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Sam watches you saunter around the motel room in his shirt. Under the claim that 'it's just more comfortable'. He loves the way your figure is swallowed up by his larger clothes.

Sometimes it was almost degrading how respectful he was. In truth, you were trying to get his attention. To catch him peaking under your skirt, getting hard from seeing you in his shirt, or him finally being pushed over the edge by your 'discreet' affectionate touches. You swore you were gonna have to climb in his lap and say "fuck me" for him to actually do it.

In truth, Sam wasn't oblivious to what you wanted. Rather he was too kind to give it to you. He thought you were so precious that he needed to deny you. Sleeping with you would be too personal, too intimate and he wouldn't be able to let go of you after.

Dean let out a small laugh, Sam and him were alone in the hotel room while you went to go get dinner for the three. "What, Dean?" Sam asked in his partially sassy attitude as he read through his book. "Nothing nothing...it's just funny watching her pawn for you. Think you might be hurtin' her feelings." Dean smirked as he looked over at his little brother. Sam sighed in response, knowing he could only be talking about you. "I'm not that stupid, I know what she wants...I just..." he ran a hand through his hair "I don't think I should". "Sammy" Dean inquires "Look, she knows what we do. She hasn't gone running yet and she's perfectly human, there's nothing dangerous about that girl" he chuckles. "I know you're afraid because of what happened but...I think this might be something worth risking".

Sam let Dean's words simmer in his thoughts all night. For once he might actually agree with his older brother.

The next night you and Sam were alone. You finally spilled, being brutally honest. Sam watched with a bit of shock as you admitted how you'd be pawning for him. All your actions had a purpose and how bad you wanted to be his girlfriend. You almost wanted to cry with how emotionally overwhelmed this made you trying to explain yourself.

"Lovely, I'm sorry..." Sam stands as he cups your cheek and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. "I know you want me but I was being selfish because I know if I...indulge myself in you, I won't be able to let you go ever again." he explained, his voice was so gentle and his eyes reminded you of a puppy with the way he looked at you. "Maybe...I'm a little selfish too" you chime in "I just...I wanna be yours so bad that I don't really care what happens".

Those words alone tumbled the tension between both of you over the edge. Sam's kisses were soft then heated and needy. He had you pushed against the motel wall while both of you discarded your clothes. His larger figure covered you as he kissed you desperately. His hands engulfed your hips as he gripped them.

Once you two were on the bed, his hands fondled your breasts, teasing your nipples between his fingers. His chest pressed into your back as he kissed along your neck. You reached back to tangle a hand into his hair.

Sam was so sweet but he was a fucking god in bed. He knew exactly where to kiss, fondle, and tease. Nothing but deeply slurred words of "How does that feel?", "You okay?", "Taking me so well, lovely", and "Good girl...". You went three rounds with him...

He rubbed your clit and toyed with your nipples, leaving kisses and sucking up your neck. You came on his fingers, feeling him stretch you open. You wanted to watch his strong hands fuck into you so bad.

He nestled himself between your thighs. His tongue lapping up your first orgasm. You watched as you tugged on his hair, noticing the dominant look in his eyes. His hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread as you squirmed beneath him. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked on it until he fucked his tongue inside you while you came again.

Then finally he fills you with his cock, only after making sure you were okay. He had you stuffed to the brim, grunts and moans leaving him with each thrust. He pressed his forehead against yours as he kissed your cervix with the tip of his dick.

When you came for a third time, he let you ride your high until he pulled out and finished on your stomach. A gentleman as always, not stuffing you with his cum on the first night. Even if you wouldn't have minded.

Sam carefully cleaned you up in the bath. Warm water envelops you both. He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder and gently rubbed your side as he cleaned you up. His actions are no longer lustful, this was just affectionate. "Did you enjoy yourself? Wasn't too much?" he asked softly, his expression back to looking like a puppy. "I'm fine, Sammy. It was perfect..." You smiled and kissed him softly.

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chvoswxtch · 3 months ago

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lucky

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt gets an unexpected visitor in court.

warnings: swearing, matt being the sassy lil shit he is, more angst, lawyer matt lawyering (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 4k

a/n: are y'all feeling the slow burn yet? it's only gonna keep burning baby ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Your Honor, the Defendant fired a shot-”

“Objection, it was an accident-”

Matt let out a humorless scoff as he tilted his head in the direction of the other lawyer who had been spouting nothing but audacious bullshit for the last hour and a half, and who smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne, both of which were grating on Matt’s nerves. This case should’ve been over weeks ago, but that Acqua di Dick kept filing for extensions with different excuses, and the judge kept granting them.

He’d been trying to remain level headed, even though it was ridiculous that this case had even turned into a trial with the damning evidence they had, but it had dragged on long enough. The thought of wasting another day in court over this when there were other cases that Matt was behind that needed his attention more only further pissed him off. The arrogance and condescension in that asshole’s annoying voice combined with the overpowering scent of his shitty cologne had a headache starting to throb at the base of Matt’s skull, and it had slowly shredded his patience into frayed strands he could no longer grasp onto.

Gripping his cane tightly with both hands, the dark indigo and violet blooms of bruises on his knuckles turned into pastels, and Matt Murdock took a backseat while the Devil took over.

“Mr. Huntington, your client did not accidentally walk into that bodega with a weapon and a ski mask. He did not accidentally threaten Mr. Ocasio with that weapon and demand the money from the register, or assault him when he refused. He did not accidentally commit a robbery.”

Matt ignored Foggy’s quiet whispered warnings of his name and instead turned to face the opposition directly, and even took a step towards their table. His cane subtly vibrated under his iron grip, something he’d noticed happened since he’d started carrying it around. Anytime he applied pressure, which was often considering gripping his cane was a physical practice to try and reign in his temper, it made the vibranium faintly buzz against his palm. He figured it was something to do with that kinetic energy she’d mentioned, but he hadn’t tried to use it yet.

“Your client walked into that bodega of sound mind, with that weapon and that mask, and the intent to commit a robbery. It does not matter if his finger slipped on the trigger accidentally or if he fired the shot intentionally, the fact of the matter is if that bullet had strayed just an inch to the left, this would be a manslaughter case. Now you can file as many bullshit extensions as you want and try to abuse the legal system to your benefit, but you are only delaying the inevitable, because we have video evidence of your client committing this crime. So when you’re finished being an egotistical asshole, maybe we can cut this pissing contest short, and you can get back to upholding your oath to the-”

“Mr. Murdock!”

The sound of the gavel banging repeatedly against the wood and the judge’s angry voice halted Matt’s angry tirade, making him twitch slightly. The noise turned that dull throb in his head into a relentless pounding, and he clenched his jaw as he pressed his lips together.

“One more outburst like that Mr. Murdock, and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

Matt could feel his anger simmering in his veins, his internal temperature steadily increasing. He opened his mouth to say something but abruptly paused. In the midst of his frustration, he hadn’t heard the creak of the doors opening in the back, or noticed someone slipping inside. Tilting his head slightly to the right, he focused his senses on the very back row, and he caught it.

Spiced vanilla and jasmine.

A furrow quickly nestled between his brows. What the hell was she doing here?

“Mr. Murdock?”

The judge didn’t bother hiding his exasperation, and Foggy whisper yelling his name again snapped him out of the distraction of her presence. Shifting back into focus, Matt straightened up and turned to face the bench.

“Your Honor, we’d like to present the surveillance footage from the night of April tenth that Mr. Ocasio’s security cameras captured.”

»»———　　———««

As soon as the gavel signaled the end of the session and the sentence was passed, Matt immediately headed towards the back of the courtroom, ignoring a very confused Foggy and Karen who were calling after him. The second he was close enough, he grabbed her arm firmly and dragged her out into the hallway before she could even make a smartass comment.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Her own brows knit together as she tugged her arm away from his grasp.

“What? I like legal dramas.”

Matt’s lips pursed in pure annoyance, and she could almost see him roll his eyes behind those dark red tinted lenses.

“Okay, we need to establish some more boundaries. My job is off limits too-”

“This isn’t your office, it’s a public space.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want you in my personal life.”

“I don’t think you want me in any part of your life.”

That shut him up. There was a casualness with how she’d said it, but he swore he could detect something layered beneath the intonation of indifference. Something faint, but there, that betrayed her impassive portrayal. Before he could linger too long on it, she changed the subject.

“I got a lead from Tarasov’s burner. It’s not exactly something I could’ve texted you.”

“Why not?”

“Because your phone reads all your messages out loud.”

Her voice was dry, and she made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. Matt clenched his jaw as he processed that. She had a point.

“You couldn’t have called?”

“You don’t have a secure line.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means anyone could listen in.”

“But no one knows that I’m involved-”

“Doesn’t matter. They just have to hear the magic word while they’re scanning, and you’d become a target before you even hung up.”

Matt hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t think about any of these things, because it had never occurred to him before. As much as he hated to admit it, she knew what she was doing. She had knowledge and expertise when it came to these things that he just didn’t. Letting out a deep exhale, he shifted onto his other foot and adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. What is it?”

“A text came through from an unknown number we couldn’t trace, but it had an address and a time. Soma’s, tomorrow night, eight pm.”

Before Matt could respond, a voice cut in from behind.

“So that’s why you sprinted out of the courtroom. Should’ve guessed.”

Foggy’s tone had a lilt of a tease, and Matt froze. The last thing he wanted was for Foggy and Karen to know about her. He didn’t even know how to explain her. But before he could stutter out an excuse, Foggy was already stepping forward and holding out his hand with a grin.

“Hi, I’m Foggy Nelson. This is Karen Page.”

Her lips spread into an easy smile as she shook both of their hands and introduced herself with one of her aliases.

“Nice to meet you both. Congratulations on your win, by the way.”

“That’s how we do things at N, M, & P. Winnin’ cases.”

Karen tried to stifle her snort behind her hand and Matt quietly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t call us that-”

“What? Those are our initials, and that’s how the big law firms do it. It sounds more…sophisticated.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Kinda does. Sounds like we get paid. Like in money.”

Beside him, Matt heard her let out a laugh. He could tell it was a genuine one. It was the same one he’d heard the other night on the phone.

“And…what do you get paid in now?”

Karen let out a soft laugh as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder and casually shrugged.

“Baked goods, favors, and just enough to keep the lights on.”

“So, are you uh…”

Foggy trailed off, looking between her and Matt curiously, waiting for one of them to fill in the blanks.

“She’s a friend.”

Matt automatically responded, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth. Foggy and Karen exchanged a quick knowing glance, and then Foggy looked at Matt with a smirk that made it clear he knew his best friend was full of shit.

“Right. A…friend. And does your friend want to come join us for celebratory drinks at Josie’s?”

“She has somewhere to-”

“I’d love to.”

Matt snapped his head in her direction, a tight frown of disapproval already tugging down his lips. There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her-

“Great, let’s go.”

Karen was already leading her towards the revolving doors of the building before Matt could even utter a word of protest. Foggy was just snickering as he turned to follow the pair.

“About time you brought a decent girl around, Matthew.”

Scowling at Foggy’s playful jab, Matt pressed his lips together and swiftly caught up to him, sticking his cane out in front of his leg. Foggy nearly tripped as his shin collided with it, and he bent down to rub his leg as he hissed.

“Ow! Goddamnit Matt-”

“Oops, my bad.”

Foggy grumbled under his breath as Matt smirked and kept walking.

“Keep it up. I’ll replace all your clothes with the most obnoxious colors and patterns I can find.”

Despite his annoyance, Matt couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Now that’s just cruel.”

“And tripping people with your cane isn’t? Jesus, what the hell is that thing made of anyway?”

»»———　　———««

“You know my mom wanted me to be a butcher?”

Karen and Matt simultaneously groaned, and Karen laughed as she set her drink down, holding her hand up to signal for Foggy to stop as she shook her head.

“God, not the butcher story again-”

“What? She hasn’t heard it. Anyway, I could’ve been a rich man by now, you know. Slingin’ meats.”

Setting her drink down, she laughed as she placed her chin in her palm, looking over at Foggy as she arched one of her brows curiously.

“What happened?”

“Ah, I got this roommate in law school, too smart for his own good, never shut up about Thurgood Marshall. And somehow, he convinced me to leave a very well paying gig at the law firm we interned at to start our own firm so we could help the underserved community instead of the rich assholes with blank checks.”

Matt rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, taking another sip of his drink as he leaned back in the worn chair. She glanced over at him with a subtle smirk before looking over at Foggy again.

“Well, surely it’s more fulfilling.”

“Yeah, but we can’t pay our electric bill in casseroles and pies. Unfortunately.”

Matt set his drink down on the sticky table and tilted his head towards Foggy, his tone dry as he began to protest.

“We have paying clients Foggy-”

“Yeah, but we could have well paying clients. C’mon, one rich asshole a month, something petty that our conscience could survive defending.”

“We have enough cases-”

“One every three months. Every six? We could upcharge ‘em, you know. They won’t care, or notice. C’mon, I’ll take you somewhere snazzy, Murdock. Some place where you have to make a reservation a year in advance with a menu in a language neither of us can read. I could even get us front row seats to Rogers the musical!”

Creases of confusion settled in the middle of Matt’s forehead as he cocked his head to the side.

“Why would I want to go to a musical?”

“You have ears, Matthew. Don’t ruin my fantasy.”

While they bickered, she leaned over towards Karen with an amused expression and spoke quietly.

“Are they always like this?”

Karen glanced between Foggy and Matt with a grin before looking back at her and nodding, letting out a laugh.

“They’re usually worse.”

Foggy turned his attention back towards Matt’s mysterious new friend as he sipped his drink.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a ballet teacher.”

Matt was surprised at how quickly she’d answered. The ease with which she lied would be impressive if it wasn’t so concerning. That was probably part of the whole agent thing though, he supposed. He wondered if she came up with these things on her own, the aliases and the backstories, or if they were given to her by S.H.I.E.L.D. to memorize. He also wondered just how many she had. He struggled to keep up with one secret identity, and yet here she was juggling multiple.

He couldn’t understand how she didn’t lose track of her own real identity, or how she didn’t seem to get caught up in her own web of lies.

“Really? How did you get into that?”

Karen asked in surprise, her curiosity now peaked. The journalist in her couldn’t resist a good story, and that profession was unique. It wasn’t one somebody just chose on a whim or out of convenience.

“I was given lessons pretty early. I think I was…three when I started.”

Matt subtly tilted his head to the side, studying her. Strangely, her heartbeat didn’t falter. That was a truth. He found himself perplexed, wondering why she said it. Was it part of the protocol? Sprinkle some truth in with every lie to make it believable? He thought back to their phone call the other night, how she’d shared that personal detail about her memories.

Everytime he thought he was starting to figure her out, she’d say or do something that completely threw him off. As much as it intrigued him, it also left him incredibly frustrated. It was like trying to navigate a maze where every promising turn was a dead end.

“You still do it?”

She turned her attention to Foggy, giving a subtle shake of her head with a quiet laugh.

“Oh no, I just teach now.”

“You ever thought about doing anything else?”

She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering down to the drink in her hand. Something shifted in her body language, but once again, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. She faintly shrugged and looked up at Foggy again with a casual smile.

“I don’t know what I’d do, honestly. It’s…kinda the only thing I’ve ever known.”

Matt was struck by the sincerity in her voice. He didn’t know exactly what she meant by “it”, but whatever it was, she was telling the truth again. He suddenly found himself subconsciously turning towards her, wanting to ask what she meant by that, but then Foggy spoke up again.

“Do you think I could be a ballerina?”

Karen nearly spit out her drink laughing at the mental image, and even Matt let a dry chuckle escape at the absurdity of the question. A wry smirk tugged at the edge of her lips as she arched one of her brows.

“Do you want to be a ballerina?”

“Why not? How hard can it be?”

“It’s pretty brutal, actually. It’s a lot bloodier than people think.”

Foggy’s face twisted up as he wrinkled his nose at that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty hard on your body.”

“You’re not selling me on this ballerina thing.”

She let out another short laugh, nodding with a small smile as she brought her drink to her lips.

“Good. We need more people like you than people like me.”

Matt didn’t know why, but the way she said that, and the certainty in her voice, made something in his chest tighten in an odd way. He knew self loathing when he heard it. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. But he was shocked to hear someone like her even hint at it. Someone who had confessed with conviction that she didn’t mind being the “bad guy”.

He felt like he had a thousand more questions, none of which he could ask in front of Foggy and Karen. He had to be patient, which wasn’t his strong suit, and just hope that her relaxed mood meant that she’d answer without her usual smartass retort.

Twenty minutes later when Karen and Foggy got up for refills, Matt didn’t waste the opportunity. He leaned in a little closer and kept his voice low, even though the chatter around them and music playing from the jukebox provided a bubble of privacy for their conversation.

“How did you go from ballet lessons to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Just lucky I guess.”

Matt had to fight the urge to throw his hands up in exasperation as let out an annoyed scoff. He shook his head in barely concealed incredulity, letting out a bitter laugh as he brought his drink to his lips.

“Great. We’re back to frustratingly vague answers?”

She was quiet for a moment, and Matt could feel her eyes roaming over him, studying him. She did that often, like she was trying to figure him out as much as he was her. But he didn’t understand why. She had the upper hand, and he hated that. He didn’t have a file with her whole life story in it. He could only work with what she gave him, which was usually nothing.

Letting out a slow exhale through her nose, she set her drink down and leaned back in the creaky chair.

“It’s not a simple answer.”

“It’s not an answer at all.”

Another moment of silence passed, and he could sense her eyes flickering around, taking the atmosphere all in. He didn’t know if being hyper aware of her surroundings had been part of her training, or if she was just a naturally curious person, but he’d noticed her head was usually on a swivel, and she never fully relaxed, despite her calm demeanor. It was like she was constantly on guard, waiting for something to happen.

“I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. five years ago.”

That caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting an actual answer, but that one didn’t clear up anything at all. It only made her timeline more puzzling. There was no way she’d become as skilled as she was in just five years. The ballet lessons could explain the fluid and graceful way she moved, but even if she’d taken lessons her whole life, it didn’t explain anything else.

Matt’s brain tried to rationalize this new information. He’d been training since he was ten years old. He’d spent his whole life doing it, even after Stick left. It had taken a long time learning on his own, but all those years of practice had led to him perfecting what he could do now. It all played a part in shaping who he had become.

In that moment, he had a sudden epiphany.

S.H.I.E.L.D. may have taught her a few things in the last five years, but something had come before that. He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had already been trained to be what she was long before.

Matt’s hand abruptly stilled, drink halfway to his lips, and he tilted his head in her direction. His expression betrayed the curiosity he felt.

“Where were you before that?”

“Somewhere I didn’t wanna be.”

There was a finality to her tone, a subtle edge that made it clear that was all he was going to get. He pursed his lips in a frown. Her answers were so carefully crafted, only composed of what she wanted him to know. Nothing more, nothing less. Those cryptic answers drove him insane. She’d given him tiny little pieces, but they amounted to nothing. Not even a general idea of who she actually was.

“I like Foggy.”

Matt let out a dry laugh, finally bringing his drink to his lips to drain the rest.

“Everybody likes Foggy.”

“I like Karen too.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

Matt felt an unexpected pang of guilt at how quick that had come out and how sharp it had been. Part of him felt like he was being a dick, but another part felt justified. This woman had completely flipped his world upside down, constantly raised his blood pressure, was one of the most frustrating people he’d ever met, and she’d given him no solid reason to not be wary of her. He was right to not want her here, in his special place, with the only family he had left.

But the way she subtly stiffened and sat up a little straighter made that Catholic guilt flare up, and it made him doubt his own reasoning.

“I should head out-”

“Wait-”

Matt surprised himself by the way he instinctively reached out to grab her wrist when she started to push her chair back. He could tell it had surprised her too, feeling the falter in her pulse under his fingers. He was struck by how…soft she was. How had he not noticed that before? Quickly snapping himself out of that thought, he retracted his hand just as swiftly and cleared his throat, trying to find the right words he wanted to say.

He hated how off balance she made him feel. He hadn’t wanted her to come, and now he didn’t want her to leave. Matt couldn’t think straight around her. All he could do was react. But his feelings towards her were so perplexing and inconsistent. For the most part he couldn’t stand her, but there were moments where he almost…enjoyed her presence, the banter, the challenge. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t understand it.

“Look I don’t…want them involved. I try really hard to keep my lives separate.”

“Do they know? About…”

She brought her hands up to either side of her head and made little devil horns with her index fingers, and Matt couldn’t stop the amused snort that it evoked. He clicked his tongue against his cheek as he nodded, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah, they know. But I wish they didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it puts them at risk.”

A soft furrow nestled between her brows as she looked at him, and it was the first time he’d ever witnessed her confusion. She was always so self assured, so put together, always seemingly five steps ahead of everyone else.

“Is that it?”

Matt cocked his head to the side, pondering her question and why she was asking it.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the only reason you wish they didn’t know? Because you think it puts them in danger?”

“I know it does. It already has.”

“But that’s the only reason. You don’t worry that they won’t…accept that other part of you.”

She said it as a statement, but he could hear the question in her cadence. There was a rare inflection of vulnerability, and she almost sounded bewildered that Matt hadn’t considered their rejection of that side of him.

“I mean, I know they don’t necessarily agree with it. Foggy…he has faith in the justice system. Sometimes I don’t think he can recognize how flawed and broken it is, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. And Karen…she worries. They both do. It was…an adjustment, getting to where we are now. But…they’re still here.”

Matt could sense the way her features softened at that last part. It seemed almost incomprehensible to her, that they knew all about his darker half, and they stuck around anyway. There was a question that nearly slipped off his tongue, but abruptly four shot glasses were slammed on the table by a very tipsy Foggy.

“Alright miss ballerina, as part of your initiation to the dingiest, dirtiest, dustiest dive bar in all of Hell’s Kitchen, you gotta drink the mighty eel juice!”

Her face twisted up in puzzlement, and she glanced up at Karen, arching one of her brows inquisitively.

“Do I even wanna know?”

Karen laughed and shook her head, distributing the shot glasses.

“In this situation, ignorance is bliss.”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @Day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @Mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431@18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake @raven18 @hipwell @scorpiovelaryon @yiiiikesmish @mel-thefrog @Ponyosmom35 @daisydark @xoxabs88xox @punkshyteee @abbyhaslongshorts @wolvierinee @snowflames-world @yomnajir @Fries11 @groovycass

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#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil series #the devil and the widow series #tdatw

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dirtyl0ver · 23 days ago

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Can you do a Ticci Toby headcanon where he is working with a attractive girl (in the proxies) but she’s sassy, has attitude but she get flustered kinda easily and understands Toby and his boundaries and disorders

Ooooh this is cute! Also, dw anon, my reader is always attractive 😘 Hehe enjoy! (also included NSFW at the end)

Ticci Toby x Sassy, Flustered, Understanding Proxy Reader

The first time Toby meets you, he’s not sure if you’re flirting with him or trying to piss him off. You’ve got that quick tongue, biting sarcasm, cocky walk - and you’re way too pretty to be elbow-deep in blood and proxy politics. You throw a smile at him mid-mission briefing like it’s nothing. His jaw clenches.

You’re sassy. Very. You call him “cutie” when he’s twitchy. You mutter “relax, pretty boy” when he gets too worked up. But you’re not cruel. Never once do you mock his tics. You don’t treat them like a joke. If anything, you act like they’re normal - like they don’t change how you see him at all. That throws him off more than anything.

You get flustered fast - and he notices. At first, he thinks you’re just messing with him, like everyone else who gets bored and wants to push buttons. But then he catches it: The way your eyes drop when he stares too long. How your voice stumbles when his tone drops. That slight tremble in your fingers when he stands a little too close. He’s never had power like that over someone - not intimate power. And it makes his blood thrum.

But you also see him. You notice when he needs a breather. When his hands are twitching too hard to hold his knife. You’ll step in - no big speech, no sympathy - just hand him something to fidget with and change the subject. Like, “Wanna chew something before you grind your teeth into dust?” as you toss him a piece of gum.

Around the others, you’re confident, sarcastic, even flirtatious. But around Toby, it’s different. You still tease, still sass, but there’s a softness behind it. A steadiness. You know when to pull back. Tim flirts with you once. You laugh, but your eyes flick sideways, right to where Toby’s sitting. He doesn’t even realize his hands are clenched until your foot nudges his under the table.

You sit close to him. Always. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but when you shift your weight and your thigh brushes his, he freezes for half a second, glancing at you from the corner of his eye and fighting back a lil smile.

One night you walk into the kitchen, still in your sleep shorts, hair tied up, bare feet padding across the tile. You see him sitting there with a cigarette, twitching every few seconds like his skin’s too tight. You don't ask if he's okay. You simply take a seat beside him and enjoy the silence, stealing his cigarette for the occasional puff.

When he finally lets his guard drop, it's subtle. You realize it when he lets you sit next to him without tensing. When he lets his shoulder touch yours with a reluctant smirk. When he starts grumbling under his breath in your direction, like he's inviting you to banter. That’s his affection - unspoken, rough, but real.

There’s tension. Always. But it’s fragile and quiet. The kind that simmers under every look, every shoulder bump in a hallway, every sparring session that ends with you straddling him and both of you breathing hard.

You don’t push him. Not emotionally. Not physically. You just let him know, constantly, that you’re here. And in a world where everyone either wants to use him, fix him, or fear him, that makes you the most dangerous thing he’s ever felt.

NSFW (18+)

It starts like it always does: a dumb argument. Words a little too sharp. Your back hits the wall. His hand slams next to your head. Not touching, but close enough for the heat to throb between you.

You roll your eyes, call him “twitchy little brat” and he lets out a strained sound that’s half a laugh, half a groan. Then–

“Slut.” The word slips from his mouth like a tic. His whole face tenses. He freezes. “Didn’t mean that. I–fuck–sorry–” You stare at him for a second, cheeks burning. Then you smirk. “You gonna keep saying it or actually fuck me like you mean it?”

That’s when the dam breaks.

Toby doesn’t kiss soft. He devours. Grabs your jaw. Slams his mouth against yours with a hunger that’s long overdue. One hand grabs the hem of your shirt. The other fists your hair like he’s anchoring himself with it.

You’re breathless, dazed, mumbling “fuck” into his mouth as he shoves you back into the wall, caging you in with his whole body. He’s rutting against your thigh, twitching hard, growling under his breath like he can’t get close enough.

“Been thinking a-a-about you for weeks,” he mutters into your neck. “Every fuckin’ night. Can’t–fuck–can’t get you out of my fuckin’ head.”

You’re stripping fast - his hands are rough, a little frantic, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. You help him, fumbling your own shorts down, panties sticky with how long you’ve been teasing this.

The second he sees you like that? Legs spread, flushed, looking up at him with that mix of fire and nerves, he loses it. Drops to his knees. Doesn’t ask. Just dives.

His mouth is messy. Spits on your pussy. Sucks your clit hard enough to make you jerk. Moaning into you like a starving man, grinding into the floor, nose buried deep between your legs.

You grip his curls, gasping, thighs clamping around his head. “T-Toby, wait, I–fuck–fuck–” He doesn't wait. Doesn’t stop. You cum with a cry and he just keeps going, overstimulating you until you’re pushing at his head and whining.

“You gonna s-stop teasing me now?” he mutters, chin shiny, voice wrecked. “Depends,” you pant, flushed to your chest. “You gonna fuck me or just worship?”

When he finally fucks you, it’s deep. Immediate. He doesn’t slide in gentle. He grabs your hips, lines up, and drives into you with a rough grunt that tears straight through his throat.

His rhythm is messy at first - twitchy, desperate - but powerful. You’re gasping, nails dragging down his back. Every thrust knocks breath from your lungs.

“So–fuckin’–tight,” he groans. “Wanted this–fuck–wanted you since day one–fuckin’ knew it’d feel like this–”

You try to say something cocky. But he hits that spot deep inside and all that comes out is a whimper. He grins against your throat.

“What happened to all that attitude, huh?” “Shut up,” you gasp. “Nah. Gimme that mouth now or I’ll fuck the thoughts rrrrright out of your h-head.”

He presses your knees up, folds you in half, pounds into you harder. You’re practically crying now - half from the stretch, half from how fucking good it feels.

He twitches again, tics under his breath - “slut,” “good girl,” “mine” - and every time it happens, you whimper a little louder. You’re gone.

He finishes fast. Growling your name, hips stuttering, forehead against yours as he spills inside you. Breath ragged. Whole body twitching. Hands still gripping you like he doesn’t want you to vanish.

He doesn’t move for a minute. Just pants against your skin. You’re stroking his hair without even realizing it.

“Still t-think I’m a brat?” he mumbles. “Always.” “You b-buh-better be c-careful, baby.” he breathes, right against your mouth. “Or I’ll show you just h-how bad I c-can really get.”

#ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons

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lostinlovingrevery · 4 months ago

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hi vannnnnn!!

first off how was your day!! i hope it’s been going well

secondly.. any worst!logan headcanons? particularly any filthy ones? (i’m feral 🫣)

a logan for you <3

HIIII CAS

My day HAS been going well, I finished my planter build (minus painting and actually planting it but!!) and I got the fattest, cheesiest pizza for dinner mmmmm

My grandma dropped off some v late christmas gifts and mine was a super cute new bag! A pocket heart charm AND a tiny lil vintage jewelry box with a REAL authentic two dollar bill in it. Pretty sure it belonged to my late grandfather :) <3

and that gif...mmm. yeah

Worst Wolvie headcanons? Don't mind if I do! (nsfw below!)

GENERAL:

I have this thing that he'll go into construction once he's settled in the new universe. It's easy to get a job with construction companies for the most part- and he's hella strong and looks it too, with a potty mouth and likes to drink- he'll fit right in!

SO polite and respectful to Althea. He'd be screaming at Wade one second, and the next be like "you need anything ma'am?" and get her a glass of water and everything else. No he does not support her cocaine habit.

PHEW I have a lot of trouble deciding how Logan would be after the events of D&P. I think he'd be struggling a lot still. He's such a hothead throughout most of the events of the movie, and I think that wouldn't stop being the case. I feel he'd probably simmer down a bit, but he would likely appear tense and awkward to some outsiders. He's not quite used to people being polite to him anymore.

when he meets you though, i think you'll capture his attention like no one else has

FLUFF (and a lil angst):

Oof, this is tricky too.

So I feel he'd be a bit rough around the edges when it comes to a relationship with you- at least in the beginning

He's not sure what to do. He has the capability of being soft, but he spent so long hardening his shell he's not sure how to be soft exactly.

His touches are intended to be gentle, but may feel rough as he tries to learn how to be with someone

His words are the same. I feel like sometimes his affection might come across sounding a lil angry

Once he gets comfortable though he'll be a complete lovebug

Initially put off by physical touch, he won't be able to get enough of it soon. Kisses, hugs, snuggles, booty smacks.

Hes a lil rough with the romance, but he'll try! Flowers brought home, remembers the little things about you- favorite snacks, drinks, etc.

As rough around the edges as he may be, he'll always be honest to you in how he feels. You may not initially feel like the man is heads over heels- but then after a cute and quiet date night he just looks at you all deadpan like "im so in love with you"

VERY protective. like over the top. Doesn't even like to see a man glance in your direction. Gets very nervous about you going out on your own too even if he hides it- he just doesn't want to lose you too :(

I feel in a way that he might be a little more settled down than his past self/variant. Kinda like Origins. More willing to get a nice house in the country, live a quiet peaceful life. He's been through a lot and somehow got you in the end. It's all he needs.

Not sure where to put this exactly, but I said in the past that I think he's a lot meaner than Old Man Logan- who I think is mean in a "i'm tired and sore and cranky" mean, while Worst Logan is mean in a "I don't fucking care about anything anymore " mean.

It comes out, when he's in a bad mood. He acts like he doesn't care but he does, things just hurt too much now and he's gotta shut it down

when it comes to being with you though, he begins to soften a bit more. You're able to listen and support him. His moods are never taken out on you

but you might get a sassy comment here and there

he genuinely loves you, wants things to work out. Will cut back greatly on the drinking.

won't think he deserves you, at all. will say that a lot.

everytime he looks at you it's the same lovesick face that origin logan has

I think im playing up how rough around the edges he is but I honestly think with you he'll still come off as a big sweetheart.

He'll still speak softly around you- even if you aren't together yet.

You'll catch him looking at you, an expression across his face you never seen him carry before. Something that looks like yearning

He'll melt in your arms. Hes like so much bigger than you but no one would realize by the way he just sinks into your embrace

i feel once you get to a certain point of your relationship, he'll be straight up worshipping you like the god/goddess you are

domestic life

cleaning the kitchen with him, late at night. Hes finishing up the dishes while you're wiping the counter down. You come up behind him, your hands untuck his shirt from his jeans, and your wrap your arms around him underneath the shirt, pressing kisses to his back before smushing your cheek against him and waiting for him to finish his dishes

he'll really wonder then, as he looks out into the window above the sink, over the city where your small apartment resides in- how did he get here?

will become a blushy mess when you do sweet things for him, like getting him flowers, or bringing him lunch at work, lil things like that

call him pretty. see what happens. ;)

SMUT:

Back to him being mean :)

BIG on control. He lost control of his life for years, so regaining it is def gonna show up in the bedroom

orgasm denial is a big thing with him

will mock you for begging and crying over it

sex can get really rough with him. He could be a complete sweetheart in the beginning, and the something snaps and he's choking you out with his cock, bruising the back of your throat as he pounds your mouth like a sextoy

Likes to pin you. In every way. likes seeing you squirm and struggle.

Likes to tie you up too

Smacking. Your ass and tits and cunt are going to be SORE.

Fucking into you rough and hard, you can't take it, your eyes rolling back- he smacks your face to get you back into reality. Not hard- more like a lovetap. "You with me bub?"

will give you a big wet kiss after

growling and grunting

very animal like this one

likes to spit in your mouth, feels like he's claiming you in a way

BITER!

You're gonna have bite marks!

The claws come out a lot with this one. All of them do it- but he just doesn't even try to control it, very conscious of where his hands are though

BIG on being praised

you praise him and hes gonna turn into a whimpering puppy

the switch up happens SO FAST

has probably immediately cum a few times the moments you praised him for being so good

if you want to have control for the night, just give him some praise and it's all yours

you can tie him up all you want, tease him, anything and everything long as you call him a good boy, and that you love him and he'll behave nicely as long as you keep going

he'll be a whining mess, thrusting into the air bc he needs you so bad to take care of him. he only ever needs you now.

like literally this man is two sides. fucking evil as hell in bed or the most subby whimpering man you'll ever know

dont worry, he does like praising you too

even if he's being a mean motherfucker he'll still be calling you gorgeous, talking about how good you are, how you're always going to be his

i feel like he can get pretty nasty too. Like remember the scent thing I talked about before? He'll straight up dig his nose in your armpit during sex just to get high off the pheromones and sweat coming off you.

pins your head down with his foot while fucking you (i...may have a request for this in the works....)

now i need to watch deadpool and wolverine....

#cruel-as-sin #van rambles #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut

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mari-beau · 2 years ago

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#Kristin Sims #Daniel Chalmers #The Brokenwood Mysteries #Simmers #Fern Sutherland #Jarod Rawiri #Sassy Kristin

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attapullman · 1 year ago

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That's Mine | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob likes Rooster. He does. So why does he suddenly hate him when his childhood best friend agrees to go out on a date with the pilot?

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, protected pinv, oral (f receiving), praise!kink, fluff, dirty humour, alcohol mentions, sorry to all the Rooster girlies

Author's Note: This is my official jealous best friend!bob entry for my event International Bob Floyd Fucks Month. Thank you to everyone who has celebrated this silly little thing and continued the Bob Fucks agenda. I just love him so much. Save a Rooster, ride a Bob!

“What do you mean Rooster asked you out?”

He’s hot on your heels through the house, following you out to where you’re watering the ferns on the deck. You can’t see his face, but the simmering annoyance is palpable. In your mind’s eye you can see the little vein that pops out only when he’s seriously irritated. An emotion he reserves only for you.

Who would have guessed that two strangers pairing up for a Mommy & Me class decades ago would evolve into the inseparable, eye-rolling, belly laughing attachment of you and your best friend. He keeps you focused, eyes on the prize and safely home by ten. You bring Robby out of his shell, actually wanting to jump in and join the crowd. Occasionally both giving each other a headache, but always ending with a punch on the shoulder while sharing a carton of Haagen Daas.

You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. He’s being so annoying about this Rooster thing.

It’s been four months since you followed him out to San Diego. A quick summons to Top Gun that led to him out in the middle of the ocean while you whined to your roommate about what if he doesn’t come home this time? How could you possibly survive without him infodumping about WWI missiles and whether milk or dark chocolate made better cookies?

And then you’d gotten the call, B.O.B. flashing across the screen and the photo from that summer in high school where he let you paint a butterfly on his face. The mission was successful. He was safe. And he was staying in Fightertown permanently with this squadron. A few months later, when your roommate accidentally lit your stove on fire, he asked if you wanted to come down and stay for a few weeks. By the end of the month you had rented a small craftsman and his truck was a regular fixture outside.

Then a month ago, when he’d swung by after work, khaki uniform freshly pressed, and asked if you wanted to come to the local Navy bar to meet the names he spent so much time talking to you about. Fiddling with the edge of his glasses, nervous you wouldn’t like his new crew as well as the Lemoore squadron you’d spent years befriending. But if they were good enough for Bob, they were good enough for you.

Rooster was hot. All curly auburn hair and big brown eyes. You’d hit it off quickly, the two of you against Phoenix and Bob, sharing stories about your beloved bespectacled WSO and his sassy quip of the day. Phoenix still couldn’t believe that Bob had used a Superbad quote for the high school yearbook. You still remember the horrified look on his mom’s face.

But last night had been different. Phoenix and Bob had huddled a Budweiser cup of peanuts and discussed strategy most of the night, Fanboy rounding off the table once he heard “electronic warfare”. Your best friend’s dedication to work was commendable, but what were you supposed to do at a Navy bar when he was busy? Luckily the baby cow-eyed pilot had taken pity and bought you a round, taking you out to the back deck to appreciate the beach while Hangman rowdily dominated the pool table.

Rooster had been sweet, asking about your childhood with Bob and what you thought of San Diego. Between the kind male attention and the slutty light wash jeans, you were only human for looking up at him through your lashes and flirting a little. And you felt light as air when Bob came outside ready to take you home, your number in Rooster’s phone and a date secured for Friday.

“Seriously? You’re not going to answer me?” Why was annoying Robby so fun? So sweet and calm under the most pressured of situations, every once in a while he prickled.

You finish with the deck plants and retreat back inside, making sure the windowsill babies are plenty hydrated in the late afternoon sun. “Why do you care? You like Rooster.”

It’s alarmingly loud in the silence as he thinks through that one.

Because Bob does like Rooster. He’s a little older, outgoing, the kind of guy he trusts on a life-or-death mission. In the last few months he would even venture to say they’d become more friends than coworkers, Natasha always bringing them together for a night out. So why did it bother him so much when you said you were going out with Rooster tomorrow night?

Instead of answering, he keeps his conflicted thoughts to himself and starts helping with the plants. There’s no point in an argument he’s not going to win, especially when he’s not sure what he’s even fighting for.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, metal frames glinting in the low afternoon light, gelled hair out of formation from training with his helmet on all day. Maybe you did overstep by agreeing to go out with one of his coworkers. “You want to get street tacos and make fun of C-list celebrities?”

His eyes light up as he nods and overwaters your calathea.

Half a six pack of Mexican lager later and the two of you are sprawled across the living room furniture, Bob’s socked feet up on the coffee table and yours over the arm of the wingback he helped you haul home four years ago. Save the fuzzy tipsiness clouding your senses, you’re transported back to weekend nights in high school. Watching old John Hughes movies and laughing so hard soda shot up your nose. Life has been full of so many incredible opportunities, but evenings in front of the TV with Robby are your most cherished memories.

“Oh my god!” you squeal. “Could he be any more cringeworthy? Put a shirt on!” Your fingers cover your eyes, pretending to be offended by the young twentysomething currently stripping off on your trashy television show of choice.

Bob laughs from his spot on the sofa, beer can dwarfed in that massive hand. “Oh please, you love when they’re half naked for no reason.” He feels that weird tug in his chest for the second time today, but chalks it up to the meat from his street tacos.

You roll your eyes playfully, giving him that toothy smile you’ve perfected since elementary school. “Ya,” you slur a little. “But as my best friend you’re not allowed to judge.”

As if he could find fault in you.

Payback has been talking to him for the past twenty minutes. Bob hasn’t heard a word. Just continues staring at the front door of the Hard Deck like it will magically conjure you.

You’re out with Rooster right now, at that restaurant with the breathtaking ocean view and spicy mozzarella sticks. And while you didn’t tell him, he knows you’re wearing the dress with the eyelet lace and your hair down for once. And you’re probably giving him that toothy grin while he talks about 80’s music and shows you photos of working on the Bronco. You’re likely planning your second date already.

He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. So why does he suddenly hate him?

Payback has completely given up on conversation when the door opens and in strides that floral print smug son of a bitch. Bob’s hand grips the table, grounding himself that it’s not a hallucination. Rooster’s hand is respectfully on your waist, leading you through the throng of Friday night patrons. And you look pretty as can be in that dress, your hair slightly covering your warm cheeks and bashful eyes as a strong man looks after you.

The pilot grins at his squadron, tipping his chin in greeting, knowing he’s got the prettiest girl in the room on his arm. You give Bob a goofy lopsided grin, happy to see him after a lovely night out. Happy that Rooster offered to drop you by before taking you home so you could see your best friend.

There’s nervous energy bubbling under your skin, eager to download about your dinner and drinks, and you wish you were back at home in the kitchen, mugs of hot chocolate in your hands while you and Robby gabbed about your latest romantic excursions like back in the day.

Things were so much simpler when you were seventeen.

Especially because back then he wasn’t weird when you had crushes, or met someone on Hinge. And he certainly didn’t give you that tight lipped frown that you want to smooth off his face. It’s you and him against the world, so why does it suddenly feel like it’s you against him?

“Hey Robby,” you start, giving him your gentlest smile. “You win darts?” He gives a half shrug, picking at his cup of peanuts. Cool, that’s how he’s gonna play it.

You sit next to Rooster at the piano, letting him play a few songs and rally the crowd. You’re a little bored of the repertoire you’ve heard on repeat since your first Hard Deck visit, but give him an encouraging smile nonetheless to be polite.

You like Rooster. But even after a nice night, you know you don’t want to pursue this. Not at the sake of your friendship with Bob.

Everyone’s stomping their feet and slapping their hands to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” when exhaustion hits you. The back of your hand against your mouth signaling that you’ve had enough for one day. The sweet chocolate eyes of your piano partner give you a caring look as he asks if you want him to drive you home. The hope for a goodnight kiss twinkles in his eye.

“No need, I can take her!” It’s instant adrenaline the way the WSO has launched across the room. You rush to thank Rooster for a nice night as he’s left behind on the piano bench. Bob hasn’t said a single word to you all night and yet he’s borderline dragging you out to his truck. The calloused edges of his fingers digging into your bare arm, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing against your hands when he helps you into the truck. They’re all familiar feelings, yet tonight feels different.

He’s completely silent on the drive, the radio playing some alternative rock music barely audible over the silence. He may be quiet with others, happy to take a back seat, but he’s never had an issue piping up with you. It’s punishment. Punishment for trying to have a good time with a guy who you’ve decided you don’t want.

When he parks in front of your cozy craftsman - the house he toured with you, helped you with the paperwork, bought the bubbly to commemorate the occasion - you’re both at a standstill. Last night you’d been able to put your differences aside for trashy television and tacos. Tonight…you’re just hoping he’ll come inside.

“Who do I gotta bang around here to get you to come inside?” His chuckle is weak, eyes looking anywhere but you.

Because while you’re trying to figure out where you’ve gone wrong, Bob has been having an existential crisis since Bradley fuckin’ Bradshaw put his hand on your waist. A crisis that’s been gaining speed since you followed him out to Lemoore all those years ago and has arrived at a screeching halt, crawling out of his throat. And he’s too shy to tell his lifelong best friend what’s been bothering him for as long as he’s known.

You’re…it.

It’s the way you laugh with your entire face. How you always have a comeback. Your endless love for others. The endearing way you order a pancake for the table at brunch. You’ve been the entire package this whole time. And someone seeing it before him is infuriating.

He follows you inside, watching the way the light radiates at the high points of your face. This is going to be harder than expected.

Robert Floyd has known for years that his best friend is amazing. Practically his whole life. Not a single doubt they’d make an incredible partner. The tiniest crush forming at just how good of a partner. Daydreaming about their current arrangement - the movie nights, the early morning beach walks, the Sunday afternoon bubble tea runs - with a dash of domestic bliss had his heart thudding in his chest.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was Wednesday night, when he came to collect you for the drive home. Sitting next to Rooster, a cup of peanuts loosely hanging from your hand as you looked up at the pilot with long lashed eyes and a seductive twitch of a smile. The way you’d bitten your lip when you said goodbye, turning back to Robby with that flirty glint still in your eye; instantly resetting to friendly excitement as you followed him to the parking lot.

He needed to make you look at him like that.

And now here, in your living room, while you hand him a glass of water and look at him with those impossibly pretty eyes - fuck. How does he explain?

You’re concerned, watching the turmoil on his face and convinced you’ve seriously crossed a line this time. You’ve always been the troublemaker of the dynamic, the bursting bubbly energy to his impossibly sweet silence. Won’t he please share what’s on his mind?

He’s not sure if it’s the burning need to release this tension from his body, or the way your face looks so upset at his indecision, but suddenly the dam bursts. All rational thought out the window as he finally speaks up.

“If I don’t fuck you right now I think I might die.”

It’s impossible to tell whose eyes are wider. His in embarrassment that came out and so whiny. Yours in total shock. Your brain has blue screened and all you can do is blink slowly back into focus, centering on the pink cheeks and bashful baby blue eyes in front of you.

Licking your lips, you sputter out, “W-what?”

You both know you heard him. It was impossible not to with the intense neediness dripping out of every syllable. His carnal need to know what you feel like, taste like. The way those thick, long fingers of his tensed on his knee.

A thousand emotions pass behind your eyes, reflected in his glasses. A handful of ways to handle this situation, but only one makes sense.

“Come over here. We can’t have you dying, now can we?”

There is nothing graceful about the collision of bodies that happens. Navy-trained strength meeting enthusiastic energy. He’s across the room before you can finish your sentence, the slight pause of uncertainty met with your bound into his arms. Warm lips finding each other, hesitant yet sure. The hands on your hips are familiar in a different circumstance.

The waves crashing down on Bob’s brain slow, and he’s instantly soothed as he enjoys the subtle tang to your taste. You’ve worn the same perfume for the last decade, yet this is the first time it’s driven him wild. Pulling back, he takes a deep breath to fill his lungs with the perfect scent. His fingers, fast as light when he works controls, are slow and controlled over the curve of your waist.

“I hate that Rooster touched you. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours?’

He leans forward, gaze level, breaths intermingling. “You’re mine.”

Eyes wide, glossy lip between your teeth…Bob hasn’t seen anything sexier in his life. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers scratching along his scalp as you fight for dominance in your kisses. He’s gaining confidence the longer you moan into his mouth, a sinful sound he wasn’t prepared to hear. Years of listening to you talk about dates and crushes, and now he’s experiencing it first hand.

You’re caught up in the way he’s trailing his large hands up and down your torso, tentatively brushing against the curve of your ass. Waiting for him to call the shots for what happens next. Frustrated he hasn’t already spread you out on the stupidly expensive cotton duvet he convinced you to buy.

“Robby?” He hums, lips preoccupied with your neck. “Not to be ungrateful, but I thought you were going to fuck me?”

The deep scarlet that spreads across your best friend’s cheeks is one for the record books. Jackpot.

He’s practically falling over himself, hands everywhere at once as he collects his thoughts. “You’re sure…you’re sure you want this?”

The seething jealousy that’s consumed him since Wednesday has dissipated, and the horny fog has lifted temporarily. All that’s left is ensuring you’re both on the same page. Once this happens, there’s no going back. As much as he’s looking forward to taking off that pretty dress, you need to be ready to make the same leap.

Swallowing a deep breath, drowning in those eager cerulean blues, you shift your thigh to press against the bulge in his jeans. A bulge all the girls in Lemoore talked about when they thought you weren’t listening. There’s a curiosity burning in you, a need to know if he’s just as sweet in bed as he is when he’s picking you up or helping with dinner. Things have always been platonic - they needed to be, you wouldn’t have survived a childhood crushing on the bespectacled sweetheart who grew up to be an incredible man.

You know the risks, but the rewards are greater. Life is too short to not experience fucking Robert Floyd.

A kiss to his lips. A wink. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You sound like children giggling on the playground as you run down the hall to your bedroom, trying not to trip on the hall runner as he presses you against the wall to pepper you in scorching kisses. Breathy laughs as you explore this new part to your dynamic. Overwhelming lust mixed with lifelong companionship.

Once you make it to the bedroom - that supima bedspread underneath you, his hips cradled against yours - the innocent giggles dissipate as you take in the man above you. No longer the pink-cheeked child, the gawky teenager, Robby is nothing but height and strength and…broad? When did he get so broad? Naturally so meek and unassuming, the pure size of him is unexpected. But pinning you to the bed with those veiny hands and strong thighs, a collision of attraction overwhelms you.

There’s nothing delicate about the way he grinds his hips into yours, whimpers leaving both your lips. Your panties are soaked, he’s stretching the front of his jeans. Desperation fills the space between you.

His lips wander from your jaw, your neck, the space behind your ear, all the way to your passion-swollen lips. His voice is unsure, but hopeful, as he whispers against them, “Can I go down on you?”

Your eyes bloom wide - not only because you’d like nothing more, but you’ve remembered something from years ago. Something at the time you’d tried to forget. A night out with the Lemoore crew at that shoddy bar, everyone drunk after being out at sea for weeks, and you sat near the back waiting for Bob to come back with drinks. A small group of female aviators sat at the next table over, having clocked the shy WSO on his way to the bar. One had giggled, her friends shooting her a questioning glance. You’ll never forget when she replied, “I’d heard the rumors and didn’t believe them, but can confirm that Bob Floyd eats pussy like a starving man. Best hour of my life.”

As soon as he sees your slightly too eager nod, he’s working his way down your body, appreciating the feel of your dress and soft skin. Breath held as he officially breaches out of friend territory and lifts the hem, treating himself to the satin he can’t wait to pull aside.

Lip worried between your teeth, a whimper is punched out of you when a hot mouth secures itself around your mound, thick tongue exploring the crevices of your covered folds. A finger slips itself along your entrance, bringing to attention the soaked material.

“Someone’s excited.” The lust-driven chuckle against your thigh has you shivering. “You want me to eat your sweet little pussy?”

He’s never used that voice on you, husky and mocking. You’re shaking with desire, for him to stop teasing and give you what you want. An hour ago he was just your friend, and now you’ve never felt so needy for a man’s touch. So far gone you don’t even notice the desperate nod you give him.

He presses another wet kiss to your clothed clit before wrapping his long fingers in the fabric. Prompting you to lift up slightly so he can have unimpeded access to this feast. Skimming his nose along your thighs, hot air directly on your slick cunt. The whimpers escaping you doing nothing but prolonging the teasing.

Bob can feel how you tremble, the way your fingers are smoothing over the bedspread in an effort to self-soothe. He’s satisfied that he’s gotten you as frustrated and ill-content as he’s felt for years. Needing something, not knowing if you’ll like it, but knowing that if you don’t have it you’ll never feel satisfied.

His fingers spread you out. Head dips. The lightest touch of his tongue to damp arousal.

Holy fuck. He does eat pussy like a starving man. Pushing his face in closer and closer, his tongue reaching for every inch of the promised land. His fingers wrapped around your thighs, pulling you in. Hot, wet muscle opening you up as he drools.

Eyes unfocused, you’re in a new dimension and yet he’s enjoying it more.

That deliciously fuzzy feeling starts to tingle in your stomach, pressure building between your thighs as your best friend helps himself. Blunt nails raking up and down your legs to ground you in the experience. The sharp edge of his metal frames occasionally snagging on the skin. They alone make you want to cry to the heavens. But it’s the way he’s sloppily forcing his tongue into your cunt, lewd noises ringing around the room, that has you clamping your lips shut to not wake all of San Diego.

He senses that you’re holding back, not giving him everything he wants. You’ve been best friends since day one, he knows when you not being authentic.

That delicious tongue withdraws from your thighs and you can feel his stare on you. Waiting patiently for you to make eye contact. The pussy drunk, yet concerned look he gives you as he nudges you. “It’s okay, it’s me. I’m never going to judge you.”

Blue eyes meet yours. The same blue eyes that have consistently seen you safely out the other side of any bad situation the two of you have faced. That always comes home from deployment so matter how much you worry. The same ones that you know will guide and protect you on this journey as well. He’s your best friend. No one else can keep you this safe.

After your nod, he dips his slick lips back to your core, his smile upon your skin. Quickly losing himself in your flavor as he nudges you back open. His own hips rocking against the mattress as you allow your bitten lips to part, moans and whimpers and sharp intakes of breath filling the air. Losing yourself in his over-and-above technique to bring you to the edge.

His own muted moans vibrate against your core. Dexterous tongue and calloused middle finger (followed quickly by another) sliding in and out with ease. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming your senses and making your brain whirr. Skin slick with sweat as that fuzzy feeling in your stomach returns and your feet tingle. Your eyes gazing unfocused down at Robby, hopelessly turned on at his dedication to making you feel good.

“C’mon, be good for me.”

His muffled words stretch the string and bring you home, thighs clamping around his damp face as a scream escapes your throat. Fingers twisting in the bedspread. Back arching. The view has him slack jawed and starry eyed, fingers still pumping in and out to prolong your orgasm. A slight tilt of his lips into a smile at how content you are when he finally catches your gaze through labored breaths.

Your brain slowly comes back to you, thoughts racing through sludge. Eyes fixed on cerulean as a smile stretches your lips. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

He laughs, a surprised, carefree sound as he uses your thighs to help himself up the bed. Gives you a little wink as he grins, “It can get kind of boring on deployment.”

“Recon and intelligence protection missions are boring?”

“Yeah, when you’re not there to annoy me.” His dimples are out in full force, laughter twinkling out of every pore on his perfect face. You slug him a little, your orgasm still working its way through your body. The urge to roll over and sleep just as strong as the urge to shove him in your cunt through his jeans.

You’ve had a taste and you need more.

He’s already one step ahead of you, shrugging the soft flannel and faded tshirt from his body. Gently cranes you in his arms as he helps unzip and lift your dress above your head. The garbled choking sound and intake of breath when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra makes you proud. You’ve always thought Bob was attractive in an understated, sweet way. To know he’s attracted to you makes any doubt about this situation indefinitely fade.

Sitting in front of him, not a scrap of fabric on you, you feel good. He’s the best guy you know, the one you have always sung his praises because there’s literally no one better. The only difference between a friendship and a relationship is sex. That’s all that’s been missing.

It’s time to take the plunge.

You swallow his lips with yours, fingers twisting in his sun-lightened hair. His arms wrapping around you, holding you secure to him. Both of you gasping at the feeling of your bare torsos touching. It’s electric. It’s satisfying. It’s grounding.

Hands quick to unzip his jeans, laughing as he tries to help only for you to bat him away. “You got to undress me, I want to undress you.”

The groan he emits reverberates. You’re so sexy and it’s driving him crazy. There was his fleeting crush in high school, but this…this is beyond his wildest dreams. Allowing your soft fingers to dip below the waist of his boxers, shimmying the denim and cotton down his legs. Your lips struck open in awe at the heavy, hard, thick appendage resting against his thigh.

“You tell me every secret you have, and yet you keep the python in your pants to yourself?” He laughs, a hand wrapping around the base as you flounder to mentally combine Robby, your meek best friend, with the red-tipped joyride protruding from his pelvis.

He helps himself to a condom from the box in the nightstand - the one you jokingly said you’d never use when he watched you unpack. You’re almost worried it’s going to be too small, but he glides it on with ease before lowering you both onto the bed, biceps straining as he adjusts. Bob can feel your slick center against the bottom of his dick and it’s taking everything in him to not make himself at home.

As you prepare yourself for what’s about to be a hell of a stretch, he kisses the top of your breasts, skimming his nose against your soft skin. Even in this moment his main priority is making you comfortable and feel safe. “We can go slow, it’s okay.”

But where Bob is safe and secure, you’re adventurous, curious. You want to know what he feels like now.

The wild fire of your eyes bores into his calm ocean blue. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A shift of hips and he’s slipping through, arousal and spit gently gliding the tip of him in. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling on the Navy-approved length at the nape of his neck. A sharp tug that prompts a yelp as he drives his hips forward, slipping inch after inch into you. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you struggle to adjust. Fuck, he’s so big.

He’s kissing your temple, whispering how good you’re being for him. I know it hurts, you’re doing so well, almost there, baby. His thumb sliding between your bodies to rub pointed circles on your clit. He’s barely started and you’re already leaving your body, watching yourself be stuffed to the brim.

The neatly trimmed hairs of his pelvis poke along your clit and you’re proud of yourself for taking all of him. Nudging Bob softly to move because you’re uncomfortably full. Back arching into his strong chest as he explores parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

In no time at all he’s thrusting with all his power, leaving you a moaning mess. Fingers clutching to any sweaty skin you can find, nails leaving their mark. He’s red-faced and huffing above you, eyes switching between your blissed out expression and the way your breasts sway with his heavy thrusts. This is heaven. This is everything. Why did he wait to say anything?

Suddenly you’re pawing at his chest, pushing him to roll over. “C’mon Floyd, let me rock your world now.”

He’s pretty sure you could blow him a kiss and rock his world, but he’s definitely not complaining about the view. The silhouette of you against the San Diego moon - big beaming smile and tight nipples. Wishes he had a camera to forever commemorate the first of many times you ask to ride him. A picture book of your perfect face all the way down to you split over his dick with different backgrounds.

From this angle it’s tight, but you’re not a quitter. Rocking your hips to loosen up, hands finding purchase on his chest. His big smile is back, eyes completely dilated while he can’t decide where to look. You’re seeing stars and he’s seeing diamonds.

Once rhythm comes to you, you’re bouncing, loving the way he fills you to the hilt each time. His encouraging smile behind golden rims. You’re with someone who knows the real you, who encourages you to be your best self. And with his strong, veiny hands wrapped around your waist, helping along your movements, you know he’s…it.

It’s hard to tell where your moans end and his start, both of you polluting the air with inhales and groans mixed with the occasional squelch of sex. Your skin is shimmering, thighs begging for reprieve. You can’t get enough of the way he perfectly fills you every time.

Sensing your exhaustion, he brings you closer, slotting his mouth over yours in a filthy, sloppy kiss. Starting to meet your thrusts as you inch closer and closer to your orgasm. Having to calm himself before he ruins your rhythm. The idea of you cumming on his cock has him dizzy. You rake your fingers through his hair one last time, eyes unable to meet as your lashes flutter, and he knows. You’re here, he’s gotten you to the edge.

That big hand on your lower back soothes as you clench for the final time, pulsing. You’ve officially left Earth, watching yourself convulse on top of Robby while he rocks himself up into you. “Good girl…yeah, that’s right…feels so good, huh?”

Forget the best sex of your life, this orgasm can never be topped.

You’re half-heartedly pressing kisses to his forehead as he begin the descent to his own orgasm. Feet flat to the mattresses as he cants his hips up, desperate to drive every inch into you. The fluttering of your cunt the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, catapulting him over the edge quicker than any partner he’s had before. Shoving his face into your neck, licking at your salty skin, he knows his release is inevitable.

“C’mon Robby, cum for me.”

All reason leaves him and he bites down, lips securing over the delicate slope of your neck. A while light flashes behind his eyes and he’s filling up the condom, squeezing out every ounce of release. He suckles the skin, soothing himself as his spent body blinks back to life. Smiles sheepishly when he meets your eyes, as you smile at him sweetly.

Words don’t exist as you hold each other under the covers, tracing skin and giggling when the other finds a ticklish spot. At some point he disposes of the condom, but you’re still not fully there. Everything is good and special and you want to live in this moment forever.

When Bob strolls into the Hard Deck Saturday night, one arm looped around your waist, everything was right in his world.

His colleagues and friends sat in the back near the pool table, sipping beers and winning a game against another squadron. The two of you stroll up, looking decidedly more friendly than they’ve ever seen. Especially when Bob won’t let go of your waist and you keep touching him.

You can’t help it. You’ve gotten a taste and now you’re insatiable.

The group takes in their WSO, standing a little taller than usual with his uncontrollable grin. And then they take in you, beaming, all smiles, looking right at home by Bob’s side in your tight jeans and cute little top. A cute little top that perfectly shows off the dark purpling mark mottling on your collar - teeth marks still visible in the right light.

While Robby confirms your drink order, there is stunned silence from the other half of the pool table. Mouths agape, a gleam of pride in Jake’s eye. Phoenix picks herself up first, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden realization of last night’s events. Clocks that you went out with Rooster, yet went home with Floyd.

“So, uh, what happened there?” She gestures to the obvious love bite. One that definitely wasn’t there when the group saw you last.

You bite your lip and look at your lifelong best friend. The guy who showed you his love last night…and then several more times this morning. His crinkled eyes drift from yours to the spot where he bit down as he came for you for the first time.

Turning to look at his squadron, he plays it cool and shrugs, mumbling through his blush, “Can’t blame me for making sure no one else plays with my toys.”

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