ask-the-four-lords · 3 days ago
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Don't know if this has been ask if so ignore this lol.
To all the lords, dimitrescu sisters and mother miranda what is your type?
:D
(I'm going to have them all answer honestly because if we're being realistic they'd all lie either a little or about basically the entire question)
Alcina Dimitrescu: Adorable, tasteful, intelligent, amusing, talented, strong-willed *seductive tone* yet entirely submissive at the right times.
Donna Beneviento: *Swallows* U-understanding, caring... no... no... I-I just want someone... to-to really love me *sobs*...
Salvatore Moreau: Someone... *barely keeps down some acid* someone whlo is nod afraid uh me... *cries* l-loving... like in muh-muh movies... *fails to keep down acid, it gets all over the floor* (He doesn't say it but also someone who fits the mommy bill)
Karl Heisenberg: Heh, smart, pretty, witty, charmin', and most impordenly, they're a real fighter, don't let any motherfucker hold em down but occasionally ready to be held down. *realizes there are some similarities between his statement and the 'big bitch's', gags. He speaks after in a rare moment of vulnerability* Hones'ly, I just don' wanna be alone anymore... I got no one but Sturm at the momen'. *Grimaces* Speaking of the fucker... YOU STUPID SACK OF SHIT! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS SICK FUCKING WORLD AND I'll TAKE YOU OUT OF IT!
Daniela Dimitrescu: *Giggles* I'd like an adorable little maid... romantic and pretty.
(Sorry I didn't do Bela and Cassandra I am really sleep deprived, I'll probably be back to edit and add them in the next two days)
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tenitchyfingers · 9 months ago
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“Times magazine put down your music and said Day Tripper is about a prostitute and Norwegian Wood is about a lesbian what’s your answer to that”
“We were just trying to write songs about prostitutes and lesbians that’s all”
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dykeogenes · 2 months ago
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cupping your face gently between my hands. there are people in the world whose whole entire job is 'explaining terrifying bureaucratic processes that dont make sense' and you can ask them any questions you want. for real.
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if someone took me into a creepy ass room, hooked me up to a lie detector, blasted projector light right into my eyes and asked me to read an apology statement when i did nothing wrong, i would simply not read it. sorry to helly but i'm different
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monstermoviedean · 2 years ago
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highly underrated skill to be able to communicate with people who have different levels of technical knowledge without being condescending or shitty about it
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bedforddanes75 · 4 months ago
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worst thing ever is people responding to genuine curiosity with aggression i will fight you
#the thing that inspired this was a video insaw a while ago#that was like#ITS SO WEIRD HOW CIS PEOPLE ALWAYS ASK ABOUT GENITALS WHEN YOU TELL THEM YOURE MEDICALLY TRANSITIONING...#like. okay. lets think about that for a second#i agree. you are not obligated to answer questions about your dick#HOWEVER. USE YOUR BRAIN#if you tell someone. “hey. im doing this thing that is Complicated.” theyre GOING TO WANT TO UNDERSTAND IT#like genuinely i just domt get it#i can understand getting sick of questions beint repeated#but jesus fucking christ mate#why respond with that#its like. wouldnt you want to know about something you have Literally no other information on??????#i understand that its a private area but!?!??!?!??! USE YOUR BRAIN#like genuinely omg they rave about empathy and nuance but the second theyre asked to put themselves into someone elses#shoes they just throw a fit and start whining about how theyre Oppressed#im sorry i just fucking hate tiktok and twitter and everyone on it#AGAIN. i agree that its okay to be uncomfortable but for the love of fuck#dont be a bitch about it like its sooooooo easy like just shut up#just say something like “i understand youre curious but id rather not answer that” and if they get aggressive in return THEN you do it back#like did we forget unwarranted hostility is Part of being a piece of shit#kindness is punk or whatever the quote is#show people love and show people respect until proven that you shouldnt#queerness is about being different so BE DIFFERENT AND BE NICE YOU FUCKING MORONS#very ironic there but this Is warranted because people are fucking stupid#anYWAY#blah blah!#not 75 stuff
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fairy-ganj-mother · 8 months ago
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why are all the veterinarians and vet techs in my life some of the best people but then I can't find a vet office that doesn't totally piss me off for my cat🥲
#apollo really needs his other mom tbh#poor diabetic baby cannot find a vet who cares enough to tell me what the fuck to do to get his glucose curve#even when ive paid high fees and gone thru all the right channels to ask#he's been diagnosed for over 6 months and we almost have his first curve done#his alphatrak didnt work#we put a libre on him but they wouldnt just send me the link for the data export instructions???#they asked a bunch of condescending questions like if i took any readings while it was on him#bitch of fucking course i did#are you fucking kidding me#and then said to just write down the data - date time glucose - for every reading#there are 110 readings???? what a goddamn waste of my time? bc i know the app can probs export all this in 2 seconds????#also there's data in between the readings that they wouldnt get from me writing it down????????#so stupid#my questions were valid but for some reason could not be answered until the third person that i talked to?????#and also i called and then they didnt know so i got texts later and then i was like uhhh you clearly dont understand the q#and asked them to call me back today#also bc it was 8pm and i was stoned and was like wtf im not doing this rn#so today.... they text me again! and start with oh we see you asked for a call but we like text#and im like yall must like miscommunication bc that's all that's happening#ugh im so annoyed#i just want my cat to be taken care of and his diabetes to be better managed!#im doing my best like his last vet was super hands off and weird once he got diagnosed so we switched#and i told them my issues and they were like wow thats odd#but this only miscommunicating via text shit is not cool#ugh okay this is so long for a rant abt my cats vet#but he is my world and he is unwell so it's really important to me and frustrating as hell too#t
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sunsburns · 3 months ago
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imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted
i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)
but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.
wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.
sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.
and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.
but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.
"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.
"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."
you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."
"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."
you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.
wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."
"wade?"
"yes, cupcake?"
"do you like me?"
"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"
"yeah, i know but-"
"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."
that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.
wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."
"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."
"okay, great. i was just making sure."
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darkbluekies · 14 days ago
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Stupid people
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Yandere!mafia!oc x reader
Summary: a number sends Silas a picture of darling that sends him into rage
Warnings: murder, mentions of NSFW, Silas lashes out towards darling, guilt, slight indication of a character asking if it was consensual (it was — the deed, not the pictures), pictures taken without permission, punching and kicking between legs
Word count: 2.7k
A/N: to clarify, the photos are taken AFTER the deed, not during!
There's only two people Silas likes enough to let them be in his office for more than asking a question — you and SIC.
“Stupid people are my favorite kind of people”, SIC says from the couch, eyes glued onto his phone. “Some idiot here tried to jump from a roof.”
“If only our enemies did that so that i didn't have to go kill them”, Silas smirks.
“Since when were we that lucky?”
A notification on his own phone caught his attention. Silas picks it up and unlocks it, seeing that the notification is from an unsaved number. He clenches his jaw. Photos. It takes a second for him to realize what — who — is in these two photos. He can recognise that back among millions. He sees that back every night, always holding it close to his chest.
“Motherfucker!” he shouts and rises from his chair in a swift.
“What?” SIC asks quickly, looking up from his screen.
Silas slams his phone down on the floor. It shatters and explodes in every direction. SIC jumps up from the couch.
“Woah, what’s going on?” he asks quickly. 
Silas can't reply. His heart is hammering in his throat. If he tries to speak, it'll jump out. His entire body is shaking. He's been mad before, but nothing compares to what he feels when you are involved.
“Silas?” SIC asks. “Sit down.”
He presses Silas down in the chair again.
“What happened?” he asks. “Give me a real fucking answer this time.”
“Some disgusting little bitch sent me photos of Y/N”,  he spits out, growing angrier by every word. “Naked, in a bed. I think you can figure out the rest yourself.”
SIC blinks. “Shit. Who?”
Silas gestures manically towards the broken phone. “I didn't write the number down before I fucking smashed it!”
“Alright. I'll take out the sim card and put it in my phone. I can find out.”
“Don't look at the photos, got that? I'm not joking. I will beat you up if I find out that you've looked at the photos.”
“Don't worry, boss, I won't.”
Silas sighs in frustration. He storms out of his office, up the stairs and throws up the door to your shared bedroom. You're nowhere to be found.
“Y/N!” he shouts angrily.
You come out of the bathroom, looking bewildered. A fear grows on your face when you realize how mad he is.
“What's wrong?” you ask quickly.
“Who the fuck have taken pics of you while having sex?!” he shouts. “Who is the low creature that has pictures of you?!”
Your eyes widen.
“What?” you ask. “Silas-”
He moves closer and you can't describe his demeanor in any other way than threatening. You stumble backwards, finally reaching the wall. Even when he's mad, he'd never do things to make you scared of him, never show you the side he shows his men and enemies. But this time, he doesn't seem to care about holding back. You get to see what everyone else sees.
“Whoever the little fucker is, I will shove that camera of his so far up his ass it'll puncture a lung, do you understand that?” Silas spits, face mere centimeters from your face. 
“Silas, I-”, you stutter.
Silas grabs the perfume standing on the shelf beside you and sends it flying across The room, breaking against the wall. You watch on in complete horror. Not even in the basement is he this violent, not around you.
Behind him, you see SIC run into the room, stopping in the doorway. He watches on with wide eyes.
“Who is it?” he spits before raising his voice. “Give me the name of the worthless little creature! I'll kill him!”
“Silas, I don't know!” you shout loudly in order to be heard over his own shouting. Tears blurry your vision as silence fills the room. “I d-don't know, I swear! I have no knowledge of a-any pictures taken of me. Please don’t be mad at me, I don’t know anything, I s-swear …”
You have wrapped your arms around yourself. You look so incredibly small. And helpless. He feels as if someone has punched him right in the stomach. He can't bring himself to shout at you. The fire in his eyes seems to blow out, leaving his eyes as dark as they should. He breathes heavily, feeling empty and painfully aware of everything around him — every little sound, movement. He finally realizes what's going on.
“Fuck”, he breathes out in a whisper and pulls you into his arms, into a tight embrace. “I'm so sorry.”
You sob into his shoulder, voice getting muffled in his white shirt. Silas hugs you as if his life depends on it.
“Baby, I didn't mean to shout at you”, he whispers. “I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at that disgusting filth. Not you, do you understand?”
He pulls you back and covers your face in apologetic kisses, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears.
“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eyes.
You nod slightly and sniffle. Still shaking, but not mortified. 
“What pictures?” you ask with an unsteady voice.
Silas looks at SIC.
“Did you get the number?” he asks.
“No, I didn't have time to move over the sim card before I heard the glass shattering.”
Silas clears his throat. His ears turn red.
“Go retrieve the number and then come back”, he says.
SIC nods and walks out. Silas turns to you. He cups your cheeks and kisses your lips carefully.
“Sorry”, he says again.
“It’s … okay”, you mumble.
It doesn't seem to register for him. He has a guilty look in his black eyes.
“Silas … what pictures?” you ask again, dreading the answer yet needing to know.
“There’s nothing to worry about, I shouldn’t have told you. I will take care of it, okay?”
“You got so upset about it … something must be wrong. Have someone taken pics of me while I’ve … had sex?”
Silas can’t tell you. He knows how distraught you’ll be. 
“No, not while you had … after you were done … I don’t know”, he says. “I could have misunderstood the pictures. I broke my phone right after seeing them.” He notices how you give him an unsure gaze as he mentions his phone. “I get worked up quickly.”
You sniffle. Silas wipes your tears again and hugs you even tighter, resting his cheek on the top of your head. He feels like a complete fool, how could he slip up like that? He would never shout at you, never make you feel threatened. For fuck sake, you’re supposed to seek shelter and comfort in him!
“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Silas asks. 
“Mhm”, you mumble. “Just shaking.”
“I can tell.” His embrace tightens. “Let’s sit down, alright?”
He moves you to the bed and sits down with you beside him. 
“What have you done today?” he asks and wraps his arm around your shoulders. 
“I’ve been watching some shows”, you reply. 
“Which one?”
“Some cartoon … I don’t remember the name.”
“Do you think I’d like it?”
You give him a small smile and shake your head. “No, it’s too cheesy for you.”
Silas smiles. “What type of fucking stereotype is that? Show me and I’ll decide for myself.”
You reach for the tablet and show him a few minutes of the cartoon. He leans onto you, wrapping himself around you like a boa constrictor. 
The door opens and SIC returns with his phone in his hand. 
“Got it”, he says and walks over to the bed. “Y/N, take a look and-”
Silas slaps his hand away. 
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” he scolds him. “You’re not showing them those!”
SIC holds his phone out of Silas’s reach. 
“I am”, SIC replies.
Silas stands up. The animalistic, lredatory light is back in his eyes. You don’t doubt that he would punch him. 
“I am going to show these pictures to Y/N to confirm that they remember the sex happening”, SIC explains sharply. “Because if they don’t, we might have a worse crime on our hands.”
Silas doesn’t reply. He seems to think, and seems to consider whether he should punch the man or not. He nods in defeat. SIC gives you the phone and you take a mortified look at the two pictures. 
“Do you recognise where you are in these two pictures?” SIC asks. “Do you know when this was? Do you have memories of it?”
You look at the pictures, fearing that you’re not going to recognise the location or remember what happened … or who you were with.
“I know when and where this is”, you say. “It was five years ago. I remember it.”
“You're sure you remember it?” SIC asks.
“Yes … but I didn't know that he took pics …” 
“Okay, the fucker is dead”, Silas decides.
“What was his name?” SIC asks.
“‘Eric’ something”, you say. “I met him at a party. He was nice, or so i thought, and-”
Silas runs a hand through his black hair and sighs.
“I guess that he wasn't that nice”, you mumble.
“Pricks like that are never nice. They're just polite enough to lure people to get what they want. Who knows how many innocent people's photos he has on his hard drive?”
“Silas, can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“If you manage to find him-”
“Not if; when.”
“When you manage to find him, give him an extra punch from me, will you?”
Silas smiles. “I'll give him tenfolds.”
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Finding him is easier than the poor fellow had anticipated. Silas pities him. He's either too stupid to know who he is or has a death wish. He can't decide which one is worse.
“God, you're even uglier than i imagined”, Silas scoffs as he sees the man for the first time.
He's held up by two of his men, body pounded with punches beyond recognizable, but they've left his face untouched. That's for Silas to ruin.
“You're even uglier than your mess of a body”, he says, grabbing the man's face, tuning it carelessly. “We haven't even touched this yet. What did you gain from this? Not a lot, I see. I mean, you're here, in my basement, about to be killed. Can't say that I understand your intentions.”
“Did you like the pictures?” Eric asks, voice drowning in painful moans.
“‘Did i like the pictures?’” Silas repeats, appalled by the man's lack of remorse. “I don't need your pitiful pictures. I get the full act from whatever angle I want.”
It shouldn't make him cocky, but bragging about it always fills him with pride.
“Give me his phone”, he orders.
One of his men digs up the phone from Eric's pocket. He forces him to unlock it.
“Do you take these types of pictures often?” Silas asks, eyes narrowing as he scrolls past hundreds of women sleeping in beds. “What even are these?”
“I take a picture of the woman after our session, after she's fallen asleep”, Eric replies, “as a trophy.”
“As a-”, he cuts himself off. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Silas hits him with all his might. Eric's head shoots backwards, his neck acting like a jojo to get it back. Blood runs down from his nose.
“Delete all the pictures”, he tells SIC and gives him the phone. “From the phone, any cloud, any other hard-drive. These pictures will never be seen by anyone ever again.”
“Yes, boss”, SIC replies and takes the phone.
He disappears up the stairs. Silas turns to Eric.
“How did you get my number?” he asks. “And, when you got it, didn't you check to see who it belonged to? You're pretty stupid.”
“I just know that the number belonged to Y/N’s new boyfriend”, Eric replies.
“Husband.”
It shouldn't fill him with such pride at a moment like this, yet it does. 
“You're going to die now anyway, so it doesn't matter if I tell you my name”, Silas says. 
One of his men gives him a knife with a long shiny blade.
“Boss”, SIC says from the top of the stairs. “Y/N’s here.”
Silas hurries to give the knife back and gestures for him to hide it. 
“I’ll come upstairs”, he says. 
Before he has time to move, you've bursted past SIC. He tries to grab at you, but you're already half down the stairs.
“You absolute worthless piece of shit”, you spit.
Silas raises his eyebrows. 
Oh?
You run right over to Eric and slap him. Silas stands stunned. It takes him a few moments to gather himself and stop looking like a fool. He turns to the stairs where SIC stands, holding his hand over his face, laughing silently. He folds and has to hold onto the wall.
“How could you take such pictures?” you ask him. “What gave you the right?”
Silas grabs your shoulder to pull you away from him, but you shake him off.
“It's not like I took pics while we had sex”, Eric says, voice sounding even more painful.
Silas smirks. He can already tell that'll happen by the way your eyes widen. And he won't stop it. Won't even try to. You hit the man again and kick him between the legs. He tries to curl up, but is being held up by Silas’s men. 
“Okay, okay”, Silas says and grabs your shoulders, pulling you backwards. “Enough of that. SIC, take Y/N to the bedroom and make sure they stay there.”
SIC grabs you out of his arms. Silas grabs the knife once more. 
“What should we start with?” he asks, spinning the knife. “Your hands? Arms? Legs? Decide, coward.”
SIC forces you upstairs before he has the time to cut off any body parts.
“Let me go!” you mutter. 
“Just stay quiet until we get up to the bedroom”, SIC says. “Nice shot you got, by the way. I know it caught Silas by surprise. That’s hard to do, you know.”
“He deserves more.”
“And Silas will give him that, don’t you worry. That is not your job. You got two punches and one kick in, that’s enough.”
WHen you try to run back downstairs, he picks you up over his shoulder and continues upstairs. 
“Don’t give me more trouble”, he sighs. 
SIC walks into the bedroom and places you down on the floor before barricading the door with his body to make sure you’re not making a run for it. 
“The pictures are gone”, SIC says. “All of them — of you and of other people.”
“How many were there?”
“Hundreds. All taken when they had fallen asleep afterwards. He kept them like trophies.”
The door opens before he’s done with his sentence. Silas walks in, finally looking pleased. 
“Dona already?” SIC asks. 
“I got impatient”, he mutters and closes the door. “Little thing, are you okay?”
You nod. Silas hugs you, kissing the top of your head. He still feels awful about shouting at you. He squeezes you even tighter. 
“Thank you”, you say quietly. “You helped not only me but also a lot of other people. That’s a good thing.”
His heart clenches. He has apologized a million times and you have forgiven him … but he can’t seem to forgive himself. It all happened so quickly, yet it lingers in him. 
“Of course”, he says. “Scumbags need to be taken care of the right way. I kind of pitied the man. He must have been extremely stupid to let me know about him. Good that he was stupid though.”
Thinking about him makes him furious once more, but he reminds himself that it’s over. He has gotten his punishment … and Silas has saved people. Innocent people should never be punished for crimes they didn’t commit.
No one will ever see any those pictures again. No one will have to deal with that man ever again. 
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gamesetart · 4 months ago
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sweet 'n easy
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Art thought dating you would be enough. He's content to have your heart, wait until marriage to have your body, too. But it's proving really difficult when you look like that.
tags: art donaldson x fem! reader, open relationship, guided masterbation, reader's kind of messy in this one (corruption), religious themes/corruption of religious themes. nsfw. minors DNI.
a/n: this is part of what im referring to as the open relationship au and im more than expecting to write more about this dynamic! im also very open to suggestions about it
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Art Donaldson is a Good Christian Boy. He's a good, smart young man. He wears his thin silver purity ring on his left ring finger. He wears a delicate silver cross on a chain around his neck. He used to sing in the church choir, and now he spends his Sundays volunteering with the children's sector and frequenting church picnics. If it wasn't for tennis, he'd probably be a priest.
You're not right for him, and he knows it. Guys like him aren't made to marry girls like you - girls with low-cut tops that show off the top hem of your lacy electric purple bra. Girls who wear low, low-cut jeans with your matching purple thong hanging out the back. Girls with butterfly-shaped tattoos hovering on your lower back. Girls who spend weekends drinking and clubbing and dancing with absolutely no room for Jesus.
But there's just something about you. Maybe it's your attitude, the way your hand flies up in class whenever you know the answer to a question, the way you speak, with such clarity, such conviction. Maybe it's the way you walk with your friends across campus, beautiful and assertive, a pack of wild hounds. You're terrifying to him. A force of nature, a thunderstorm. Art's managed to get caught up in your jet stream, but it doesn't mean he's any less scared of falling out. You and all your hot, brash, party-girl friends. You and the 'bitch pack', as some of his friends have taken to calling you and yours. The sorority girl, frat party, dim clubs, bitch pack. Girls like you don't give guys like him the time of day: you're too pretty, too powerful, far too high up on an entirely different social ladder.
But you're different. You're sweet. He's watched you stop to pet stray kittens. He's seen you volunteering to donate blood at the campus blood drives. He's seen you stop to help a girl pick up her books even though you were already late to class. He's seen your notes in his biology lecture, your cute, bubbled handwriting and your array of gel pens. He's seen you buy an extra coffee at the campus cafe for a friend. People contain multitudes, or whatever, right?
So maybe it's no surprise when you end up paired up on an assignment and you bring him back to your dorm room. Maybe he shouldn't have been so stunned by the boy band posters and the stacks of fantasy novels and the stuffed bear sitting on your bed. Maybe he shouldn't have been thrown off by your framed pictures - family, friends - and your collection of Beatles CDs. Just a girl. A normal, nice girl. Who lays out all her notes for him, glances up with a sweet smile, and asks,
"Where d'you wanna start?"
He didn't mean for it to go any further than that. For the study visits to start happening at night, after dinner. For you to start blowing off club nights to curl up on your plush blue shag carpet next to art, pointing out lines of text and highlighting things with a bright pink marker. For you to start eating with him at lunch, talking about your lecture, laughing over some stupid thing your professor said or did. For him to start seeing you, really seeing you, and liking that you saw him, too. It happened before he even registered it. Somewhere, somehow, Art Donaldson fell in love.
It's different than how he felt with Tashi. This isn't that painful, all-consuming desire to please, to have her notice him, the obsession with the idea of her and her tennis. This feels sweeter, kinder. This feels like what he used to read about: fireworks in his heartbeat, butterflies in his stomach, the giddy thrill of First Love. A slower, ennobling sort of love.
If he had it his way, he'd date you. Flowers. Expensive dinners by candlelight. Picnics. The works. Court you for the four years you were at Stanford together, then propose once you graduated. Spend a few years engaged so he could do his tennis, make a good amount of his own money. Save until he could plan a dream wedding. Honeymoon somewhere pretty and exotic, like Bali or Punta Cana. Then the country house and the kids, the white picket fence. Except, Art doesn't really ever get things his way, does he?
"I... I don't know," you say slowly, digging your heels into your carpet. You can't meet his sad blue eyes. You can't bear to. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. It feels alien, even in your head.
He stares at you, crestfallen. Your heart plummets and you race for an explanation, for some way to explain this without blaming him. Because it's not Art at fault, it's his Faith.
"It's not that I don't like you!" you scramble. "I do, really, Art, I do. I just... a girl has... needs, you know? There are things I'd want that I can't ask you to give me. Things I can't take from you."
You both know what it is. You'd never ask him to give up on or waver in his faith for you. Never. You like Art how he is. But you know you'd be wanting. You know you can't wait until your wedding night.
"I... I'm just not the dating type, Art," you explain mournfully. "And you don't want to date a girl like me, anyway, trust me. You deserve someone nice."
"But... you are nice," Art says, and he really does look like you've just torn his heart out and stomped on it. It's horrible. It's awful. And you feel like a monster for doing it, but what can you do?
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He doesn't have a solution until a full week later. He pretends (to you, and himself) that he came up with it all on his own, when in reality it was Patrick's idea. Patrick's suggestion, murmured over the phone in cloying low tones, luring him in like sailor to siren, bee to honey, moth to flame. Art, for all his cleverness, for all his ability to read Patrick like a book, could not see it. He trusted Patrick. He should have, he's sent Patrick some of your pictures, talked about you endlessly. But Patrick was on tour, far, far away, where he could do no harm. And Patrick was taken, as he was so keen to remind Art all the time.
"She doesn't have to fuck you, man," Patrick muses. "Date her. Be her good boy, be her fuckin' sweetheart. She can get dicked down with someone else."
"You're suggesting my girlfriend cheat on me?" Art laughs, and even saying it, my girlfriend, even in hypothetical, makes his heart do a flip.
He can practically picture Patrick's face, screwed up with a mixture of pity and disdain. Poor Art. "Nah, man. I'm suggesting an open relationship, you know? Let her fuck who she wants, she's gonna come home to you."
The conviction in Patrick's voice makes Art's heart somersault. Because there's something about that idea that makes his pulse quicken. Patrick's right. You'll come home to him, your heart - the thing that really matters - will be his. He doesn't like the possessive thing that curls up in his chest and purrs at the idea. But he doesn't fight it.
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"What if you didn't have to wait with me?" Art asks.
He's twirling a highlighter over his fingers. Cross-legged on your plush duvet, working at a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Gum you'd offered him, gum that you now kept a small stash of in your desk drawer for evenings just like this. The project you'd been paired up on was long over, the proud 96% sitting in your Stanford grading inbox. Now you're just regular homework buddies. Art sought you out for homework he missed because he was at practice and lecture notes he didn't get. You don't mind. You enjoy it, actually. You just wish you could give him more. Hate that you couldn't be what he deserved. It almost feels like leading him on, when he sits with you until the wee hours, sharing diagrams and passing your textbook back and forth. When he brings you your morning coffee before class, or you bring sandwiches and Gatorade to his practices.
Except now, apparently, he has a solution.
"What?" you ask, blinking at him. "What d'you mean?"
Art flushes. Soft pink. Mostly around the ears, you've noticed, red against the gentle gold of his curls. Evening rose.
"I mean, what if..." he looks away. "You know. You went out with me. Dated me. But you could... 'hook up' with other people when you needed to."
You stare at him. Dumbfounded. Art Donaldson. Is sitting on your bed, asking you for an open relationship? Are you dreaming? Has the world suddenly gone mad? Did you go to bed last night and wake up in an alternate dimesion?
"You... are you suggesting... what I think you're suggesting?" you ask faintly.
He nods, ears burning a truly impressive shade of crimson. You suppose you should be flattered, really, the lengths he's going to date you. Most guys would have given up by now, egos bruised, feelings hurt, hearts shattered. And with most guys, you would have been firmer, clearer, colder. Meaner. But Art isn't most guys. Art is sweet.
"I-- shit, Art, wouldn't you rather just date some other girl like you?" you say helplessly.
"I don't want another girl, I want you," he replies plainly. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like there's no other answer.
And that's all it takes for you to agree. It's impossible to say no to those baby doll eyes. The two of you set ground rules - you don't tell him who or where or how, just that it happened. He doesn't ask you any questions. No one leaves you any marks. Immediate friends, such as Art's tennis circle and his church friends, are off limits. And that's that. He's your boyfriend now.
Art thought it would suffice. He likes being with you. Holding your hand while you walk to class. Seeing you in the stands when he plays a match. Chaste little pecks here and there. But you're like a pit of quicksand, a hurricane. You draw him in quicker than he thought possible, and now he can't breathe, can't think, can't move. The corruption is slow, certain, and inescapable.
He starts to find himself wanting more.
A kiss in his dorm room that deepens instead of stops, one hand cupping your jaw, the other floating to rest on the small of your back, above the waist of your low jeans, on the warm, bare skin there. A glance that feels more than affectionate, his eyes roving over your collarbone, the glint of your skin in the sun, the line of your bra beneath your sheer, tight shirt. He sees you smile at another guy and a hot flash of jealousy surges through him as he wonders if this is one of the guys you're fucking, if that guy, that random piece of shit, gets to touch you, see you, feel you. He tamps it down, and it feels too little, too late.
You'd be a fool not to notice. Stupid, not to feel the press of his hard-on when he hugs you from behind. Not to sense the shift in the way he kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips, hands sliding down further than they usually do. He plays it off, always. An accident. The heat of the moment. But you know. And because you're weak, because you're a terrible person, because ruining Art Donaldson is the most beautiful thing to ever happen to you, you let him.
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"Art, do you ever touch yourself?"
He falls off his chair in his hurry to spin around and look at you. From the floor of your dorm, he stares with wide blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Wha--"
You shrug. "You know. Do you ever..." you make a crude gesture with your hand, and he buries his face up to his nose in his collar.
"No," he says, muffled into his tee shirt. "It's sinful."
It takes every fibre of your being not to laugh. He's so precious, so pure, sometimes you wonder why a guy like him could ever be interested in you at all. Your looks are one thing - you know you're hot. But Art likes you. He likes you even when he can't fuck you. He liked you even when you told him you wouldn't date him. He likes you because you're you. Which makes you feel a little shitty about what you do next, but you can't help it.
"So, what, when you're hard, what do you do?" you press casually. "Send up a Hail Mary and wait?"
Art's ears, which peek out over his shirt collar, are so red they could have been on fire. He shakes his head, a little frantically. He flushes easily, you notice, blood flowing quickly whenever he's even mildly embarrassed. It conjures images of his cock, whatever it might look like, red and aching with need. And you feel a lot less bad, the mental image of Art's dick fuelling the way you lean over, sliding off your chair to join him on the floor. You kneel, hands resting on your knees, and you know he's getting an eyeful of your tits. You keep your eyes on his face.
"Show me," you murmur. "I won't touch you. I won't even touch myself. I just wanna see."
He stares at you like you've asked him for his social security number and all his credit card info. Which, honestly, he probably would have given up a little easier. And you're an awful person, because you know the effect you've had on him, especially these days, you know that Art will probably do anything you ask of him, just for the pleasure of pleasing you.
"Please?" you wheedle, cocking your head to one side lightly, staring up at him through your lashes.
And, really, how could he say no to that?
"I-- okay," he says, and he tries to pretend like he's relenting a lot more than he actually is. Pretends like he's doing you a huge favour, as if his cock isn't straining at the mere idea.
Art doesn't jerk off often. He's only ever used his hand once - the single time Patrick showed him. After that, he'd cried in the bathroom and washed his hands so many times he got a contact allergy. But he's figured out an alternative. One that doesn't involve him touching himself at all. So he slides off his sweats, all too aware of your steady eyes on him. You look at him like you've never seen legs before, as if you haven't seen him at a thousand practices. You look at him like you want to eat him.
He tries to tell himself that's not what's making his cock throb in his boxers. He keeps those on, more for his sake than yours.
"You can lie on my bed," you offer innocently.
Art almost moans. Because it's your bed. Because it's yours, and when he lies down it's almost like lying with you. When he buries his face in the pillow, he can smell you, your vanilla and roses body wash, and, beneath it, the gentle smell of you. It's your sheets he starts to cant into, hips rolling in a familiar motion as he starts to work away the desperate pressure in his cock. It's your pillow he bites in a futile attempt to muffle his moans. And when he looks up, eyes half-lidded, he can see you watching him. You're biting your lip, looking flustered, and it's the cutest he's ever seen you, and he moans your name without meaning you.
You keep your promise, hands folded neatly in you lap as you watch Art rut into your bed like a wild animal, like he's in fucking heat, like your sheets are a person and he's fucking it. Like your sheets are you, you realise, as his eyes meet yours and he whines your name. He's pretending he's fucking you. It's hard not to give up and shove one hand into your panties, but for his sake, you try. Art's moans are almost musical, and with a sharp slap of embarrassment, you're reminded of the sounds he makes when he hits the ball at practice. The same whining grunts of exertion, except now they're fuelled by pleasure, spurred on by the desperate grind of his hips into your sheets, not a fucking tennis ball.
"Oh, oh, fuck," Art's voice gets a little higher. "Oh, fuck, it's so good--"
You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you shift slightly. His movements grow a little more erratic, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists into the soft fabric of your sheets. You drink it all in while you can - his ears are red, his cheeks are pink. You follow the curve of his ass in his boxers. You stare at the muscles in his thighs. The bones of his hips.
Art gets breathy when he's about to cum. Breathy, very whiny, almost crying if you're being honest. You file that information away for later.
"Please, please, can I?" he gasps, staring up at you with pupils blown wide with lust. "Can I cum, please, fuck, need it, need it-- you-- fuck, please?"
It's surprising he can even string together a full sentence. "Of course, baby," you murmur, already resolved to not changing your sheets until after you've cum in them too.
Another nugget of information: Art favours a deep grind when he cums, like he's looking for a place to put it, to bury it, looking to breed, to mark, to keep. The sight of him pushing his hips as far into your mattress as he can before he cums, a cry of your name and a shuddering breath slipping from his lips, will probably fuel your nighttime ventures for the next few weeks. You'll use it when you find your next hook up, it'll probably send you right over the edge.
You don't know when you started thinking of Art while you fucked other guys. You just know that now, it's tricky to get off without it. It's hard enough biting your tongue so you avoid saying his name. Now, you'll have the image of his face when he cums locked in your brain forever.
"Shit," Art curses, still breathless, sitting up to examine the sticky mess soaking from the front of his gingham boxers, all the way into your sheets. "Sorry."
You just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. That was... really hot. That's actually how you get yourself off?"
He nods, embarrassed. When he shuffles off to shower, borrowing your shower caddy and a towel, you wait until your door click, and then you practically rip open your nightstand. It takes less than ten minutes with a vibrator and the memory of Art's voice moaning your name for you to add your cum to his. You imagine his hips fucking into you, not your sheets. You imagine pulling his stupid fucking purity ring off and wearing it like some fucked-up engagement ring. His hands are so big, you'd probably have to wear it on your thumb. His hands. You imagine them grabbing you, holding you, sliding up your skin. You wonder what it would be like to have him revere you, not his God. Worship you. You want him to, you think. The idea of him shattering every promise he's ever made, just to be inside you? It sends you over the edge with a muffled cry of his name.
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It's that feeling, that messy need for him, that drives you to that frat party. You told him, obviously, and while he seemed sort of put-off when you mentioned you were probably going to sleep with someone, he told you it was okay. Told you to be safe.
You wish you could tell him, but you're worried it'll scare him off. Don't worry, Art, every guy I fuck, I pretend he's you. And now I'll have the knowledge of exactly what you look and sound like when you cum to help me out! Not exactly girlfriend material.
Still, you're thinking of Art when your eyes land on a boy playing beer pong. He's tall, all messy black curls and tanned skin. Handsome, too, if you're being honest, in a messy, frat boy-y kind of way. Hook up hot. You're thinking of Art when he waves you over, holding up a beer like it's a peace offering. You're thinking of Art when you give him your name and ask for his.
"Patrick," he tells you easily. "Patrick Zweig."
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chosok-amo · 3 months ago
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FIGHT HER BOYFRIEND FOR ME?!
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𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ⲷ umemiya hajime, togame jo, sakura haruka, suo hayato.
𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. you got into a fight with a girl and you told your boyfriend to fight her boyfriend.
ⵌ UMEMIYA HAJIME
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you, umemiya hajime’s spoiled little girlfriend, burst through the rooftop door with a loud bang, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet space. without hesitation, you make a sharp left turn, your footsteps heavy and quick. as you round the corner, you spot the first-year students, hiragi and your beloved boyfriend, umemiya hajime. they're both crouched down, deeply engrossed in tending to hajime's collection of potted plants, oblivious to your presence.
your sudden and forceful entrance startles the boys, causing them to jump. hajime's eyes widen in concern as he takes in your appearance. your uniform is disheveled, the buttons misaligned, and your tie askew. a few dark smudges mark your cheeks, and there are several fresh scratches on your face, evidence of a recent scuffle. your hair is messy, strands falling out of place, and your breathing is heavy, as if you've been running.
hajime quickly stands up, his usually calm and collected demeanor replaced with worry. “what happened to you?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. hiragi stands beside him, equally alarmed, glancing between you and hajime, waiting for an explanation.
hajime's eyes immediately darted to your disheveled appearance, taking in the disarray of your uniform and the fresh marks on your face. concern etched itself across his features as he quickly sprung to his feet, his usual composure replaced with a tinge of worry and unease.
as he reached you, he gently reached out to cup your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm as he examined the scratches on your skin. his voice was gentle and questioning as he asked, “what happened? who did this to you?” he pulls you to sit on the picnic table along with the first year— suo, sakura, and nirei that just look at you curiously.
“hiragi, can you go and get the first aid kit from the infirmary please?” the blonde nods and hurriedly dashes off to get the first aid kit. hajime then turns his attention back to you, a mixture of worry and anger on his face.
“who did this to you?” he asked once again. but for someone who looks like just got into a fight, you look rather excited than scared. you shift your position to face your boyfriend, “babe, there is a fucking bitch that i just had a fight with and i need you to fight her stupid boyfriend,” your voice echoes across the rooftop without answering your boyfriend, excitedly.
hajime's expression switches from worry to confusion then to annoyance. “are you serious right now? you just got into a fight and now you want me to fight someone else?” he lets out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair. his annoyance is clear as day, evident in his tone, but underneath it, there's a hint of amusement.
“did you really have to get in another fight? And why do you sound so happy about it?”
“do you at least win?” sakura who sits in front of you ask, genuinely curious. doesn't really care the glaring of his leader.
“obviously? that bitch cried and called her boyfriend, fucking pussy,” you stopped for a moment to give suo a high five, the eye-patch boy clearly happy when he looking at you like a dad proud of his daughter before you look at your boyfriend, “that's why baby, you have to fight her boyfriend,” you continue.
hajime‘s annoyance only increases at your nonchalant attitude towards the fight. although a part of him is secretly impressed by your fighting skills, he's trying very hard not to show it. you, out of all the people, he doesn't want to be influenced by anything violence, he just want to keep you the way you are despite how he live his life, just be his little spoiled girlfriend.
“seriously? you got into a fight, won, and now you want me to fight her boyfriend? do you just enjoy getting into fights or something?” he sighs again before speaking again. “and did you really have to call her a pussy?” you snort after hearing the last question before looking at the three musketeers— suo, sakura and nirei, thinking that your boyfriend is so oblivious to asking something as transparent as air.
“because she's a pussy? why she call her boyfriend that, by the way looks like a fucking dying cockroach, to fight with me.” hajime's annoyance turns to slight disbelief at your bluntness. it's a trait he's slowly grown accustomed to, but at times it still catches him off guard. he glances at the three first years who are trying to hold back their laughter.
“a dying cockroach? really, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice tinged with both amusement and disbelief. “do you always have to insult people like that?” he shakes his head, slightly amused by your honesty, but still annoyed that you got into yet another fight.
e glances at the first years before looking back at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and slight admiration. “but fine, let me get this straight. you beat up a girl, won, and now want me to fight some guy just because you beat up his girlfriend?”
you look at him puzzle, “yeah?”
hajime can't help but chuckle at your direct answer. he runs a hand through his hair, struggling to keep a serious face. “you know, most girls would be scared or upset after getting into a fight. but no, not you. you're sitting here asking me to fight the boyfriend of the girl you just beat up. you're something else, you know that?”
he sighs again but this time a small smile appears on his lips.
ⵌ SAKURA HARUKA
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you open the door to sakura's classroom, immediately scanning the room for your boyfriend, who is in the middle of a conversation with his friends.
the moment you step inside, the room falls silent, and all eyes turn to you, including your boyfriend's. his cheeks flush a bright red when he sees you.
“y/n what—”
“i need you to fight this bitch’s boyfriend right now,” you cut his words. shock and confusion immediately wash over his face at your words. he blinks a few times, trying to grasp the situation.
“huh?!”
he glances around at his friends, their eyes wide with surprise at your sudden appearance. he then looks back at you, a mix of worry and confusion on his face as he walks over to you. “why do i need to fight someone's boyfriend? what the hell happened?” he is standing in front of you, palm touching your elbow softly.
“she said you're too pussy to fight her ugly ass boyfriend and said you were short.”
sakura's expression hardened at that comment from you. he hated being called 'pussy'— he was far away from pussy, and his height was a touchy subject for him, having been bullied for it for years.
your boyfriend clenched his hands into fists, a mix of anger and determination crossing his face as he looked at you. “she dared me to fight her boyfriend, huh? and said i was short, huh? who the hell does she think she is? and her boyfriend agreed?” he clenched his fists tightly, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face.
“they're going to regret talking trash about me,” he muttered, his eyes hardening with determination. sakura's expression darkened further as he clenched his fists tighter.
“yeah, she did. and her boyfriend agreed with her. they both think they can get away with talking trash about us like that,” you purposely fuel your boyfriend's anger with more gasoline, smiling. he gritted his teeth, anger and determination in his eyes, “but they won't. we're gonna show them just how wrong they are.”
“come on, baby, let's fuck this fuckers,” he grabs your hand and walk out of the classroom. sakura's grip tightened around your hand as he walked out of the classroom, nirei's protests falling on deaf ears. sou followed behind with a smile on his face, seemingly unfazed by the situation.
sakura's steps were quick and determined, his eyes focused on the challenge ahead. he was ready to teach that girl and her boyfriend a lesson they'd never forget.
ⵌ TOGAME JO
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the flat electronic pressed against your ear as you try to call your boyfriend. first ringing.. second ringing.. and you can hear his lazy voice from the other side.
“what is it babe?” he asked.
“jo, i got into a fight with this girl and i need you to fight her boyfriend for me,” you said.
he chuckled from the other side of the phone. his voice was still tired but it sounded like he was in a good mood. togame let out a soft sigh before standing up straight and crossed his arms, leaning back against the fence. he raised an eyebrow at your words.
“so you want me to go hunt down some guy because you got into a fight with his girl?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice as he pushed his round, yellow-tinted glasses back. “how strong is he?”
“i don't know jo, but he looks like a fucking lizard,” you groan in annoyance as your mind wonder back to few moments ago when you first saw the boyfriend. once again, you cringing, thinking how his already bad-looking face isn't going to worth looking at all after getting a kiss by your boyfriend fist.
he let out a low chuckle at your description of the guy. “you really have a way with words, don't you doll?” he teased. he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back before he spoke again. “so where did you see him last?” you can hear a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“just meet me under the bridge, i'm already here.”
togame let out a slight scoff at your straight-to-the-point order, but he couldn't help but smirk. you always knew how to be direct, it was one of the things he liked about you.
“fine, fine. i'm on my way.” he replied. there was a hint of playful annoyance in his voice but he was already heading towards the bridge. after a few minutes of waiting, togame finally arrived, walking with his typical nonchalant swagger. he approached you with a lazy grin on his face. “you know, i have better things to do than hunt down lizard boys,” he teased.
you smile the moment his lazy figure is caught by your eyes. you pull him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck and giving the taller boy a kiss. “give me a kiss first,” you mumble on his lips.
togame chuckled as you pulled him closer, clearly enjoying your attention. he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly. he playfully rolled his eyes at your request but his smile widened, his voice low when he replied. “that needy already, huh?” he teased before he leaned down and captured your lips in a deep kiss.
the kiss was intense, filled with a mix of desire and playfulness. after a few moments, togame broke the kiss, reluctantly pulling away and chuckled. “you know, i didn't come here to make out with you,” he said in a teasing voice, although he made no move to let go of your waist.
“maybe we should forget about the fight and come to yours instead, hm?” you smiling at him, sweetly and trying to play innocent as your hand caressing the nape of his neck.
togame raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. he knew you were trying to tempt him, and it was working. he pulled you even closer to him, his arms still firmly around your waist, his voice low as he replied. “you really know how to distract me, don't you?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. he looked down at you, his eyes filled with playful temptation. “come on, let's play a fight in your room,” your eyes didn't leave his as you were trying to persuade him.
togame's eyes darkened, his smirk widening as your words sunk in. the thought of a playful fight with you in his room made his heart race. “well, when you put it like that, how can i refuse?“ he replied, his voice still low and seductive. he leaned down and nipped at your earlobe playfully.
“let's go.”
togame grabbed your hand with a firm grip and pulled you forward, walking at a fast pace. he was eager to get you back to his room, the anticipation growing with each moment. he glanced down at you, a sly expression on his face.
“i hope you're prepared to lose, babe.”
oh, you don't mind at all.
ⵌ SUO HAYATO
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you walk into the pothos cafe, where suo hayato is sitting with his friends, enjoying their meal together. “baby, we have a situation,” you announce dramatically, arms crossed. he looks up, raising an eyebrow. “what happened?”
“i got into a fight with a girl,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “and now you need to fight her boyfriend.” suo blinks, his usual calm demeanor slightly shaken with confusion. “wait, what? why do i need to fight her boyfriend?” his friends sitting next to him snicker as their ears perked up in interest.
“why did you even fight her in the first place?” suo questioned you with a slightly confused look, his maroon eye looking at you curiously. you pull out your phone, showing your boyfriend the boy you want him to fight against. “yikes,” he commented the moment he saw the thing on your screen.
“exactly baby, she is using her ugly ass boyfriend to attack me, what a bitch,” you grumble in annoyance. while he was slightly surprised at the size of the guy, he remained quite calm. suo's friends looked at the picture as well and immediately reacted. “damn, even a dog would feel bad for fighting that dude,” one of them laughed loudly— the pink haired one who you don't know what his name is.
he smiles gently at you, and in a soft voice, he reminds you, “baby, that's not a nice thing to say.”
but who is he laying to?
deep down suo's rainbow dictionary cursing the boy, insulting him in the most unexpected and creative way anyone could possibly think. his friends just started to laugh at his gentle attitude, but he ignored them and instead focused on you while his eyes looked you up and down, silently studying any sign of injury.
“you aren't hurt, right?” he asked gently, his eyes showing a hint of worry, but you could clearly tell he was pissed.
his friends snickered at his reaction while continuing to look at the picture. one of them glanced at you, before turning back to suo. “you gotta admit though, that's one bigass guy. it's pretty shitty to use him as muscle against women though. what kind of loser does that?” sakura said, while still examining the picture. “well, he's an even nastier thing to stare at,” you continued with an annoyed look. his friends laughed once again at your words. on the other hand, suo gently patted you on the head with a soft smile.
“be nice, dear,” he teased, pulling you softly by your hands to sit on his lap. he wrapped his arms around you while his friends continued to snicker at the sight of the two of you. he placed his chin on your shoulder as he continued to look over you for any signs of injury.
“what did you fight her over anyway?” he asked.
“nothing crazy,” you explained, “I was just walking past her, and she made some rude comments, and things escalated. I didn't even do anything wrong, but it seems like she couldn't handle a little confrontation.” he nodded as he listened to your explanation, the grip on you tighening slightly. “so she just started it for no reason?” he questioned, although you could tell he knew the answer.
“yeah,” you nodded.
you turn your head to face the eye-patch boy, “so?” ask him curiously, even tho you know there's almost zero chance he would fight the boy. you're safe in his arm, no injury, there is no need to fight and makes things worse. he remained silent as he seemed to be in deep thought, and his friends sat there silently as well, awaiting his response. finally after a moment, he sighed softly.
“baby, I'm not gonna fight him.”
you groan, rolling your eyes as you let out a sigh as you know your boyfriend too well, “oh come on, we can make it like a little date.” he raised an eyebrow, amused. his friends also seemed amused that you actually thought you could get him to agree, but he humored you anyway.
“a date? In what universe is fighting another guy on a date a good idea?” he questioned while his grip on you remained firm. again, a soft groan leaving your lips, “ugh, you suck.” you turn around and give him your back as you rest your chin on top of your hands laying flat on the table.
his friends snickered gently as they witnessed your interaction, clearly enjoying the moment. suo smiled while his eyes looked at you with a mixture of amusement and irritation. his hand gently patted your back as he spoke, “baby, don't pout. you know I'm not going to fight him.”
your eyes meet sakura's figure as he busy himself with omurice in front of him. “how about you, sakura? wanna be my boyfriend for a day and fight that loser?” you ask.
sakura looked up from his food, raising an eyebrow as he heard your unexpected proposal. he glanced at suo for a moment before looking back at you with a smirk.
“sure, I'll do it,” he said, “it'll be fun to kick someone's ass.”
suo sighs and sips his tea, knowing full well that neither you nor sakura are serious, did he?
sakura continued to eat his food quietly as he smirked slightly, enjoying the situation. meanwhile, you sat there with your back turned to suo, still pouting and feeling disappointed.
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undreaming-fanfiction · 7 days ago
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Day 24 for @steddie-spooktober, Pumpkin. I'll just finish this hellish month and then write all the good Halloween-y stuff when people already look forward to Christmas. There.
"Oh my god. That's Eddie Munson!"
Steve's eyebrow did that treacherous twitch. Here we fucking go again.
Robin just snickered. "Oh wow. That's like what, the fifth one today?" She didn't even look sorry for Steve, the traitor! She just kept making the coffee order, creating a lovely heart in the milk foam.
The woman who ordered the coffee didn't even bother to try and whisper to her friend. She was squealing and pointing at the unsuspecting rock star who had earphones over his head. "What do you think he's reading? It must be something dark. He has a reputation, you know."
Another twitch in Steve's eyebrow, but he was a professional. It was fine. He could do his job even when annoyed. Maybe.
Robin flipped the whiteboard with their seasonal specials. The other side revealed a meticulously prepared game of Eddie Munson-themed bingo. "Wanna play, Steve?"
He scowled at the board. All of those were classics, the stupid shit people say when they meet a rock star like Eddie Munson.
He took an erasable marker and scribbled X next to the questions, comments and other atrocities he managed to catch.
I wonder if he'll show me that special tattoo if I ask nicely. Check.
I heard he's unforgettable in bed. Check.
People say he has a...you know. A piercing down there. Check.
I don't believe the rumors. A guy like that can't be taken for long. He was made to sleep around. Check.
I wonder what he's drinking. Probably something dark and bitter. Mmm, how mysterious!
"Bingo!" whispered Robin. "Now, as per the rules of this humble establishment, once we have a bingo, you get to go there and be a bitch. Do your worst, oh platonic soulmate of mine. I'll be watching."
Who was Steve to deny Robin one of her favorite hobbies? He fluffed his hair and re-applied his lip oil, arranged some pastries on a kitten-shaped plate and made his way to Eddie Munson.
Eddie was lost to the world, but there was a familiar pattern in Steve's footsteps, one that reverbated through the wooden floor. In a second, Eddie had dropped his book and gave Steve the widest smile. One that he couldn't even conjure up on stage. This smile was only for Steve, and Steve fucking hoped the women noticed that.
Eddie made grabby hands at him, pulling him down into a quick kiss. "Is your shift over, Stevie? Can we go?"
Steve shook his head. "Nah, two more hours to go. Ish. Are you sure you don't want to wait for me home? You must be tired."
"Tired?! Pffft. I mean, yeah, but I want to spend time ogling my boyfriend when he's at his sexiest - covered in flour and sugar. And speaking of sugar..." He glanced at the plate. "Is that for me?"
Steve laughed and set the plate in front of him. "Honestly? Even if it wasn't, those doe eyes of yours would persuade me in a second. But yeah. It'll be Halloween soon, and I was testing out some spooky cookies. Do you like pumpkins?"
Eddie gasped and clutched his heart. "Do I?!"
Steve kissed Eddie on the top of his head and put his earphones back on. In a few seconds, Eddie was back in his own world, book, music and cookies.
In a corner of his eye, Steve saw the two young women, speechless. Robin was serving them their coffees, giddy with anticipation. She'd prepared them in to-go cups, just in case.
Steve stood in front of them, flipped his hair and smirked. "Well, ladies. You've had many questions or guesses, and I'm happy I can answer them. You know. To give you some peace of mind" He nodded to Robin. "The list, Rob?"
Robin glanced at their bingo board. "I wonder what he's reading!" she read out.
Steve nodded and returned to the frozen guests. "The book to end all books. That's what Eddie calls the...uh. Tolkien bible thingy. Silmarillion." He pronounced it gery carefully. "He reads it to me sometimes, when I can't sleep. Works like a charm." He might have smirked at the blush creeping up the woman's face. "Next."
Robin saluted him. "Special tattoo?"
"He won't show it, I made him promise he'd no longer get arrested for public indecency. Besides, it's only me that gets to see it. Next."
Robin fake gagged. "Is he unforgettable in bed?"
"Sure is. He talks to my chest hair. I think they're a couple."
Robin gagged again. "Why...ladies, get better questions! That piercing down under?"
Steve snickered. "Very real. Very...effective." He sneaked a glance at Eddie. Sexy and charismatic, yes, but more importantly warm, happy and home.
In a sing song voice, Robin got to the next point. "Is he really taken?"
"Take a guess," Steve winked at them. Or at least tried to, because the customers were already halfway out of the door with their coffee cups, and a very generous tip left on the counter.
"Aw," muttered Robin. "Shame, I thought these two would last longer. It's been ages since someone lasted the full Munson reverse bingo."
Steve laughed and helped her clean the table. "Would a pumpkin cookie console you?"
"Only if I don't have to hear about your bedroom rituals ever again," she said and reached for a cookie. "Or at least until the end of the shift."
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wildernessuntothemselves · 7 months ago
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Class clown
class clown gyu who for some reason has it out for nerd!reader and finally she gets sick of it and puts him in his place. warnings: dom!reader, sub!gyu, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, pathetic gyu as always
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"What is your problem?" You snap at Beomgyu, the class clown and the bane of your existence. He is always on your case, making fun of you in front of everyone. Today you made a mistake answering the proferssor's question and he immediatley jumped on it, humiliating you in front of the entire class. "Why do you have to mess with me?"
"Because you're fun to mess them." He answers simply, a huge infuriating grin on his face. You look really funny when you're angry."
You don't know what came over you, you're not usually a violent person but seeing his stupid cocky face makes you lose it and you shove him against the wall, slamming your hands on either side of his head to trap him in. "Do I look funny now?
But to your chagrin, he keeps grinning, not phased one bit. "Kinda."
You're so frustrated you could cry. There was nothing you have ever thought of or done that got him to leave you alone. He has been doing this to you for years, even back when you were at school. In fact you had been so excited to go to uni just to escape him, only to see his stupid face at your first lecture and your entire dream of escape came crashing down.
"What? The smart mouth finally has got nothing to say?" He goads when you stay quiet too long for his liking.
Your vision turns red. He makes you so frustrated and pent up, you would do anything to shut him up. Maybe that's why you resorted to doing something crazy.
Grabbing his face, you push your lips against his, intending to strong-arm him into silence. After all if his lips are busy, he can't mouth off anymore.
You don't know how you expected him to react to that--freeze in shock? Push you off? Call you crazy? You don't know but you certainly didn't expect him to almost immediately start kissing you back. It threw you off so hard you actually pull away from the kiss yourself.
But as soon as you pull back, he's running his mouth again. "Damn, nerd, looks like your mouth is good for somethjng other than eating the professor's ass."
"You're so fucking.. ugh!" You groan, shutting him up again. But this time you don't just use your mouth, instead you raise his shirt up, feeling up his body to his nipples and grabbing them between your thumbs and index fingers and pulling on them a bit roughly, making him gasp and break away from the kiss with a wet smack.
"Oh god," He groans, eyes fluttering as you roll his nipples between your fingers.
"You like that, brat?" You spit, happy to finally be getting the upper hand for the first time in your years of being tormented by Beomgyu.
"Fuck yeah." He groans and tries to reach out to touch your own tits.
"Don't fucking touch me, brat." You hiss at him, "If you touch me, I stop."
"You're being such a killjoy." He protests but it's hard for him to keep a steady voice when your fingers are playing with his clearly sensitive nipples like that, and even more so when one of your hands slips into his loose pants to palm his already very hard cock.
"You look like you're enjoying it enough." You mutter, twisting your hand up to the head of his cock, making him moan out.
"Fucking hell...Are you gonna fuck me?" He asks bluntly.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Gyu?" You ask, and any hesitency over the unfamiliar nickname vanishes as he shudders under your touch.
"If you're going to be handling my cock like that then I damn well expect to get a fuck out of it." He replies, still insolent despite his whimpering and frankly slutty moans.
"You're such a little bitch." You chastise, focusing your strokes on the head of his cock, aiming for maximum damage. "You think you deserve to get anywhere near my pussy after the shit you've pulled over me for years?"
He shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance but it's hard to but he's panting like a bitch for you. "Maybe if you get fucked good, you'd be a little less uptight.
Uptight! Just because you care about your future, that doesn't make you uptight. God, you hate him... but damn, does he looks fucking hot falling apart in your hands like that.
"And maybe if you were getting any attention on your cock apart from your own hand, you wouldn't be such an attention seeking slut." You jeer, getting down on your knees. "Now shut the fuck up or you won't get to cum at all."
"What--" He doesn't have time to formulate his question before you pull his pants down and wrap your mouth around his cock, sucking any retort right out of him.
"Oh, fuck, that's it." He arches his back, driving his cock further down your throat which you readily take, to his surprise.
"Fuck, where did you learn to suck dick like this?" He asks through his moans but you don't bother to answer him. You don't owe him an answer, you just want to shut the bitch up.
But Beomgyu is incapable of shutting up. "Have you been sucking dick on the down low? I didn't know the nerd is such a big slut. Thought you were a good girl."
You detach from his cock to retort, tearing a whine out of him which the idiot is too stupid to realize he is the cause of. "You're one to talk. Look how loudly you're moaning as soon as you get your dick wet. What? No one wants to fuck such a loudmouth?"
"Fuck you." He mutters, and you laugh. "You wish, baby." You smirk, bobbing your head down his cock again, going ruthlessly fast and getting the brat to writhe under you.
You think that would be the end of it but Beomgyu could die and his mouth would still be running. "Seriously, who are you fucking? Taehyun? Soobin? Don't tell me it's that manwhore Yeonjun?"
You pull off his dick in frustration, using your hand to jerk him off roughly instead. "Why do you fucking care who I fuck?"
"I don't care." He huffs, arching his back to push his cock further into your grip. "I just know they can't be fucking you good if you're still so uptight all the time. If you want a good time, I could give you the time of your life."
You burst out laughing, obviously bruising the boy's ego in the process but you don't care. And you don't even bother hiding your incredulity. "You? Do you even see yourself? I'm barely even moving my hand and you're fucking it like a dog in heat. Your dick is drooling all down my arm. You look like you're a few pumps away from creaming yourself. I don't think you'd even make it one stroke inside my pussy before you pop like a virgin."
"No, I'm not." He denies, trying to keep his hips still, clearly fighting with himself. "I can fuck you so good you'll screaming my name."
"You can? You can take hot, tight pussy until I cum? You can have me clench around your needy cock without emptying your balls inside me?" You reach your other hand out to cup his balls, massaging then gently between your fingers, making him suck in a shuddering breath. "You can hold back your hot cum until I'm ready to milk your cock? You won't just break and spurt your cum inside me as soon as you put it in?"
"Fuck, fuck, slow down." He gasps, trying to squirm away from your touch but you hold him tighter, jerking him off steadily.
"Why? Are you going to cum just from my hands? That's disappointing. I thought you wanted to give me the fuck of my life?" You cock your head to side, staring up at him condescendingly, making him shudder.
"Baby, please, slow down?"
"Baby?" You laugh. "Now I'm baby?"
"I can't take much more." He was jerking uncontrollably in your grip but you never let go, taking the hand on his balls off to press it against his lower tummy to hold him in place as you continue jerking off his now very red and slippery cock.
"Are you gonna cum?" You ask again and he nods, biting onto his lip harshly. "Yes, can I?"
You have to say you were taken aback at him suddenly asking for your permission to cum. You would have thought the brat would just do it with no warning. "Aw, baby is asking for permission to cum? If I knew it was this easy to get you to behave, I would have... well, actually I still wouldn't have touched you any sooner. But it's good to know how pathetic you really are."
"Fuck you." He repeats, voice strained in his effort to still hold back.
"You want me to say you can cum?" You tease, twisting your hand over the length of his cock slowly.
He nods. "Yes. Need it. Need it."
"Are you going to be good to me from now on?" You ask and he shakes his head. "You're too fun to tease."
"You are too." You counter, slowing your hand down, making him thrust his hips to try to get more of your touch so you smack his thigh in punishment. "Down, boy!"
"Baby, please!" He begs so sweetly, pining you with his pretty, brown eyes, his dick drooling in your grip.
"Are you going to be good from now on?" You tighten your grip around him as you deliberately move your hand up the entire length of his cock, feeling his precum dripping down your arm.
"Yes, yes, I'll be good. I'll be so good." He babbles, and you know he is lying his ass off, just wanting to say whatever would get you to let him cum, but even that makes you feel so fucking hot. To have that effect on your tormentor after all these years is a fucking head rush.
"God, you're a mess." You mutter, quickening your pace over his cock, making Beomgyu panic. "Wait, wait, can I cum? Can I cum?"
It's a little precious how much he panics over cumming without your explicit permission, so much so you decide to just give it to him, wanting to see the brat completely lose it in your grip.
"You can cum, brat." As soon as you utter the words--as if he was really waiting for them--he explodes, spurting rope after rope of cum down your arm and onto your chest.
"Thank you. Thank you, baby." He cries, emptying himself for you until he can no longer hold himself up anymore and collapses to the ground by your side.
But to your surprise and mild horror, Beomgyu takes a minute to calm himself down before he grabs his own cock and strokes himself to full hardness again, bearing through the pain of overstimulation for a reason that only becomes apparent to you after you ask, "What the hell are you doing, Beomgyu?"
"I promised I can fuck you good, didn't I?"
He really is insane.
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zyafics · 8 months ago
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PLAY FAKE | Rafe Cameron (part one)
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MASTERLIST (series) | x Female Reader .ᐟ
Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.
Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, asshole, and has mood swings.
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Who knew Rafe Cameron is a blabbering drunk?
Working as a bartender on the docks, near Heyward's Seafood, you have your fair share of stories about the people who come in. Most of them are locals from The Cut, with the occasional tourists who wander the streets, settling for a clean place to eat.
But it's very rare to have a Kook.
It's been a visit for the past couple of weeks. You don't understand what caused him to come here. There's plenty of bars near Figure Eight—some of which you are sure caters specifically to the Camerons—but you don't question it. Lately, business has been slow, a couple of locals in and out, and with the majority of your income relying on tips, you take it.
Locals don't tip.
Rafe does, however. When he settled down and ordered the largest and most expensive liquor you had on hand, he slipped a fifty into your hands and asked for the bottle as a whole. You don't know if he doesn't have prior tipping etiquette—or because he tips extra for you to keep quiet about his presence—but you gladly take it. Sitting at the end of the counter, his hand cradles a half-empty glass he sips from.
Despite having the whole bottle set in front of him, he still makes you serve him.
Why?
Because he's an asshole.
"You know what he wants to do?" Rafe slurs from across the counter, his eyes flickering to find your presence behind the bar. "He wants to give the company to Sarah."
You hum in response, drying the washed glasses in your hands with a towel as you listen to his nondescript rambles. You knew most of the people he's referring to Sarah Cameron, Ward, and the occasional Pogue you don't know the name of. But, that's how Rafe sees the world: his family, the Kooks, and then everyone else.
"She's nineteen and going around OBX with her fucking Pogue boyfriend and he sees her as stable?" Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he brings the edge of the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. "Fucking bitch."
Listening to drunk customers vent about their home lives is part of the job description. While it’s dark outside and Rafe is the only customer left, you are technically free to kick him out and make him go about his day elsewhere.
But, there's a rule in your family regarding business: don't go home until the last customer leaves. There's no such thing as kicking someone out at closing time; you were there to wait, serve, and hope they spend a couple more bucks on some more booze. It's a cheapshot of handling enterprise, but that's the way you need to do business and survive as a Pogue.
Rafe taps his empty cup in his hand, eyes pinned on you. "Refill," he mumbles, to which you resist the urge to roll your eyes, and walk over to do exactly as he asks. Lifting the bottle set in front of him to pour him another shot, he watches you as you watch.
"You think it's stupid, right?" He asks, his gaze lifting to study your face. "He thinks Sarah is more equipped to handle Cameron Development because of that Pogue. Because he ties her down. Is that some bullshit?"
His gaze is intense and you don't know whether to answer or not. While you don't know much of the story, of the background behind his persistent rambles, you pieced together enough that it's about Ward deciding to give Sarah the family company because of her stability as a person. Because she's reliable.
You shrug, "I don't know." Because you don't. You don't want to get involved in whatever problems Rafe is dealing with. You don't want to offer unsolicited opinions because who knows if it'll come back to bite you in the ass.
He scoffs, then releases a bitter laugh. "Of course you don't," he leans back against his seat, almost swaying against the backless stool, before shaking his head, disciplining himself. "You're a Pogue. I must be losing it if I'm talking to you."
You roll your eyes, turning away from the Kook and settling on the rest of your tasks. You're used to Kooks putting you down like that, seeing you as nothing more than the bottom of the chain because you don't have some fancy degree from UNC or because you aren't floating on a yacht somewhere.
Just as you're returning bottles back on the shelf, you hear Rafe mumbles to himself. "Does he want me to be tied down or something?"
You let out an abrupt laugh, before quickly stiffening the sound. However, it was too late. When you look back over, you see his blue eyes set on you, a hard expression on his face. "Sorry," you mumble, wishing you had better control over your tongue. "I thought I heard something funny."
You wished you could blame it on the TV, but unfortunately, you had turned that off a while ago.
"You laughing at me, sweetheart?"
"No," you clear your throat, but the look on Rafe's face makes it seem like he's in no mood to hear lies right now. You rectify the answer. "Yes."
"What's so funny?"
"The idea of you getting tied down," you answer slowly. You carefully study his expression to see if anything you say could trigger a bad reaction. "It just seems amusing to me."
Because it is. Rafe is known around Outer Banks as the reckless prince, the one who hosts parties, gets shit-faced drunk, and hooks up with every woman within his proximity. The idea of him losing all of that—the parties, the drinking, the women—was not something you could picture in your head.
"What about it?" He challenges, an edge to his tone. "You think I can't fucking do it?"
From your experience as a bartender, you know he's coming close to unraveling. What you say next could cause him to erupt or calm down, and while you would love to sell him some lies, to get him to back down and leave, something in you doesn't let it pass. All night, he's been nothing short of an asshole to you. To act like he's above you because you are nothing but a Pogue meant to serve him. Why would you pass up an opportunity to deliver some harsh reality?
"Look at yourself," you gesture to him, "you're here, drinking at my bar after an argument with your father. He's trying to tell you that you aren't dependable enough to rely on and the first thing you do is turn to your vices. What do you think?"
Even if you intended it to be harsh, you said it nicely.
He stares at you, hard. You don't like it. You heard the rumors of what happens when he gets pissed—where he throws chairs and smashed bottles. You don't want to be a recipient of that.
"Never mind," you shake your head, returning back to your task. "Just forget it. I'm misreading the situation."
"No," he says with a shake of his head. "You said it. Might as well own it with your chest. Dancing around it wouldn't make you anymore likable."
You clench your jaw. On top of being a blabbering drunk, Rafe is cruel.
Not answering him, you walk over to where he sits and take the glass from his hand, right as he's about to take another sip.
"What the fuck?"
"I think it's time for you to leave."
He scoffs, not moving from his position. "Just because I said I didn't like you?"
"No, because you're acting like an asshole and frankly, I don't want to put up with it anymore," you say, pouring the rest of the content down the sink. "You can take the bottle with you. But other than that, you need to leave."
Rafe stares at you for a few seconds, contemplating what to do, but he doesn't have any grounds here. He may be a Kook, but that means shit when he's in the south side of Outer Banks. When his opponent is a bartender. Instead of responding to you, he slides off the stool and grabs the booze by the handle.
Just as he's about to set out of the door, you shout behind him with a mock farewell, "'pleasure doing business with you!"
That day, you thought would be the last of your interactions with Rafe. After all, most people don't want to continue doing business with someone who calls them out on their bullshit and kicks them out of their shops.
But, a couple of days later, Rafe comes through the door of your family-owned pub.
You paid little attention to him. You were trying to log the tips into the cash register, not catering to some entitled prick who has no means being here. Plus, there's another bartender on hand who's more than willing to help Rafe with anything he needs.
You didn't care.
Your coworker can get his tips.
As you're filing in the last of the receipts, Miranda comes over to tap you on the shoulders.
"Rafe wants to talk to you."
You stare at her for a few seconds, as if she was speaking another language. You thought she did. Why in the world would he want to talk to you? You were unpleasant to him. You were nothing of the customer service attitude your parents drilled into you as a child. You thought it was clear grounds for him to look the other direction.
"I'm busy," you say to Miranda, who shifts uncomfortably in her stance, not leaving.
"He said he's willing to wait."
That means he was expecting you to say no.
You scoff. "Tell him I'm not going to be free until closing time."
"But..." Miranda starts again, and you are starting to lose your patience with her. "We don't have a closing time."
You smile at that. "Exactly."
Despite the harsh undertone, Miranda still relays the message back to Rafe. You watch as she does, his eyes briefly pans over to you as you offer him a forced smile with a wave of your fingers and his jaw visibly tense. You thought that would be the end of the conversation but, to be proven wrong again, he slides into the bar stool he previously occupied the other night and orders a drink.
Then another.
You did your best to avoid the area he occupied, but it was proven to be difficult as he spent his time right in front of you. You got busy, running around and assisting locals and tourists who came in to get a taste of the infamous and historical Sailor of Outer Banks. While you're running around, placing orders, making drinks, and trying to navigate the cramped space behind the bar—Rafe remains.
He remained until he was the very last customer.
You sigh as you glance at the clock. Miranda has since left and you're left carrying the shop ever since. All you want to do is go home and relax, but that will be proven impossible until Rafe leaves the establishment.
With a strong reluctance, you step forward to where Rafe sat, his eyes on the TV screen hung on the wall, while his hands occupied another glass.
"Fine," you sigh, causing Rafe to tear away from the screen. The corner of his lips lift into a self-satisfying smirk. "I'm here."
"You finally ready to talk to me?"
"You ready to stop being such a prick?" You quip back, just to see his expression broadens at your snark. You can't lie and say the movement didn't make him more attractive. "What do you want?"
For a moment, you thought he might be here to apologize for asking like an ass the other night.
But, you were too hopeful.
"I came up with a solution," he begins, his words a subtle slur that contrasts the intoxication of the other night.
"For what?" You entertain the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest.
"My dad." He answers. "He wants me to be stable."
"I remember."
"And from when he was talking about Sarah, one of the reasons he thinks he can rely on her is because she's with that Pogue." He explains, "that it somehow makes her dependable. I don't fucking know, the logic is flawed."
"And old-fashioned, but continue."
His blue eyes dart to your face, before he utters the next words. "That means I need a girlfriend."
You nod, glad to see that he came to his conclusion. You thought this was another one of his ramblings, a need to vent to someone he doesn't think matters in the long-run, just to get it off his chest. Now that it is, you're about to step back and turn around to start your night tasks before he holds out a hand.
"Wait," he commands, causing you to stop on your tracks. You raise a brow at him. "I want you to be my girlfriend."
You laugh. It truly is a bad habit of yours but the idea came out as total lunacy and shock. You thought he would join. But, when you look back to his face and have the striking realization that he is serious, you start to sober up. "You're serious."
"Yeah," he says, clenching his jaw, like the moment of wonderful ideas was truly something he was proud of and you struck it down like lightning.
"I'm sorry but," you shake your head, not having the ability to wrap your head around the suggestion. "You barely know me. Isn't there a line of other people who would love to become the next Mrs. Cameron?"
You know that's true. You also know if he had told Miranda this, she would've jumped to the idea before he concluded his brilliant plan. So, you can't, for the life of you, figure out why he's choosing you out of everyone else.
"Yes, but I don't want them." He answers with a shake of his head, leaning closer to the counter. You don't know why but something about that makes your chest warm. "I don't want a real girlfriend. I just need you to pretend to be."
Just like that, the feeling in your stomach dies.
"Pretend?" You repeat.
"Yes," he nods. "It's just like you said. I still have my vices. I don't want to give them up. I just want my dad to think I did."
"I still don't understand how this has anything to do with me," you furrow your brows together.
He sighs, out of frustration or impatience, you don't know. But, he goes to explain, "my dad once told me that John B was a reliable person. That he was a Pogue who was hard-working and determined. That's why he likes him for Sarah—because he hopes it would rub off on her too."
You nod slowly, connecting the dots as he continues. "You're a Pogue," he says with a huff, the title left his tongue with an ounce of disgust you were ready to throw him out of the bar again. "He likes to go on his good samaritan bullshit and employs people from The Cut for certain events. You were one of them."
It takes a second to remember what he was talking about. He's right. A couple of years ago, when you were eighteen, you got a catering job from the Camerons for some big business event. It was the most you made in your lifetime, from all the tips and drunk Kooks who wanted to give back to the poor.
But, he never employed you again.
"Do you see where I'm going now?"
You do, but you hate the attitude he's giving you. Like you were a Pogue who couldn't string together simple facts. Like you should've known what he's talking about.
"I do, but why the fuck you acting like I would've known the whole thing with John B?" You snap, and this surprises him for a moment. Taking a breath to cool the anger in your chest, you calm. "This doesn't explain why it has to be me."
His next statement comes off more nice. "My dad wants someone like that. I doubt he would approve of anyone else, and plus, I don't have to worry about you wanting something more. You clearly despise me."
That isn't true, but you do understand where he's coming from.
"So, let me get this straight." You start. "I'm basically an arm candy for you to parade around in front of your father while the rest of the time, you are free to drink and fuck whoever you want."
"I'm glad that Pogue brain of yours is catching up."
You glare at him, but say nothing else. Picking up the dirty rag off the counter, where you were planning on using to clean, you turn back to Rafe, "as much as I would love to play house with you, I don't have time. Unlike you, I have bills to pay and a job to do."
You turn your back to him but he stops you.
"I'll pay you."
You scoff. "It's not that," you say, because truly, it isn't. A few short-term payments for a couple of missed shifts isn't going to help you in the long-run. You're trying to revive Sailor, to make it a place where it can stand on its own. What is a couple of bucks going to do for that? "I'm sorry, but I don't have the time for it. You're going to have to find someone else."
"I don't want someone else."
He looks at you desperate, as if you would give in, and for a moment, you might. Perhaps it's because you're so used to helping others, or because you were raised to cater to people—to people like him—that your stomach cower at the thought of saying no. But, you have to stand firm on this. You don't have time to go out and party, much less spend your free-time parading around in his arms as some sort of trophy.
You were serious.
"I'm sorry, I truly am."
Your voice is filled with sympathy, and it softens him for a moment. But, that quickly passes as Rafe Cameron has to recoil with the idea that he didn't get what he wanted. Probably for the first time in his life.
With an annoyed huff, he slams the cash for the drinks he's been nursing and leaves.
You thought it would be the end of it.
Not knowing, by the end of this week, you will be known as Rafe's girlfriend.
★ part two ★
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webbluvrsugar · 28 days ago
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ONLY YOURS.
ETHAN LANDRY - KINKTOBER 24 — OCT.4TH — M.LIST.
cw: exhibitionism, cnc, phone sex, bully reader x loser!ethan
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It’s late, there’s a movie playing in the background of your living room as you head on to the kitchen, you’re only wearing a long tee and some pretty lingerie underneath it, your hand reaches for the wooden spoon that rests on the marbled counter before moving it to stir the vegetables on the pan. You hear your phone ringing and reach to grab it, the other side of the line is nothing but silence before you speak.
“Hello?” You question, holding the phone against your ear.
“Thought you wouldn’t pick up.” The voice is heavily modified, you can almost feel a chill running down your back.
“Well, I did.” You answer, placing down the phone on the counter before putting it on speaker. “Who is this?”
He doesn’t reply to that. “What are you cooking?”
You frown, chuckle before looking around you, your windows are closed, curtains too. “How do you know I’m… cooking?” You raise a brow.
“Same way I think those panties look good on you,” he chuckles, that menacing voice makes you feel a shiver down your back, you pause for a moment, turning your head to the side.
“Listen — I think you have the wrong number so I’m hanging up.” You put out bluntly, he can hear the way your voice shivers when you turn off the stove.
“You hang up on me and I’m gutting you!” He says quickly, furiously, you freeze next to your phone. “Not so funny now, are you? Do your friends know you’re not as tough as you seem?”
You don’t know who’s behind the phone but it’s more than a prank call, he knows you personally, knows your friends — damn it, he’s talking about them! You know you’ve been a bitch to most people on campus but you didn’t think any of them would want to kill you for it.
“Is this some kind joke?” You laugh nervously, you wished it would be a joke, just a stupid Halloween prank.
“You think it is?” He asks, you stay silent. “You wanna know what the real joke is? You spend every single day ruining my life on that campus just to act like a scared little girl now.”
Silence fills up the room and you turn red, it’s obvious now who the caller is, but you didn’t think that the nerdy guy in your class would be a psychotic serial killer.
“What, refreshed your memory?” He laughs again.
“E — Ethan?” Your face flashes in terror.
“Damn right, and if you wanna live tonight, I suggest we play a little game.”
You want to hang up this phone so damn bad, but the promise of being killed for it makes you comply to his wishes, so you sigh, a single whisper out loud.
“Fine.” You swallow dry, grab the device in your hands.
“Go upstairs to your bedroom.” He commands, you hesitate. “Make it quick.”
You grab your phone and walk up the stairs like he says, when entering the room, he gives you another command.
“Close the door,” you do so. “Good. Now strip.”
“W — What?”
“Listen, doll, I can come up in that room and slice you open right now and we both know you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”
You breathe in nervously because deep down, you know you have, you think maybe that’s why you always bicker with him, because it’s more than trying to look good for your friends, it’s attraction to that stupid face of is, so you strip, every piece of clothing discarded on the floor and he’s smiling through the phone.
“Mhm...” He hums, a low mutter as if he’s appreciating the sight. “Get on the bed, let me see that pretty pussy.”
You get on the bed, lay down on your sheets, the window is cracked open, the breeze brushes against every piece of your body, it makes your nipples harden in the process, he wishes he was there to fuck you the way he wants to, but he can’t risk it now.
“Spread your legs.”
Your hands move to your legs, you part your thighs and spread them directly at the window across from your bed.
“Look at that, you’re wet.” He notes with menacing grin, your fingers twitch around your thighs. “Play with yourself.”
Ethan’s more demanding than he’s ever been, it’s scary even if endearing at the same time, it makes you just want to obey, and you don’t know what it is about him but it’s making you reach a finger and slide it up your slit so it meets the little pearl in between your folds. “That’s better, just imagine I’m there.”
You slide a finger in, his eyes watch you so intensely that no matter where he is, you can feel his gaze on you.
“My pretty little slut, look at you.”
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a/n: not my favorite one of kinktober but bare with me
taglist: @waltzthing @stayonmars @notoakay @fae-of-prey @baileebear
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starlooove · 2 years ago
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why r u reblogging from terfs
why r u being so vague
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