#i can't leave him alone... that's my only reason...

[envy-of-the-apple]

Dangerous Men

(Yandere!OC x reader)

note: getting back to my yan roooots. oc is kinda supposed to look like Norra von Nürnberger. i wrote this a while ago and have no plans of continuing it buuut i didnt have the heart to just delete it so out it goes

Word count: 2.8k

(Warnings: implied slut shaming, highschool-level drama, implied torture ,yandere, character is accused of incest lmaooo)

Nuyan didn't really know you. 

He thinks he's seen you once or twice. You're in the same year as him, so he kind of knows of your existence. He's also pretty sure you've spoken to him once, when you scooted past him to get to class, muttering a timid 'excuse me'. Other than that, Nuyan really doesn't remember you. You and he run in different circles. You take school a little too seriously, preferring to keep your grades up for college. Nuyan's honestly thinking of just dropping out, grades won't do him any good, not with his future 'career'. 

He doesn't even blink when the rumors about you start. It's normal, he's used to something or another creating a buzz in this suffocating school. Honestly, it's not even one of the worst ones. To him, you got off lucky. It was something about you sleeping with a sleazy soccer player. He knows it's fake in a heartbeat. It's really not that interesting. It doesn't do a thing to cure his boredom. He doesn't really care. 

You do, though. 

"Why?" 

He didn't mean to eavesdrop. If anything, this was your fault. Maybe you should have dragged that guy somewhere else rather than his favorite place to smoke. Now you have a slightly bored audience, forced to listen to your soap opera. 

"Why?" You repeat. You're angry. He guess he understands. Though he'd probably handle his anger a bit differently than you. When he got angry he uses his fists, weapons. When he got angry he uses blood smeared on walls, broken limbs as paintbrushes. 

You don't have the luxury to do that. So instead you're pathetically using words. Reason. 

"Why, what?" The other guy responds.

He looks bored. Nuyan's seen him around. The dude's in the same grade as him tallish, a little lanky. He's talked to him before but Nuyan forgot his name. One thing he didn't forget was the guy's notorious obsession with spreading rumors about girls he's interested in who rejected him. Looks like you were his latest victim. 

"Don't-don't do that," You weakly say, "Why'd you spread those rumors? Is it-is it because I didn't go out with you? I said no? And because of that, you ruin my life?" Nuyan tsks a little at that. Now, you're being a little dramatic. 

The guy next to you seems to have the same reaction. He crosses his arms. He keeps his gaze dull but Nuyan can see the spark of amusement in his eyes. He gets off to seeing you like this. 

"Calm down," He says, "Are you seriously blaming me for all this? It's not my fault my friends took a few things out of context. How am I supposed to do anything about it?" 

"How do you take 'I slept with you' out of context?" You're barely hiding your tears now, "How-how could you I-"

You chuck a hand over your mouth, like you're trying to stop yourself from really screaming. 

The other upperclassman sighs, like he's giving you more attention than you're worth. 

"Okay fine. I'm sorry. Happy now?" He shrugs, "Look I really don't know what else to tell you. You know how rumors are? It'll probably die down in a few days," You're silent, "And I guess we could go around and say we didn't do anything but people aren't really gonna believe us." 

He's walking away, patting your shoulder. 

"Again, sorry," Giving another insincere apology, he disappears behind the building, leaving you alone. 

Nuyan watches as you stare at nothing. You're still crying, but your eyes look a little dazed, like you still can't believe this is your life. You hiccup a bit. He cocks his head in mild interest as you try to reel in your tears, angrily wiping at your eyes. 

In his eyes, you only have two options; crack under the pressure and leave, or stay until the rumors die down. Again, they're not that bad, he's heard way worse. You've heard way worse. You'll get through it, probably. 

 Nuyan drops the cigarette, crushing it under his foot. He leaves before he sees anything else. 

Good luck. 

_ 

The family business is keeping him a little preoccupied lately. 

He curses his grandfather at these times. Why hadn't the old man considered starting a career in fishing? Carpeting? MLMs? At least it'd be a little less messier. 

Nuyan sighs, wiping a clean hand across his sweaty forehead. He really hates the Circle Room. He always gets so hot in here. He prefers the cold, the type of cold that makes his brown skin twinge the tiniest of red. The type of cold that bites, just a little. 

But no, he's stuck in the Circle Room. At least until the guy wakes up again. 

He considers washing his hands, the one covered in blood and god knows what else. The idiot was struggling before, so he was forced to get a bit handsy. Why can't people just stay still when he says stay still? It'd make their lives a whole lot easier. 

"He's already out?" A voice hollers. Nuyan cringes. 

Rhys is already halfway down the steps. He whistles at Nuyan's work. Nuyan ignores his cousin, focusing on his dirty hand. He really should have worn gloves. 

Used to his aloofness, Rhys presses on. 

"How far did you get with him?" 

This time Nuyan is forced to answer. Both with Rhys technically being his higher up and just because he just wants the man to stop pestering him already. 

"Not much," He replies, "He did rat on some other guys though. Here," He tosses a piece of paper with messy handwriting. Nuyan didn't really have time to find a pen so he kind of forced the guy to write the names with cracked fingers and  blood. It was a little gross, but it saved him time from trying to find a writing tool. 

Rhys doesn't even blink, snatching the paper to glance at the names.

"Oh hey, I know this guy," He points to the third line, "He owes me money." 

Nuyan's pretty sure everyone under Rhys owes him money but he doesn't voice his quip. He's more than happy to silently nod back, pretending he's somewhere else, not stuck in the Circle room. Bored. He's always bored these days. His job is nothing like the movies. There's no excitement, no run-ins with the police, not when they're all paid off by his family. All the 'fun stuff' is handled by his grandpa's underlings. Even his job in the Circle room is starting to get a little tedious. 

It's not much to ask for a little excitement in his life, right? 

"Aw, what's wrong?" An arm is slung around his shoulder. Nuyan scowls, "Are you feeling down? Did your girlfriend dump you? Don't feel bad. Your big cousin is here." 

"Get off," Nuyan groans, "You reek." 

Rhys obliges, slipping off to meddle with some tools. 

"You shouldn't be here all day, you know." His cousin is piping up again and Nuyan wonders if the guy has an off button. 

"Your eyes will go bad." 

Nuyan isn’t disagreeing. His eyes do feel a lot more tired these days. It’s probably because he refuses to turn the lights on, his eyes burn when he’s in the sun for too long. That probably isn’t a good sign. It’s just a lot easier to work in the dark. His ‘clients’ are more talkative if they can’t see him, can’t see anything except silhouettes. The monster you know is better than the monster you don’t. 

"Maybe I'll get glasses or something." He responds, cracking his knuckles. 

Rhys is humming, going over the list again. He's smiling, but there isn't a hint of mirth in his eyes. Nuyan is scoffing. His clients should be grateful. Between Nuyan and his cousin, Nuyan is the nicer one. When Rhys gets serious, he gets messy. The blood takes days to get off. 

His mind wanders, thinking to what Rhys said. A girlfriend could be nice. A boyfriend, too, just someone to keep him company. Though it's kind of hard to find one, especially in his jurisdiction. Most people aren't keen on dating someone who threatens people with knives, and apparently, 'they owed me money' isn't a sufficient response. Most could also never handle the Circle room and, to him, it's kind of a rite of passage at this point.  

He thinks he’s smiling. If you could barely handle a rumor, you definitely couldn't handle the Circle room. It was built to mess with people’s senses, the room itself was a torture to be in. He could barely stay for an hour, maybe even less. 

He'd give you a minute, maybe two.

Then he's scrunching his nose. Again? Why was he thinking of you? Looking back, you weren't really all that eye-catching. Pretty, sure, but not enough to really get his attention. Was he horny or something? Or was it just the conversation he heard, replaying it over and over in his head. 

He'd been wrong before, you wouldn't be able to handle it. Not someone like you. Timid. Weak. You seriously thought you could talk to the guy who-in your words- 'ruined your life'. You didn't even understand why he did it. It wasn't out of revenge. The guy was probably a little angry, a little drunk, a little less controlled. He didn't spread those rumors out of retaliation. He spread them because he could. 

There's a tiny whimper that catches his attention. Nuyan is turning around, seeing the man finally start to move again. In hindsight, he could have just shook him awake, it might've made things move a bit faster. His grandpa would have appreciated his efficiency but Nuyan liked being lazy. 

Rhys is noticing the man stir, too. 

"Back to work," He roughly claps Nuyan on the back. 

He nods, "Yeah yeah," 

Back to work. 

-

Nuyan thought you only had two options: endure or leave. 

He'd forgotten one more: retaliation. 

'Apparently, he kept calling out his cousin's name' 

'I feel so bad for her. She had to go through so much.' 

'he's such a freak.' 

Each one is getting more and more ridiculous. Each one is getting more fake, but the school is eating it up, gobbling up each lie like it's the last thing they'd ever consume. It's so jarring how quickly the stories turned from a slut who slept with a guy on the soccer team, to a poor victim that accidentally gave a pervert a chance. Within days, the guy turned from proudly walking around to timidly slinking around corners, avoiding as many eyes as he could. 

And you? 

You're practically basking in the new attention. 

You play the part beautifully, feigning as the innocent, little, hopeless-romantic, not knowing how much of a freak the guy who asked you out was. You just wanted to give him a chance. You were curious. You didn't know. 

"I hope he doesn't hate me because of this," You're softly telling your new group of friends, "I tried to keep it on the down-low but I couldn't help but think it's a little strange. I just wanted to know if those...things were normal to ask of a partner, that's all." Your eyelashes flutter down, and you look so cinematically sad, that he almost can't blame the girls for buying your act. They crowd around you, giving you quips of sympathy. No, this is not your fault. You shouldn't feel bad about this. He was such a weirdo. You didn't deserve any of this. 

It's amazing. 

He feels a little less guilty about eavesdropping this time, more intent on listening in on the discussion. After days, the senior had finally managed to get you to come with him alone, to that same spot he'd left you crying just a week ago. Nuyan isn't worried about being spotted. He's high enough to where you won't see him unless you know where to look, yet close enough to hear every whisper. 

Now he's the one who looks nervous. The guy is shuffling under your passive gaze. You're waiting for him to speak first. So is Nuyan. His heart was pounding in anticipation. He wonders if the senior will snap. He wonders if he'll hit you, draw blood. Nuyan knows he wants to, but he's too much of a coward. He can't. Not with this many eyes on him, watching him like a hawk. Waiting for a wrong move.

"What the fuck," He starts, "Seriously, what the fuck?" 

You tilt your head innocently and Nuyan stifles a laugh. 

"What?" You ask. 

He curses, running a hand through his hair. He looks stressed, like he hasn't gotten sleep in days. His eyes are wild, desperate. 

You look so fucking pleased. 

"You-you fucking bitch, you know what," He's laughing, more out of stress than actual joy, "The entire fucking school is talking about how I have a fetish about my cousin. What the fuck?" 

Nuyan notices you flinch a little at that. You look a little guilty, a part of you thinking you may have gone too far. He's glad when the look is quickly washed away by cold steel.

"Wayner," Ah, there's his name, "Are you seriously blaming me right now?  It's not my fault my friends took a few things out of context. How am I supposed to do anything about it?" 

Your voice is soft, understanding, but it doesn't match your face. You're smiling and Wayner is paling because of those oh-so familiar words. Words he'd said to you not too long ago. Words he's probably begging to take back. 

You sigh, pulling your hands up in mock sympathy. Your lips open in a dramatic pout. Nuyan noticed how soft they looked. 

"Fine, I'm sorry, okay?" Your apology is just as fake as his once was. And you're sighing, like you've given him more time than he's worth. 

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. You know how rumors are, right? It'll probably die down in a few days, anyways," You're waving your hand dismissively. 

"If you want, we could go around and say they're fake, but it'd be a waste of time. No one would believe us," You pause. 

Carefully, you examine your dainty hand. It's so small. Nuyan imagines it'd fit perfectly in his. 

"No one would believe you." 

Your smile is friendly, but there's no warmth. Nuyan wouldn't call you tall but you're towering over the bastard, looking down at him like he's pure scum and Nuyen feels his heart beat a little faster. 

"You-you wanted an apology right?" He's stumbling over his words, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. God I'm so fucking sorry. Just please-" 

"I did want an apology," You're correcting, "You humiliated me, for nothing. The worst part is...this isn't even the first time, is it? How many other girls have you bullied like this?" 

You're stepping closer, Nuyan is drinking each action, each expression from your gorgeous self. 

"Ever wonder how it was so easy to convince everyone? Because no one fucking likes you. They don't care if you did it or not, it's just funny. They don't care about your dignity, just how you didn't care for mine." 

You're turning around to head back in. Your hair looks so pretty today, Nuyan wants to touch it. 

"Maybe you should taste your own shit every once in a while."

You're practically glowing as you turn away, leaving the guy to crumble, and Nuyan is pulling away out of earshot. 

He was laughing. Fuck fuck fuck. You were so smart. You were so beautiful. So elegant. This entire stunt was so perfectly concocted, each step leading you closer to your malicious revenge. And you barely lifted a finger, just letting everything rot, fester, boil. Nuyan had no idea someone so average could be so ferocious. So vindictive. 

You were dangerous. 

He's sighing breathily, tracing his finger against the railing. His hands are covered in dust but he doesn't care. 

Fuck. 

Nuyan was in love.

[neowqing]

The first fear that Kevin had when he adjusted to normal life, roughly speaking, was losing it, going back to the "nest", and getting punished, so he held on to the Palmetto keychain he got from the university. Then it became more concrete, he started to fear not the abstract, he imagined Riko finding him, and Kevin, mostly surrounded by Andrew and Aaron, and then Andrew and Aaron being killed in front of him, brutally, slowly, with pleasure, then Kevin wakes up screaming in terror, and Aaron throws a figurine at his head. Kevin becomes afraid to sleep, to close his eyes for a long time, and to stay in the dark, but between the choice of sitting in the dark or turning on the light, he chooses the former, because if Riko is hiding in the dark, he doesn't want to see him. This is how Kevin spends his time on the bathroom tiles, especially when he hasn't had enough alcohol and can't sleep.

Kevin forces himself to look for the difference, first between Riko and the twins, who have pale skin, blond hair and hazel eyes, and then between the Minyard brothers.

He starts to worry about Neil, but then realises that Neil has Andrew, and Andrew has Neil. And Aaron has no one, so at the banquet Kevin is terrified when he loses sight of Aaron, relaxing when he finds him next to his brother. Kevin is afraid for Jean, who is still in the "nest", and who has been ignored at the feast.

It is fear when Neil goes to the "nest" and excitement when he returns. The trembling and itching under the skin while playing with the "crows", and then the emptiness when Riko is dead. After the calm, and the excitement again, the crows won't leave it alone, Kevin is in the bathroom again, this time Aaron is there, turning on the light and sitting across from him, they don't speak, and Kevin stares for a long time, confirming that Aaron's eyes are a little lighter and his hair a little longer than Andrew's, and for some reason, it brings him complete peace.

Kevin stops being afraid, he calms down, he stops drinking so much, he plays for the team with Neil and Andrew, greedy for victories and attention.

"My biggest fan... I think it's Neil," Kevin says in an interview. "He has a magazine about me."

"Had" Neil corrects him as he walks by.

In the car, Kevin remembers this.

"He had it? You threw it away?" Kevin sounds disappointed and hurt.

"Not me, Andrew," but Andrew shakes his head in denial.

"Aaron took it when I was about to throw it away."

"Aaron?" Kevin is amazed, he wouldn't have said Aaron was interested in the exy.

"Yeah. Haven't you noticed he's been in love with you the whole time?"

Kevin no, he would never have thought of it, thinking about any interactions with Aaron, he only remembers hazel eyes looking at him in the cool bathroom.

Aaron's greatest memory is when during training, Neil angered him by saying "how did you know" about something regarding Andrew, and Aaron wanted to throw himself at the redhead, but Andrew stopped him by the hand, and looked disapprovingly at Neil, who immediately looked away because his idol had condemned him, then for the first time someone took his side, and not Neil, and that someone was also Kevin.

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

Andor: What I want next from Star Wars

A break from your regularly scheduled Bionicle posts: I watched season two of Andor, and just reading the #Andor tag on Tumblr isn't enough--I need to contribute. The cut below is for spoilers.

I liked it! It wasn't perfectly, but I really liked it. I like Star Wars. I like most Star Wars. I'm not "oh, this was Star Wars, but done well snobbish"--I like Ahsoka, and Obi-wan, and The Book of Boba Fett, and Resistance. In general, I like Star Wars.

But just because I am super-talented at suspending my disbelief and immersing myself in whatever story it is I'm watching while I'm watching it doesn't mean that every story is equally good, and the reason I've gone down this fandom rabbit hole the past three-four weeks is because Andor is good. I've seen a lot of complaints--this being Tumblr--about how the show handles this character or that (mostly Cinta and Bix)--and I don't think that the show is perfect, or those criticisms invalid, but I *do* think they stem--at least in part--from the show being too short! I want more of it. It was planned for five seasons and then the last four of them got compressed down to one and it shows. I think what we got is largely superb, but for anyone not named Cassian Andor--and, honestly, even for him--the show does yeoman's work in implying rather than telling.

That's not necessarily a bad thing: I think Andor is the rare Star Wars property that's more about ideas than it is about characters: it's not about telling a new story with your action figures or even about exploring the sandbox; it's about fascism and freedom and resistance. The characters are subordinated to this more than usual with Star Wars, and that allows the truncation of four seasons into one far more gracefully than you might expect--but it also means that telling you what happens to Wilmon or Vel or Perrin or Leida or even Kleya or Mon Mothma is subordinated to "this is what a rebellion looks like."

That's not an absolute: this is still a story about characters, and the writers and actors do amazing jobs of making us care--deeply--about characters who, this season particularly, may only get two-to-four scenes. It's frustrating that the show was shortened. Frustrating that it was 12 episodes instead of (say) 18. It leaves you wanting so much more. But, look--Tony Gilroy is over it and this is all the Andor we're getting. Could they do more stuff set in the gaps and get me into it? Sure. Assuming they don't, though, can I pretty please with cherries on top ask for a spiritual successor? I doubt it would be the same, but you can't tell me that Tony Gilroy being done has to mean the entire team of writers is done. Get Beau Willimon or someone from the team to give a try.

Anyway, I'm not realistically trying to pitch Lucasfilm's next endeavour--God knows Disney will do what it wants. But what *I* now desperately want is the post-Battle of Yavin continuation for the surviving characters. Quite apart from Andor-withdrawal symptoms, the gap between ANH and ESB is one that has been tried in SO MANY comic books and novels and not ONE of them has ever landed for me--the gap between ESB and ROTJ is less alien to me than this one.

There should also be abundant material: the Rebellion wins this one-in-a-million punch... but the Empire isn't knocked out. Three years later, the Rebels are on the run, hiding somewhere far worse than Yavin, and the Empire has Super Star Destroyers. A show what happens after victory would be compelling: think of how the Cold War immediately followed victory in WWII, or how Reconstruction went wrong after the Civil War.

And there's a huge power vacuum--for both Rebels and Imperials--after Yavin. On the Rebel side, think of all the losses at Scarif and Yavin--and on Alderaan. Bail's absence alone probably throws the Rebel Alliance into chaos. On the one hand, they're riding high on victory, but they're probably undercutting themselves: they're the dog that caught the car. What on earth are they going to do with it?

Keeping in mind that the Rebels are an alliance, some of the earlier fault lines probably pop up again as they have to go to ground after the sugar high of the medal ceremony. Maybe some of them think the war is over: the Emperor showed his hand by dissolving the Senate and destroying Alderaan, and all they have to do is get a parade going on Coruscant. And then some enterprising Imperial Captain with no more than a couple small cruisers strafes Yavin and drives them away.

(You do keep Han/Leia/Luke away for most of this: this isn't about them, but they're going to be more of a presence than in Andor. Think something in the ballpark of Vader in Rogue One.)

(Also, if you want some imported EU content as I always do, then maybe THIS is where you insert Garm Bel Iblis splitting with the main rebels who will form the later New Republic.)

Anyway, there's a story to be told in the two years that follow: plenty of scope to see what Vel, Wilmont, and Kleya are up to now. I am deliberately NOT saying Bix. That doesn't mean she has to be written out completely, but I think bringing her back in means bringing up Cassian's unknown kid and that's just... not the story I want here. If she appears at all, it should be just as a contrast: how the active militancy isn't for everyone, but there is a home front that it's being done on behalf of.

I think this story could mirror Andor in having a run-up to the second Death Star the way Andor ran up to the first one. That means what the Ghorman Massacre was to the first show, "many Bothans died" would be in the second one--i.e. the set piece of the final season (just don't chicken out, Lucasfilm: this is my fantasy, so it can actually run for four seasons if I want it to).

And if you want a real twist on things that's just barely scratched at in Andor, you could have a whole subplot on "what do we even do with Luke Skywalker?" Like... the farmboy is a poster child: innocent upbringing, starry-eyed hero who saves a princess out of nowhere and takes down the Death Star. What do you actually DO with him if you're Mon Mothma or General Rieekan? Is Luke always being sent off on publicity stunt type missions? You can't let HIM get his hands dirty--the last thing you want is your new hero to get sullied with "Luthen Rael" stuff. What happens when he first reveals he's carrying a lightsaber? Is there a ripple of religion (not even really noticed by Luke) as people start hanging on his words?

And the rebellion does have to consider what hard, Luthen Rael stuff it should be doing. After the Death Star, the Rebellion is out in the open, more eyes on it than ever before--after Alderaan, even with Imperial propaganda, there are more persuadable ears than ever. And the thing that Palpatine is going to want more than ever is to find some new atrocity to pin on them--ideally, some new atrocity the Empire can actually trick them into committing.

Meanwhile, on the Imperial side, the power vacuum is probably insane. How many of the Empire's best and brightest were on the Death Star? How many Imperials would now be using it as an opportunity to consolidate power or liquidate rivals? And don't forget: the Senate just got dissolved at the same time that Tarkin leaves a hole at the top of the Imperial military. There's probably even a window where Vader is presumed dead.

Canonically, we know that Vader ends up filling a big chunk of the gap that is left: this is when he becomes the Supreme Commander. His return after being presumed dead, which for our point-of-view Imperials (gonna need some new ones) probably coincides with his public appointment as the Supreme Commander, is like a military coup--and there's probably some old school Republic sorts who think that's exactly what happened: kindly old Palpatine has just been turned into a figurehead and doesn't even know it.

Dedra could plausibly reappear as a point-of-view Imperial. Not as an ISB supervisor, I think, but with Krennic dead, Partagaz dead, Heert dead... anyone who gave a crap about her in any sense is no longer around, but the Empire needs bodies. The Emperor immediately starts planning a second Death Star (stockpiled supplies and all the kinks worked out with the first Death Star are how we'll make sense of the second one coming along fast enough for RotJ--that and the Emperor really only needing a shell of it with a working laser, rather than a whole moon-sized space station).

She's not invaluable, but Dedra is valuable enough to get her sentence commuted to some kind of indentured servitude working on the new Death Star, and while she isn't happy, she takes what the Empire offers, because of course she does.

That's... about all I've got so far. I don't expect we'll ever get something even remotely in this ballpark, and that's okay: I don't have to actually get more for Andor to have been good... but it's a fun exercise to start sketching when I have Star Wars on the brain. And you know... Disney left those characters alive and they're not going to stop coming back to the Original Trilogy, so I may as well lean into it.

[dreamofimmortality]

[Image description: Collage of panels of Yukimi from chapter 48 of Nabari no Ou, zoomed in on him smiling and grinning while battling Raikou. End description]

some sort of compilation 😁😆

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I'm sorry but the irony of Nico calling Max unprofessional is sending me so bad like sir there's an entire garage full of people, who were literally in the trenches trying to survive the Brocedes fallout while just doing their jobs, who might have a few things to say about your (& Lewis') level of professionalism at that time 😭✋️

[birthclod]

thinking about ch0mpkin's evil evbo post (evilbo, if you will) and going "How can I align this with My Interests (the axes)" and the answer is Very easily actually

[thebluebygracieabrams]

when the competition is making me cry in 10 seconds and your opponents are my parents

[izloveshorses]

Also am I the only one who looked at Dmitry and DIDN'T go 'oh he sleeps around'? Because I seem to be!!!

[monandre]

was not looking for you but hello gongous.. come to strawpage's sticker section often ?

[mystery-star]

So I have that friend (actually the relationnship with him is another story - my soon to be ex for those that know, aka the jus' crowing ppl) whose ethic on work I don't get.

All last year he complained how much he hates his work and just wants a long vacation. He got his vacation, for a full month in December.

So far so good one would think. Then he said that that month of not working was kinda too long for him and he needs work for a good daily rythm.

Ok weirder now might be a workaholic then. But today he just admitted that "how nice it would be to not needing to work for a while"

BOI. Decide for once. Do you hate working now or not?

[ratherchili]

 𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

You can't say you weren't warned about your big brother's friend sukuna, but nothing could have truly prepared you for him.

"Funny looking how?" You ask, arching an eyebrow.

"Just go to your room while he's here," your brother Toji urges. "Don't need you feeding his ego, goddamnit."

"He's funny looking and somehow my presence will feed his ego?" You deadpan, with zero inclination to forfeit your comfy spot on the couch. "Make it make sense, Toji. Or better yet, fuck off so I can finish this cover letter," you gesture at the open laptop sitting on your thighs. "Faster I can get out of this shithole, the better," you grumble.

Although, your brother's place is far from a shithole, in truth. You know better than to ask how he affords it doing nothing but fucking around with the sinister assortment of thugs he calls friends. In turn, he doesn't ask you about the unfortunate circumstances that landed you in one of his spare rooms... again.

Toji groans. "Yeah he gets off on scaring people. Especially girls. Especially hot girls. And, I suspect, especially girls who are related to me."

"Gross," you say, directing you attention back to the screen. "I'm not scared of your asshole friend and I'm not moving."

Toji opens his mouth to protest further, but too late. There is a loud knock on the door followed by it crashing open and thunderous footsteps coming down the hall.

Despite more than a little curiosity regarding your brother's funny looking friend, you manage to keep your eyes on your work.

Toji is grumbling some weak attempt to direct the visitor toward the "stuff" in the garage when a shadow falls over you. Still, you continue typing.

"Who's this?" A deep voice growls. "Not gonna introduce me?"

"Just my little sister. Leave her alone, Sukuna. She's a bitch anyway."

"Fuck you, Toji. And a preemptive fuck you to you, too, whoever you a- hey, ow!" You exclaim as the newcomer slams the laptop closed on your fingers. "What the h-" the exclamation dies on your lips when you finally raise your eyes to see the largest man you have ever seen looming over you.

He is a lot to take in. You silently curse Toji for not warning you properly. "Kind of funny looking" does not even begin to describe the thing standing before you. Four crimson eyes stare back at you, two of which are set in a twisted mass of keloid scar tissue that takes up most of one side of his tattoed face. Eyes aren't the only anatomical feature he has extra of, you notice. Two sets of muscular arms protrude from the cut off sleeves of his t-shirt.

It takes a lot to render you speechless, but the sight of him does the trick. Although, you can't help but think that the smirking bastard somehow makes the odd look work for him. Yeah. 'Circus sideshow level freak but kinda hot' would've been a better descriptor. Although you manage to hold the man's gaze, you're sure your eyes are as wide as saucers. To your horror, you feel heat creeping up your neck as your lip twitches in search of something - anything - to say that might lessen the humiliation you feel. And Toji was right, this jerk is eating it up.

"Toj said you were ugly, but jesus..." you say, when you finally regain your composure.

Sukuna laughs, flashing a set of pointed canines before he abruptly turns to follow your brother towards the garage.

"I like her," he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in your general direction, which, for some reason, makes your heart beat a little too hard.

"No, man." Toji groans. "Just no."

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

[lesbians-all-the-way-down]

My life won't be complete until I name the other lead in the historical fiction I've decided I'm going to write.

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[emmyrosee]

Fluffy fluffy prompt to hubby sukuna or whom ever you choose “awnn my poor baby come here” then he slowly walks towards you rubbing his eyes all soft and tired 🥺

There’s a low grumble behind you that snaps you out of your slicing of fruit, but you merely brush it off before moving onto the next strawberry.

Then, the grumble ripples through the air again, and you keep slicing, trying your best to ignore the noise.

It happens a third time. You giggle, “what, baby?” You put the knife down and turn to face Sukuna, arms crossing over your chest as you look him up and down.

He looks childish, with the comforter wrapped around his shoulders and hair ruffled around messily. His eyes are puffy from sleep and his cheeks hold a little flush, but his lips are still pouted in a scowl. “You left me alone in bed,” he grumbles. “I told you not to do that. Bed gets too cold.”

“Is that the only reason you don’t like me leaving the bed?” You ask, knowing the real answer. But you also know he’ll never say it. He’s stubborn like that.

He offers you a roll of his eyes, “yes, and I hate the cold. You’re aware of this.”

“My poor baby,” you tease, opening your arms for him to shamble into. “C’mere. Let me warm you back up from the mean, evil, cold covers.”

“You’d better,” he murmurs, stalking towards you and into your arms. He opens his own to reveal the corners of the blanket balled into his big fists, and when he embraces you, you’re shrouded in darkness but melting into the warmth that his chest brews. Your laugh softly, and burrow into his chest, which rumbles with a hum in confusion. "Somethin' funny under there?"

"Just dark," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and gently squeezing him out of cute aggression. "I also can't really breathe, so-"

"Good," he says, resting his head on top of yours, tightening his arms to keep you in place. "Won't have to deal with your ass leaving the bed, messing up my sleep." You laugh some more, only to send a few pokes to his waist, making him jerk away from you and loosen his hold.

"Who's gonna cuddle you at night then?"

"I'm a man, I don't need cuddles."

When you do, however, try to get out of his arms, he grumbles and pulls you tighter again, with an annoyed grunt. "No."

"That's what I thought, Sukuna."

[trusweethrt]

— ୨ৎ panties to the side

summary: teasing rafe with the lingerie he gifted you so much during your valentines date, he snaps and bends you over the counter in a restaurant bathroom.

content warnings: not proofread. contains smut, mdni. rafe's (very canon) obsession with lace. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. public sex. implications of almost being caught at the end. lmk if i missed anyway <3

authors note: very excited about valentines day if you couldn't tell. a little pissed cause why is it so hard to find cute valentines pics?! ( •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) anywaysss, enjoy!!

it was all his fault—or at least that's how you viewed it. he had left you all alone for several weeks to go on some stupid trip to Morocco that he wouldn't give up the smallest detail about. and it's not like you could easily satisfy yourself either; rafe meant it when he said nothing and no one could compare to him. not to mention all of your toys that mysteriously went missing the day he left. so of course you'd be a little extra needy the day he came back.

rafe was trying to be patient with you—he really was. but you kept leaning over in that tight sexy low cut red dress, purposely putting your perfect tits on full display for him; and they way he'd catch you eye fucking him whenever you thought he wasn't looking made him want to rip that dress off of you in front of everyone.

the worst part is how infuriatingly coy you've been acting all night whenever he'd try to confront you; casually brushing it off as him being dirty minded.

“rafe.” you drawl, looking up from the menu and finding rafe starring at your exposed cleavage for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. his tongue instinctively sticks out to lick his lips, eyes darting up to meet yours before he clears his throat, leaning back in his seat. he was already unashamedly hard under the table, not at all bothering to hide it. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i need to go to the bathroom n touch up my makeup. tell the waiter i want the chicken marsala when they come over, ‘kay?” you murmured, already standing from your seat and grabbing your purse. “alright,” rafe hummed, calling after you “hurry back, yeah?��

“uh huh.” you nod curtly, trying to fight smirk on your face as you purposely let your tube of lip gloss slip from your bag. all so you could bend over and pick it up on your way to the bathroom, causing your tiny dress to ride up, exposing the swell of your ass to him, clad in the red lacy panties he had surprised you with this morning—the ones he specifically told you to save for tonight.

that's all it took for rafe to snap and confirm you knew exactly what you've been doing all night.

he shot up from his seat, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the marble floors as he hasted to the women's bathroom, swinging the door open, eliciting gasps from both you and the other two women at the sinks.

“you two get the hell out.” rafe grunted, already moving behind you to press his hand to the small of your back, bending you over the counter as the women hurriedly grab their things and leave the bathroom.

“can't fuckin take you anywhere, hm?” his hands travel down, lifting the bottom of your dress, bunching it around your waist. “mmh, just couldn't wait til later.” you respond softly, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties to pull them down, only to have rafe grip your wrists and place your hands onto the counter in front of you. “nah, keep em on. bought them for a reason, yeah?”

the rattle of his belt being undone fills the bathroom, the sound of his zipper unfastening following soon after. he slides his pants along with his boxers down in one swift movement, letting them fall to his ankles, revealing his hard and throbbing cock; the tip flushed with beads of precum dripping down the shaft.

he pulls his tongue between his teeth as he uses one hand to hook his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, the material of the lace rubbing against your sensitive bud, making a soft whimper leave your mouth. “ah, yeah—fuck—look at that. all fuckin wet just by me sitting there. tsk tsk, you've gotten nastier since i've been gone, yeah?” he groans, eyes fixed on the way your juices are saturating your panties. “damn, baby...i love these panties on you..so pretty. gonna order you ten more when we get home, alright?” you could tell how true that statement was by the way his fingers ran over the lace, admiring the delicate pattern against your skin with an intense stare.

rafe ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rubbing his flushed tip through your puffy drenched folds before easily sliding into your drooling cunt. “o-oh my gosh” you mewl, hands gripping the counter as his cock slides in and out of you in quick, deep strokes; your gummy walls clenching around him every time he brushes against your cervix. “fuuck.” rafe groaned, jaw going slack as he grabbed onto the fabric of your panties, pulling you back into him to meet his thrust “grippin me so fuckin good.”

“bet this is all you were think’n about, huh? you knew what you were doing all night, baby. you just needed this cock, hm?” rafe murmured, watching you through the mirror—the way your glossed lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure, eyes fluttering whenever his angle would change ever so slightly.

“mmhm.” you reply in a whine, your grip on the counter tightening as you bite down on your already swollen lips, trying to keep your moans and whimpers from being heard by anyone behind the door. “shit, that all you can say? got’cha all speechless already.” a strangled moan leaves you in response, your mind becoming cloudy and overwhelmed as his thumb presses to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on the throbbing bud.

“r-rafe...” you whimper as your legs start trembling and your eyes squeeze shut. rafe groans softly, feeling you start to clench around him. “mmh i know, i know,” he murmured, the speed of both his hips and thumb increasing. “you gonna cum, yeah? go on, baby...lemme have it.”

your eyes roll back as the coil in your stomach finally snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as your orgasm washes over you. rafe continues his thrusts as your cunt flutters around him, your body slumping over the counter as he helps you ride out your climax.

the way you squeezed around him pushed rafe over the edge, jaw going slack as his cock twitches inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls. “fuuck.” he moans as his eyes flutter shut briefly before they open again, watching you through the mirror. leisurely, his movements fade until he eventually comes to a halt, his breathing ragged.

leaning forward, rafe plants a few kisses on your trembling body, opening his mouth to speak before he's interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

shit.

taglist 🪽: : @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @milamilkie @ch6rm

[rafeysafterglow]

snooping through rafe's phone while he's sleeping

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader cw: fluffff, crude words, nothing else really a/n: my first fluff fic ^_^ he looks so yummy in this pic

you have been dating the kook prince, rafe cameron, for a few months now and it definitely came with its challenges. being a pogue, a lot of his friends and family disapproved. but, rafe proved himself and stood by you the whole time. your relationship with him is secure, but, sometimes, your insecurities and doubts cloud your judgement. why would he want to be with you when he can have anyone on the island?

the overthinking on this specific night went on haywire. topper and kelce invited rafe to a party, but he declined, because he promised to stay in and watched movies with you. he never declines a reason to go party. so why would he now?

throughout the movie, he kept to himself, quiet. he hums in agreement when you voice an opinion and shrugs in answer when you ask him a question. after the movie, he immediately went to sleep. on the other hand, your eyes couldn't stay shut no matter how much you forced it to. beside you, rafe was in deep slumber with his arms around you and him snoring softly behind your ears.

you usually wouldn't do this, but the insecurities were eating inside you. you slowly lifted his heavy arms off your body which forced him to turn to the other side. he begins to stir but no signs of waking up. you reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. the bright screen illuminated your face and a photo of you two at a bonfire stared back. it was a selfie that he took, he was kissing your cheek as your wide-teethed smile faced the camera. you faced the screen towards his sleeping face to open it. he didn't have many notifications and only one caught your eye. it was sent at 9:16 pm.

topper : broo this party is going crazy, you're missing out

topper : hope that pogue bitch is worth it

you clicked on the notification which took you to the messages app. you scrolled up until you see the first message of the day that topper sent at 6:03 pm.

topper : yo. party at kelce's tonite. gonna be crazy asf

rafe : no thanks, spending the night with my girl tonight

topper : bro r u serious? this is the second time ure blowing us off

topper : and for what? some lame pogue bitch

rafe : don't u fucking dare talk about her like that

rafe : leave her the fuck alone before i fuck u up

you left the chat and scrolled through his other chats. you were too focused on stalking each one that you didn't realize rafe waking up. he watched you for a minute before speaking. “find anything?”

you gasped in shock, your face turned beet root in embarrassment. you slowly handed rafe his phone back. “no...” you whispered. he took his phone from you and locked it before placing it back on the nightstand. “i'm sorry, i know it's wrong but you were being so quiet tonight i can't help but wonder.”

“baby, you know i love you,” he said as he pulled you into him. “i'm not doing a good job as your boyfriend if i'm making your pretty little head doubt.”

“no, it just me. i'm sorry,” you sigh out as he combs his fingers through your hair.

“next time, if i'm not acting right, you sort me out,” he says sternly. “and stop saying sorry.”