#THIS BITCH TALKS SHIT ABOUT MY ART BEHIND MY BACK

[whore-ibly-hot]

"Just a one time thing... Right?"

Yan!Eltingville Club x Fem!User

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con (reader isn't aware of the sexual attraction to them), masturbation, lewd art, mentions of fatphobia, groping, stealing, sexism, questionable group hierarchy, misogyny, Pete Dinunzio.

AN: I promised Eltingville and I will deliver, even if i usually only do OC stuff. I'm so hot for these dork bitches, especially Pete Dinunzio. He owns. My. Ass. (PS, Eltingville girls please let me into your club, leave some comments because I'm working on characterization and the fics in this community are so good!)🙏

It's yet another argument, the sounds of heated yells and complaints ringing through the wood panneled walls and up the sbasement stairs of the Dickey household, as another meeting of the Eltingville club kicks off. "Don't even think about it." Bill Dickey, infamous narcissistic leader of the Eltingville club for comics, games, and all things nerdy, has started the meeting already pissed off. "Fuck no, we aren't letting some c-chick into our club! A femoid! Are you serious? Just drop it, Pete." He spits, face red and glasses slipping. He adjusts them as the others glance at Pete.

Across Bill's mom's basement, horror expert Pete Dinunzio, clad in his backwards cap and questionably stained 'House of Wax' shirt, rest on a beanbag. Huffing, the black haired man rolls over, glaring. "Come ooooooon, it's not like she's gonna fuck anything up. Just- I don't know, she's showing interest. Check it," he stands up, shoes hitting the dhag carpeting and clapping his hands together like he's gonna give the best social studies presentation of his freakin' life.

"She's showing interest, you see any other girls lining up to join, shit, to even talk to us. Especially not girls with a big fucking rack-" He cackles, raising his hand for a high-five with a quiet Jerry stokes, who is simultaneously red and sheet white, sweating out of nerves.

"Gross man, get a mop!" Pete snickers, pulling his hand away quickly.

"Jerry-" The blonde immediately squeaks at the mention of his name, shifting on the creaky old tweed couch. He had been absorbed in his journal, trying to stay out of the fight. He knew who you were, shit, who in town didn't? You moved down the road a few weeks ago, and seemed genuinely nice. You immediately made friends at the school, kind and outgoing, but not discriminating. You didn't stick to one clique or group, and it didn't help you were smokin' hot. You have math together, and he's falling behind. He can't seem to think around you, his math notes full of doodles of you, slowly turning far to lewd to turn in.

It's then he clears his throat to answer Bill's call out, only noticing that his journal he's been distracting himself is also full of doodles of you. He'd been so zoned out he'd drawn you with elf ears, laid out wearing a fantastical silk robe, but no loincloth-

"Jerry!" Another screech from Bill. "Pay attention, you numbskull! You finally chew your tongue off being a pussy, answer me."

"Sorry, sorry, w-what was the question?" His voice cracks, making Pete and Josh chuckle at the scrawny boy. Bill rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he slams his hand down on the table

"Obviously, you agree we don't need some skank in the club, we don't even know what she's after."

"She's not that bad, actually-" he mumbles, making Bill growls and Pete nod in agreement, snapping and pointing to Jerry. "Exactly, and again, that fuckin' rack-"

"NO GIRLS!" Slamming his fists onto the table, the cheap wood rattles, as does the nearby shelves, causing a picture frame and a few figures to clatter to the ground.

"Geordi!" Josh cries as he goes to nurse the action figure back to 'mint condition' who had lost its visors when it took the plunge onto the rough carpet below. "Bill, this was new-in-box with I got it, what the fuck!"

"Exactly! The femoid isn't here and she's already causing issues. Case closed." The acne-ridden president grins and intertwines his fingers on the table in satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear you agree, and are putting the good name of the Eltingville club over the wants of your shrimp dick, unlike some people-" He glares at Pete, who just flips him off and goes back to reading a 'Gore Four' comic.

"Onto actually important business-"

It isn't until a few days later that you run into Bill, he's looking through the window of the blockbuster in concentration way to deep for any normal person.

"Hey, Bill, right?" You chirp, causing him to jolt, his billfold falling from his yellow overcoat. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you!" You reach for the leather, only to feel a harsh sting on your hand as he swats you away picks it up, grumbling to himself as he pockets it.

"Right. I guess we do." He looks you over. "Did you need something, or are you just here to bother me?" He sneers.

"Oh, uh, no, just going to rent a movie, wanted to see what you were looking at?"

"Ugh. Nothing you'd be interested in." He turns back, looking at two posters for films avaliable to rent. "If it'll make you fuck off, I'm deciding whether to spend my allowance money on 'Return of the King' or 'Alien'." He explains, waving his wallet in front of you before pocketing it. "Only the best for the club, Pete's been on my ass about Alien, but Jerry cries like a little bitch boy when we watch horror sci-fi."

"Sounds like a tough choice. Uh, I like return of the king though!" She says.

He looks you over, pausing before shaking his head. "Yeah, heh, right. Sure, you've seen any 'Lord of the Rings' film. Listen, you don't have to pretend you know what I'm talking about to continue whatever this is, I'm not buying it." Before you can respond, the sound of a ringtone catches your ear, and Bill reluctantly answers it.

"Hurry up, man, how long does it take to pick out a tape? Josh's lard ass is gonna starve before you get back here and we can eat-" Pete's Italian accent crackles through the speakers, followed by the sound of an open palm smacking the back of his head. "Fuck off, man, I'm messin' around-"

"Knock it off, don't get kicked outta my basement before I get there. I'm on my way." He clicks it shut. He spares you a glance as he walks into the store, anger and tension only fuels when he gets a glimpse of your cleavage. He just clears his throat and turns away.

He settles on 'Alien', because screw Jerry, he wants to end the night off with Sigourney Weaver's jugs still fresh in mind for jerk material. Smacking the tape down, he glares at the usual attendant, who just sighs and gives him a dead eyed stare. "5.72, be kind and rewind-"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't give the spiel, you corporate cronie." Bill hisses, before opening up his wallet and paling. There's nothing but a Star Trek fan club card inside, his money missing. He remembers the fight he'd gotten into with his mom a few nights ago over her throwing out his 'busty babes of Babylon' mag, and gulps. She'd taken back his allowance. "Uh- hold on, hang on-" he's frantic now. "Its gotta be in here somewhere-" the sound of coins and crinkling paper hitting the counter makes him look over.

"I got it!" You say with a smile, about six dollars in bills and loose change. "I mean, you seemed like you put a whole lot of thought into that-"

He's too stunlocked to even speak, both emasculated and embarrassed at his financial situation. The attendant looks you over, then back at Bill. "Are... are you sure?" He asks, snapping Bill out of it.

"Of course she's sure, check out the fucking tape." Bill practically shoves the money towards you. "Corporate cock-sucker can't even do his job." He shakes his head. "What are you getting at, huh? Trying to make me look like some broke scrub or something?!"

"N-no!" You exclaim. "I just wanted to help you out-"

"Yeah right." He snorts and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Listen up, I don't know what you're trying to do but it ends here. I don't do 'debt', so name your price. Settle it."

"Well..." You scuffing your shoe again the blue and yellow blockbuster tile, shrugging. "Maybe since I bought it, I could watch with you guys? Joining a club could be fun, and I've read a few comics and stuff. Plus, I like movies."

Bill goes pale, palms sweaty and eyes wide. "Shit..." he huffs. "No girls, no females in the club, that's our most consistent rule. I don't need you, i don't know, sissying up the place. Something else."

"Cmon, please, no, I won't be weird, just this once!"

"F-fine. But you're not a member!" He says, jabbing a finger against your chest before recoiling it like he was burned. That was about the closest he's ever gotten to a tit, his digital still tingling. It's humiliating. "Just be there, you know where I live." He rushes off, tape held suspiciously low by his crotch.

It's hell. Pure, frozen hell when you arrive. Josh is fidgeting with the deck of Magic he was sorting when you came in, not even making eye contact while he has a panicked, hushed conversation with Bill about how this even happened. He's both extremely suspicious and extremely giddy, whereas Pete is just giddy.

You were so enthralled in looking around the nerd cave, everything from 'Star-Trek Next Gen' posters to scantily clad 'Cat-Woman' figures line the walls and shelves. Good thing you were so focused on it all, it gave Jerry time to scurry over to the bean bag, unzipping it and shoving his journal into the Styrofoam beans in a state of pure panic.

"Hey, hot-stuff! Didn't expect to see you, lookin' fine tonight." Pete calls, hand to his mouth as if amplifying it. You've run into Pete a few times when you were dodging PE behind the bleachers, and he never fails to try and make a move. "Hey, couch is gonna be pretty full with Josh's fat ass, why don't you sit on my lap for the movie, huh? I'll protect you from the Alien, don't even worry bout' it." He winks.

"I'll find room, Pete, but thanks for the offer." You laugh. Plopping down, you set your bag aside and lean over the arm a bit. "Hey, Jerry." You say, before looking away after he refuses to respond, or even make eye contact. "Okay..."

"Why is she here? This has gotta be a prank?" Josh whispers, sweating as he rubs at his forehead. "Whyd you let her come, I-I thought the rule was no girls!"

"It was, i-it is! She's a normie femoid, but my bitch mom took my allowance, she covered so we could watch the movie tonight. Grin and bare it, yeah? I'm sure you can resist from popping a stiffy for at least two hours. And it's not you I'm worried about, it's these idiots." Bill nods over to the clubs resident fantasy nerd, whose taken to lying face, and crotch, down in the bean bag while Pete quizzes you on horror flicks.

It's uneventful, if not for the tension looming in the air between you and the guys. Throughout the evening, Bill tries his best to ignore you, or to shush Josh when he leans over to provide you an awkward fun fact about the films production. Jerry stays quiet, but appreciates how you seem to make him feel better about being scared by the film than dogging on him. "Huh? O-oh, yeah, no, I'm not great with movies like these, but uh-" He'd stammer. "I'm not like a pussy or anything, I've just had an offer day, I'm high stress."

Pete is relishing in it, constantly commenting on the 'alien-fighting hotties' in the film, before making sure you know he doesn't like them as much as you. "Nothing against these babes, you know, but they don't have an ass like yours-"

At the end of the night; when everyone has cleared out, you stop in the door frame, turning to smile. "Thanks a lot for letting me stay and watch, Bill." You say softly. "This was fun."

He's silent, hand gripping the door frame hard enough it might splinter. He'd done you the decency of walking you to the door, to your suprise. "Yeah. We'll, don't expect too much. You're still a normie. Get off my porch, I don't want people thinking we hang out." You just sighs and wave goodnight with a slight grin.

He's angry, he hasn't felt things like this in a long, long time. He shouldn't like you, you're nothing special, you're hot, but just some brainless poser girl from school, probably friends with jocks and cheer-whores. Still, why did his heart leap when you brushed his hand getting popcorn? Why did he want you sitting next to him and not that 'loudmouth perv whose ruining the tension of the scene'.

He finds himself laying on his bed, the squeaky, worn out mattress creaking. He'd lock up the basement and then his door, he's rock hard and is sure it's Ellen Ripley's sheer tank that was doing it for him. He pops the tape in again and puts it on mute to a shot of her running, popping the button on his jeans and sighing as he settles into bed. However, running his hand from base to tip once, then twice, he finds she's not doing it for him. 'Fine,' he thinks. 'Maybe I'm in the mood for blondes'. He grabs the nearest Tasha Yar picture he has, but that's not working either.

Working his fingers around his tip, letting the precum act as a proper lubricant, the image of you in her uniform almost makes him choke. He jolts so hard he almost rips his own dick off. 'Shit-' he thinks, first from shock, then from the implications of the though. "Shit, shit, shit!" He yells allowed, chucking the picture to the wall, erection twitching again at the thought the garnered such shame. It's not like this is anything more than a chubby from a semi-attractive girl! ...Right?

A similar scene is playing out in Josh's room, the meticuloius organizers room looks as though a hurricane has hit, digging through magazines, comics and VHS covers. He's sure he's gotta have an art piece that looks like you, maybe a 'Hottest women of sci-fi' tape, or some scantily clad magic card, shit, he'd settle for a grainy background character on one of his 'Star Trek: Original Series' tapes. Something, anything. "Cmon, cmon-" he's frantic. He's not as ashamed as Bill. Sure, he's ashamed to be jerking it to a girl he was feet away from less than an hour ago, but he isn't ashamed that the girl was you! He can admit you were hot, and pretty nice, even if he didn't fully trust you. I mean, it's not like you're joining the club! ...Right?

Jerry doesn't need to search for material. He's got enough paper with sketches of you to count as an act of deforestation. Its his reluctance to use them that's the issue. He goes home, a beacon of self control. He's only half-hard, and doing rhythmic, calming breaths. 'Gotta put your stuff away, then straight to bed Jerry, cmon.' He thinks to himself. 'No big deal, you got this.' He does get it all out away, his wallet, his new Magic cards he brought to show Josh, and his lucky dice, all accounted for. It's when he sees his journal, which he remembered to retrieve from the beanbag, sitting there. Calling to him like the one ring. Just a peek... He slams it shut and puts in onto his dresser, laying flat on his back and dullg clothed, to afraid to even undress for fear of brushing his cock by accident and blowing the whole facade of control he has. 'Just ignore it's siren song-' the image of you, perched on a rock with a tail and breasts out, calling to him. 'Shit, no sirens, not a siren-' He whimpers. He can't help it, you wouldn't ever find out, and it's just a one time thing! It's probably just a nervous boner anyways. Looking at half-nude art he made of you is just a one time thing. "Ah~ whoo, okay, gonna be quick, mmph, whatnwould you think of this?" He whines, rubbing against the mattress for a bit of hands-off reliefm somehow that made it less bad, right? He's not technically touching himself. Practicing gently kissing his pillow while he strokes it is just him, getting some sensory stimulation! It's normal. And it's not like he's gonna see you much after this! ...Right?

Pete isn't lacking for any material, and isn't held back by shame either. He made sure you were parked on the couch right by him allll night, and every time you got up to use the bathroom, his sticky, popcorn covered hand founds it's way into your purse. That's how he ended up with his yellowed pillow covered in some shitty PINK perfume and some sticky lip gloss smeared on his cheek like you'd kissed him there. He's absolutely wrecking the pillow, in his mind there is no seperation from the fleshlight he constructed out of fabric and stuffing and your smoking body. "You like that, baby?" He mutters lowly, bucking his hips into the pillow like a dog. "Shrimp dick my ass, you can feel that in there, huh? Yeah, I'll make sure hit all the right spots, shit. Get your fuckin' legs round my waist-" he groans.

Coincidentally, after the four have finished their separate sessions, they each receive a short, to the point call from Bill on their landlines, something about the 'financial benefit' of having more member in the club, even if he'd never, ever let a girl in under normal circumstances. But, there's a lot of good stuff coming out lately, and they need as much savings as they can get. He assures them all, "Its purely business, nimrods, I'm not exactly thrilled about it." All three are too worn out to even think about how odd it is to receive a call like that at 1 am...

[cherrygirlfriend]

── UPPER WEST SIDE ♫

♫ pairing: ceo!rafe x ex-girlfriend!reader

♫ summary: you and rafe had been together for a year, until you found out he was keeping a secret from you, and ended your relationship. a year later, rafe sneaks into your concert and you get reminded of all the good and bad in your relationship.

♫ warnings / tags: angst. fluff.

♫ author's note: inspired by upper west side by king princess, takes place in new york.

RAFE MASTERLIST

maybe it was pathetic of him to stalk your band's instagram almost obsessively after you blocked him from your personal one, but rafe was desperate; so desperate that when you announced that you were playing a show in the bar a few blocks away from your place where the two of you first met, he saw it as fate.

really, he didn't even mean to come. he was just going to walk past the bar, to see how many people were waiting. but the moment he saw the poster with your face along with your bandmates, it was like he was pulled inside with a magnet.

the bar was much more cluttered than usual and rafe couldn't help but feel a pang of pride in his chest. he knew music was your passion, having woken up to the sound of you strumming your guitar as you wrote down lyrics, so lost in your art it was like nothing else in the world mattered. the way you'd smile up at him, letting out a quiet "sorry, did i wake you?" before going back to what you were doing.

"thank you for coming." the same voice rung out from the speakers, some of the crowd clapping at you as your bandmates got to their places. rafe leaned against the bar, quietly ordering a whiskey on the rocks, his eyes locked onto you, the way the spotlight seemed taken by your presence, the way you seemed to get lost in the moment as soon as your bandmates started playing, your body swaying along to the melody.

you're so rich, bet you bought yourself a diamond chain to look real cool while you're telling all your friends it's fake but you know it's lies another bitch from the upper west side credit cards cutting all of your lines, yeah...

"your place is way too fancy." you chuckled as rafe turned the lights on his upper west side apartment, rolling his eyes, his hand in yours, "what do you even do? let me guess. it's something ridiculously illegal or immoral. you're probably an environmental criminal. or a finance bro."

"you don't like my apartment?" rafe grinned, his arms wrapping around your middle, "we're always at your place. it doesn't even have proper heating."

"so? we always find a way to warm each other up." you cocked your head to the side, your hands on his muscular chest, "besides, my apartment is cozy. this place just looks... cold." you looked around the modern penthouse, most of it either black or white, a strange contrast to the colorful space you'd made of your own home.

"maybe i'll give you a key." rafe pressed a small kiss on your lips, "we could go shopping for some furniture together. i'll let you go nuts on the whole apartment..." he mumbled against your lips.

"rafe, we've been together for three months, and you're already talking about moving in together?" you chuckled softly and pulled back to look up at him in the eyes, "you're crazy."

"yeah." rafe sighs, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "i'm crazy about you. come on, let's move in together. you can keep renting your little rabbithole in brooklyn just in case, but you could live here."

"it's not a rabbithole!" you smacked his chest playfully before grinning up at the man, "let me think about it."

you're so cute, bet you really wanna be a star, to feel like gold when you're dancing on broken hearts and you know it's true you're no good 'til they're looking at you bad front, i can see right through, yeah.

"shit, this place is fancy." leona said with wide eyes as three of your friends walked into your new home, you and rafe having finished redecorating it a while ago, the place now looking much livelier. "do you think your sugar daddy's gonna notice if we steal some of the silver?"

"he's not my sugar daddy." you rolled your eyes, leading your friends to the kitchen. rafe was standing at the counter, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up as he cut a cucumber. "guys, this is rafe." the man looked up with a nod, "rafe, these are my friends. we're gonna be in the living room and have a mini-housewarming party."

"have fun." rafe smiled, pressing a kiss on your lips, "don't drink too much."

"okay, mom."

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

it was two in the morning when you woke up to the sound of the front door opening and closing, along with the sound of someone taking their shoes off, soft footsteps against the hardwood floor getting closer and closer, the bedroom door opening.

rafe let out an exasperated sigh, and you watched from the bed as he discarded his jacket, his tie, blouse, and eventually his pants, the belt clinking against the floor as he was left in his boxers, making his way to the bed.

when he was settled in under the blankets, you whispered softly, "rafe?"

"hey. sorry, baby..." rafe mumbled, pulling you into his warm, muscular chest, "did i wake you up?"

"yeah. it's fine, though. where were you?"

"just had to deal with family shit." rafe pressed a kiss to your hairline, "let's go to sleep." his words marking that it would be the end of the conversation.

i sleep great knowing we will never be the same 'cause i'm downtown hanging out while you're in pain and i'm doing fine even though you're still on my mind train rides to the upper west side, yeah.

you sat on the toilet seat, tapping the back of your foot against the marble floor, the wait feeling so excruciating you felt like you'd drop dead any second. you had no idea how he'd react, if he'd be happy, if he'd be upset...

the timer on your phone that had been set for three minutes finally went off, and you practically jumped up, grabbing the stick off the bathroom counter and turning it over to see the result.

two lines.

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

rafe had just gotten home from work; you'd been hyping yourself up the entire day, tonight, you'd tell him, and no matter how he was going to react, you'd be alright. you heard the shower running in the bathroom, a small smile playing on your lips as you thought about what your future would be like. what it'd be like to build a family with rafe.

his phone pinged on his nightstand, and without even thinking, you took it, your blood turning cold when you saw the notification he had received.

emma ♡ i miss you, baby! come home soon. ♡

at that moment, the bathroom door opened, and you turned to look at him with your jaw clenched, holding up his phone, rafe looking back at you with an expression that basically screamed 'oh shit.'

i can't stop i can't get enough of you, yeah i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

"you're engaged?!" you screamed, "you're fucking engaged and you didn't think to tell me?! we've been together for a year!"

"it's not like that!" rafe groaned, "just listen, it's an arrangement that my dad's pushing onto me, i don't want it, baby! i wanna be with you!"

you scoffed and shook your head, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag, "you've gotta be out of your mind if i'm gonna be some side piece to a married man, rafe. i'm not a fucking homewrecker!"

"i'll just tell them i won't do it! come on, baby, please." rafe took hold of your wrist to stop you from packing, "you're the person i love, you're the person i wanna be with."

can't get enough of you

you tried swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat before you spoke, "have you slept with her?"

rafe didn't have to say anything, the look of guilt on his face telling enough.

"have you slept with her while we were together?"

rafe looked away, taking a deep breath, bile rising in your throat as you thought about him touching her, only to touch you as if nothing had happened.

can't get enough of you

you rushed out of the apartment building with rafe hot on your trail, following you. "come on, let's just talk about this! we can fix this!"

"there's nothing to be fixed, rafe! go back to your fucking fiancée!" you shouted back, pulling open the door to a taxi, rafe watching as you got in.

you were gone.

can't get enough of you

you looked down at your stomach. how was it that in just one hour, the future you'd been planning and dreaming about with the man you loved and the child you were carrying was crushed?

can't get enough of you...

you finished the song, feeling a tear trail down your cheek, finally opening your eyes when you heard the crowd starting to applaud, a weak smile on your painted lips until you spotted something from the corner of your eye.

a familiar figure sneaking out of the bar.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @purpleplumpudding @rafesheaven @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @littlelamy @tinythebunni

[musingsofheaven]

BLESS THIS MESS

summary: cruel intentions inspired but make it stanford, tennis and country clubs. pretty lies, perfect masks, and a bet between the two of them that’s will lead into something more deeper.

pairings: art donaldson!sebastian valmont/lucien belmont x reader!kathryn/caroline merteuil.

warnings: 4.6k words. mature themes. non-biological step-siblings. emotional manipulation. power imbalance. voyeurism. recorded sexual acts. sexual self-indulgence. toxic relationship dynamics. d/s undertones. morally gray behavior.

note: this one’s been living in my head rent-free ever since i rewatched the movie. i swear i’m not like them (promise), but i love writing about fucked-up people. so i might keep this going. (if people like it) should i make a specific tag for it? (and reposted… the last one is shadowbanned.)

Introducing… Reader!Kathryn/Caroline Merteuil. You’re the sweetest girl at Stanford. Everyone says so. Because how could they not say that? You just have that face that people… People feel comfortable being with, the one people trust. That soft, approachable, pretty, not intimidating… God no! You don’t even have a resting bitch face, and not too sexy, just right. Your lips? Always glossed but not over-lined and not messy. Never messy. Your lashes curled, and you even have extensions, but not the kind that will cover your beautiful eyes. You have a smile on your whole face like you mean it. You practiced smiling perfectly so that people don’t know it’s fake. You smile and pretend you don’t know what they want from you.

You RSVP early, you make them feel special because, aw, you remembered! You send handwritten notes using an expensive pen and it shows how expensive it is. You bake when you’re stressed, of course, you know how to bake. Your mother made you take lessons for it to cure your boredom because she couldn’t give you attention. Making the actual shit from scratch and leaving extras in the kitchen like some fairy. You show up to worship on Sundays with a notebook in your designer bag and you make sure that your hair is fixed enough to show your face like you’re ready to listen, to repent, to believe.

You wear dresses that hug your curves and touch past your thighs. It looks sweet, but not slutty, never slutty… unless it’s for parties. But not much that your soul will show. You love that beige heels. Don’t start with pink nails… always your color. Not a single hair tie on your wrist, that looks cheap. You are not cheap. When you hug people, you mean it. Or do you? Maybe you are rolling your eyes behind their back when you hug them. When you speak, you’re careful. You don’t want the wrong people to hear you talking shit, right? You never drink too much. You don’t black out drunk like other girls. Pretty girls know how to handle their liquor, you always say. Never talk too loud. The whole world doesn’t need to hear your voice. Never post anything that could get you called out, or canceled. Your digital footprint is so squeaky clean, that it makes your stalkers angry when they can’t find anything about you.

You are, to put it simply, perfect.

And the thing about being perfect is? Everyone wants a piece of you.

They want to be you.

Or they want to be inside you.

Either works.

It’s not old news to you when you overheard that line because it happened more than once, blurt out like a joke but meant like a prayer.

“Dude, I’d sell a kidney to fuck her.”

“I wanna be her or be in her. I don’t even care which. Is that too lesbian to say?”

“She’s, like… wife material. Just look at her. But she’s also…? Kind of terrifying.”

You always play dumb. You love to make people think you’re some dumb girl. You just tilt your head. Blink at the words you are hearing. You give a sweet smile like you don’t know what they’re talking about. That’s part of it. That’s what makes it work because you act clueless.

You are the definition of classy. Elegant. Polished. That’s what they call you. The kind of girl their moms would trust because of how you present yourself and how your reputation reflects and their daughters side-eye in secret because your name has been brought up to compare to them when they do shit and their mother found out. They think you run your sorority because you're kind, you’re a leader, and you’re inspirational. Well…

They think your power comes from being likable. That’s adorable. So fucking cute.

It’s hidden behind the curtains how you move every piece like a chess. They don’t see the way how you play girls off each other while you hand them the tissues because they teared up. You knew they would cry because you made sure to hit the right spots. The way you just play dumb and act you like don’t see how those stupid frat boys humiliate themselves just to talk, sit, or get a piece of you. You will hear those girls change their tone when they asked how you do it, meaning, how you stay so nice, so cool, so together, and you just bat your lashes and smile like you are saying that it’s a secret, like it’s luck, like you didn’t a personal notes, journal, or board to plan every goddamn inch of it. Maybe people will tell you to have OCD when they discover how obsessed you are with details when you plan something.

Because being the perfect girl? That’s not luck.

It’s precision. It’s strategy. It’s control.

But hey, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Like they don’t know that you blackmailed three girls off your rush list this rush season alone. It didn’t cause any scandal, not really. It didn’t happen accidentally. You pulled the trigger as if you already knew the weight of consequences, you don’t have consequences, only them because they fucked you up.

The first girl? She just happened to hook up with one of your girls' boyfriends. What a home wrecker. She’s sloppy, too sloppy. She left with hickeys and even got caught on someone’s finsta at 3AM in his hoodie, sneaking out of the house in Rowan Neighbourhood. Such a reckless girl. What's worse is you don’t enjoy it much because you don’t have to dig for that one. You just watched your sister cry in the bathroom stall and thought, what a shame that bitch did that to your girl. She would’ve looked cute in your color if she got accepted. But the betrayal? Off brand. You don’t need another stress. So you crossed her off the list with a note beside her name saying she’s a home wrecker bitch. Sent her that cute letter of yours saying that she’s “not the right fit.” Before you sent your sister’s cheating ex-boyfriend a screen recording of her DMing one of the frat pledges two nights later. You have to put a little extra touch.

Oh don’t get started with the second girl. It’s humiliating when you find out. She had an academic record from high school that looked clean, too good to be true. Your guts just told you something is wrong so you ran it through the software your ex-boyfriend built you to find dirt about someone. Cheating scandal. What in the hell? Almost expelled for buying an exam answer key from a user from Reddit. As usual, covered up. By who? Her parents. Use a donation move. Money is power. But you smiled when you found it. Nothing screams “walking scandal” like an academic shady record before you even step into college. Of course, you could be a little bit dramatic. You printed out the report you found and put it in her rush envelope with a sticky note, a pink one, saying, “Maybe next year.” You don’t want girls who cheat in your circle anyway.

Ah. The last one. Well, this is kind of funny and petty. She clumsily spilled a full glass of red wine on your white silk Valentino at a welcome dinner for the rush. You noticed the nervous hands. Shaking apology. Hm. You didn’t yell even yell, didn’t scream at her face even if you wanted to, didn’t even flinch. Just smiled with teeth… nodding before you said, “Don’t worry about it.” Then her name was gone off the list the moment the dinner was over. That dress was custom-made only for you. She was clumsy. It will be funny if it’s not on a special day or when you won’t get humiliated. It’s not that deep, you know that, but deep enough to be memorable, enough to remember the stains on your dress. People don’t like humiliation especially when you have an image in that place. If you let one girl get away with embarrassing you in public by just acknowledging and accepting her awful apology, the rest will start to think they can too. You can’t have that. Never.

You didn’t lie. Well, not that they can catch your lie, right? You didn’t threaten. Not in a way they can pick up that it’s a threat you are saying. You didn’t even raise your voice.

You just let them spiral on their own.

Stanford runs on the image. Reputation. Control. You don’t want to be a social suicide. Ew. You don’t just maintain yours, you crochet it little by little like a kid needs a hobby to focus on. Your hands are clean, it’s like you wear expensive princess gloves just not to let them get dirty. Your hands? They never touch anything directly. Everything goes through someone else because they are desperate to do your favors. You let everyone else dirty theirs trying to reach you.

Because you’re the girl everyone wants to be.

Or be inside.

Or both.

And they will never know how ugly it gets underneath.

Except him.

And when something calls for a messier touch?

You have Art.

Your stepbrother, unfortunately. Stanford’s favorite golden boy. Tennis prodigy. He’s good to the point you will wish he would shove his racket inside you and rearrange your guts. Even he walks in soft clothes, all sweat and baby curls, and the kind of smile that every grandmother loves? Expect that people are giving him the fuck me eyes. But he’s yours. Not officially, not publicly. He’s yours in all the ways that count. He knows that too.

He follows you. Lapdog is the word you will describe him. Too eager to please you. Too desperate. You use that in your favor. You send him out like a dog in heat. He fucks who you tell him to fuck. Mostly the girls from your list. Sometimes the ones you hate. And he records them. What a sick fuck, people will say if they know it.

Not for blackmail. (Okay, sometimes for blackmail.)

You give him the name and a smile. Sometimes it’s just a text saying, “Kappa legacy. Show me if she moans loud enough compared to when she's talking shit about me.”

What’s good about him is he does. He always does.

The first time he sent you the video of the girl you asked him to ruin, the video was shaky, awful quality, and loud. You watched it once. Just once. That’s it. But you saved it.

Now there’s a folder named, “Summer files.” Lame folder name but with a history behind it. One summer when the first time he… yeah. But it’s password-protected. Only you and him have access.

You know that sometimes he fuck around in and out of campus not just for the blackmail anymore, just because. But mostly for you. For your eyes. For your enjoyment. Because he knows what it does to you. He finds it hot, and he gets off by it. Just because you like seeing it.

He’s aware you watch them at night. Your hand under your panties. Legs spread in your sheets, head thrown back while you’re flicking your pretty fingers with pink-colored nails over your clit as he fucks some girl in the recording with a camera angled just right. Sometimes, he looks straight into his phone when he’s inside them. It’s like he’s pretending it’s you. Like he’s thinking about you when he groans, low and pretty, when he holds back a whimper. His hand gripping their hip while they whine like they’re the lucky ones. Oh, they’re not. You enjoy watching those girls fall apart over someone you can control with your fingers around his throat and your voice in his ear.

But it’s not about them. It never is. And will never be.

You exactly get it. So much. You want the girls fucked up by him in a deeply perverted, obsessive, deranged way. Like the videos aren’t about the girls, not really. It’s more like the girls are just props for him to use while he lets her watch the position she wants to be in. Lucky them. And him? You want him sweaty and wrecked and yours, even when he’s inside someone else’s cunt.

She doesn’t cum despite him fucking other girls—she gets off on it. It’s fucked up way to get yourself to work. You can’t just fight your morals when you are watching your screen when he’s inside someone else, working her open, making her cry, and none of it means anything. Because it’s not about the girls. The girls are just there so she can watch him. Just wet holes, nothing more than meat to show off what you trained him to do. The way he fucks now? The way he groans? Chokes? Slams into them just right? That’s not natural. That’s how you like to be fucked by him. He’s just practicing it through other girls because you don’t let him do it in you.

That’s your voice in his head, your grip still ghosting his throat. He can still hear your words when he manages to get a little taste of you. He learned all that from you. And now he performs it like a dream, putting on a show for the only person who matters. You. It’s not arousing because he’s with someone else, it’s arousing because he’s still yours while doing it.

Every thrust is proof. Every moan is your reward. He could be inside a thousand different girls, and it wouldn’t matter, not as long as you’re the one watching. That’s what makes you come and shake until your thighs hurt. That’s what makes you pant and twitch and grind your slick fingers between your legs, gliding it between your slit while his voice cracks in the dark of your room while you are listening to him through the tapes he sent you. He’s fucking them, sure. But he’s doing it for you.

The fun part is when you watch them with him too, sometimes. Not always. In your room. On your laptop. He’s always fidgety when he’s watching it beside you like he’s anxious. His leg bounces like he’s gonna lose his mind because you are too close.

It’s quiet. The only thing you can hear is the sounds from your laptop. No touching. He’s so desperate to do it though. No talking. He doesn’t need it. Just you, legs crossed, eyes on the screen, biting your thumb like you’re bored. Some poor girl cries his name into the sheets like it’s a prayer while he’s thrusting deep inside her and pushing the girl’s head on the pillow. Mean.

You think he likes that? You think he likes being watched by you. No… scratch that, you know he does.

After all, he’s the only one who sees how dirty it all gets. How unhinged you can be.

You make the rules. He breaks them. For you. Always for you.

You tell yourself it’s about the power. The control. The game. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. It’s about him. It’s always been about him. The way his back flexes when he fucks. You can see the muscles and you just want to scratch that back. The way he grips their hips like he’s afraid they’ll float away. It made you think how he will hold your hips. Will he make it bruised so you will remember it? Will he hold it tight as he slams his cock deep into you so you won’t move around and he can fuck you the way he likes? The sweat on his neck, you want to lick that. The flush on his chest. The way his jaw clenches and his voice catches when he’s close. You know when he’s really close, when he’s orgasming for real. No fake grunts, not performance, but real, guttural, cracked-open moans that only you know how to read. You don’t even need sound anymore. You can see it all in his face.

You’ve watched the tapes. All of them. You don’t miss a video. It’s like when he put another video in the shared folder? You will quickly get notified. You have favorites that you watch more than once. (One of your favorite is when he fuck one girl from your sorority and he have the nerve to fuck her in your sheet) Some so many times you’ve memorized the order of his thrusts. And it’s not to study them. Not anymore. You study him. You know every vein on his cock, it’s disgusting the way you zoom it when you are watching the video. You know every freckle on his shoulders, every twitch of his fingers when he’s holding back. Every time he glances into the lens, you know exactly who he’s thinking about. It’s not her. It’s you.

He doesn’t touch the girls the way he touches you. They don’t get that treatment from him. But you do. You can tell when he’s faking it. When he’s fucking just because he’s trying to finish what she said to him, hips moving just enough to pass, eyes flat, mind somewhere else. The way he looks more on the camera. And you know exactly where that somewhere else is because that’s when you’ve been texting him. (He always message you when he’s going to start recording in his phone. You both don’t video call, no. He just records on his phone while you send them) During. Sometimes just one word at a time: slower. say her name. touch her throat. good boy. No emojis. No punctuation. You know he can see the messages in his notifications even though the sounds are silent. Just on vibrate. And he does it. Of course he does. Because he knows you’re watching.

When he nods, just barely, just enough to let you know he got the message although you don’t see it. You squeeze your thighs together and whimper without sound because you can only imagine what’s he’s doing with the girl. After all, he will only show the tapes after he fucked them.

The girls don’t matter. They never did. Why would they even matter to you? They’re faceless, replaceable , nothing but background noise to frame the real subject. He’s the center. The reason. Your brother. Your masterpiece.

Sometimes you come before he does when both of you watches it together. Bite the inside of your wrist just to stay quiet, panting into your sheets while he’s still pounding into someone else in the background of your laptop like it means something. And still, you keep watching. You like it too much. You don’t look away. You can’t. Just. Can’t. You don’t come for her. You don’t even come for you. You come for him. For the way his rhythm falls apart when he’s close. For the way he bites his lip like he’s trying to hold your name back. For the fantasy you’ve fed yourself so many times it feels like truth—that he’s not really fucking her at all. He’s fucking you, just through someone else’s body, just until you finally let him have the real thing.

You know he wants it. He yearns of it. Its’s too obvious anyway. You see it in how eager he is to please. To perform. Sometimes you just want to tease him about starting an OF because he basically has the talent for it. To be good for you. He thinks you’re the camera. But no. You’re the mirror. He’s always been looking into you.

And god, you love it. You love being the reason. The center of him being crazy. The god behind the curtain, legs sticky, heart steady, watching your perfect boy ruin someone else just to make you feel something. You’re not the audience. You’re the director. The producer. The pervert in the front row, getting off behind the curtain like it’s a private showing just for you. And you. do get off every time.

And the worst part? You don’t even feel guilty.

You feel alive.

And sometimes, only sometimes, you reward him.

Like the night he got that footage of the girl you couldn’t stand. You loved that one. He did a good job. She ended up whining and babbling through her orgasm like a dumb little puppy in his tape. You let him stay over that night. Pulled him into your bed. You didn’t say thank you, didn’t kiss him. You just tugged his shorts down and stroked his dick off while still watching the screen with you.

It’s filthy. Your hand is slick with his pre cum. So wet like a girl. Your eyes never leave the video. The girl crying. Him pounding her cunt from the back. You? Silent while rewarding him for a job well done.

You didn’t even look at his face until he came. You just run and circled your thumb on the slit of his tip while squeezing his cock. And him? He bit your neck a little too hard afterward. He even left a hickey, but you let him. He earned it.

He thinks he’s the corrupted one.

Thinks he’s the problem.

Thinks he’s dark for wanting you to see all of it. For wanting you to see him.

But that’s the joke.

He was already fucked before you. He’s already messed up. You know it. He knows it. You just made him honest about it. You made him embrace it around you. Taught him how to weaponize it. How to use it to his advantage. Put a mirror to his want and made him stare until he broke skin. It’s not sex. Not really. Just control. Yours. Always.

And maybe that’s why he comes to you that night like he’s got something to offer. (He always has, sometimes you just made hints feel he doesn’t) Like he’s got chips to play with when he’s already flat on the floor, bleeding out beneath your heel like a bunny that has been abandoned by his owner.

He leans in, smelling like cigarette smoke and some girl’s perfume he never even touched. Voice low like a secret, cigarette hanging loose between his fingers like a hedge in a fucking movie, and says, “About that little wager of yours?”

There’s that twitch in your smile. The one you trained to look polite. Your eyes twinkled. Curiosity sparkling. But you know. You fucking know, he’s already lost. He just doesn’t know it yet. He never does. And that’s the part that turns you on the most. Both of you like to play.

“Count me in,” he adds, with that cocky smirk that means he thinks he’s a game changer in this. Thinks he’s playing the game like you didn’t design the fucking whole thing, put the puzzles together, and made it possible to happen.

You don’t answer right away. You just hum while you trace the neck of your wineglass in a slow and lazy motion. You tilt your head like you’re thinking of continuing it or not. He stares. He always stares. You were made to be looked at.

“What are the terms?” he finally asks, and god, even his voice sounds fucked. Like it’s straining to stay casual. Like he’s grounding himself. Like it’s already halfway into a whimper. He always seems trying to hold back a moan when he’s around you is he not?

“If I win…” you start, and then you leave it. Just hang it in the air like a mystery. Heavy. Sticky. Sweet. Enough to tease him and you can already see it on his expression. The way his mouth parts a little and nods.

Then you finish it, “Then that hot little car of yours is mine.” Yeah, you know he loves it so much because it comes from his father.

He goes still, thinking, thinking, and thinking while jaw twitching, tongue pushing against his inside cheek like he’s trying to process it. Tries to act cool. Fails. You see it all, the flicker in his eyes, the pulse in his neck. You can see him getting worked up. Angry? Irritated.

“And if I win?” he manages, voices rough and deep.

You lean in like you’re gonna kiss him. Face inches close to him. But you don’t. You just stay close to him. You just breathe across his cheek and lean more so you can whisper in his ear, “I’ll give you what you’ve been obsessing about ever since our parents got married.”

And that? That’s the piece of chess you don’t say with a smirk. You say it flat. Mean. Nonchalant. Almost mocking. Like truth.

He stiffens, and you swear you can feel the temperature shift. Maybe he’s just turning you on.

“Be more specific,” he says, but it sounds like begging. He always begs.

You laugh. “In English…”

“I’ll fuck your brains out,” you smirk at him, almost testing him if he will quickly agree. He always does. Always. You feel like you wouldn’t be persuading him that much.

Silence. But not the empty kind. The kind that crackles. The kind that begs.

He doesn’t look at you. Not directly. Just somewhere near your mouth. “What makes you think I’d go for that bet?”

You shrug like it’s boring. Like it’s easy. He always agrees to the bet. Especially that price? She knows how badly he wants to fuck her in her pussy, deep, and her clenching him around his cock. She knows he dreamt of it.

“That’s a 1956 Jaguar roadster.” He huffs a laugh, but it sounds hollow. Like he’s already halfway to yes.

You tilt your head and say it. “Because I’m the only person you can’t have, and it kills you.”

That gets him. Gets him good. You watch it happen, his throat working around nothing, his fingers twitching, the way his knees shift like he wants to crawl under the table and beg. He masks it with a defensive “No way.”

But you lean back. Spread your legs just slightly beneath the table like it’s a reflex. Like you want him to look. Like you want him to lose. You even lift your skirt a little so he can see enough of your see-through panties that are hugging your cunt, which made your clit can’t breathe.

“You can put it anywhere.”

And that’s the fucking break. That’s when he snaps.

His mouth parts, eyes going blown black, and he breathes the words out like a fucking prayer.

“You got yourself a bet, baby.”

And just like that, you win again.

You don’t feel guilty. Not when you’re the one he wants. Not when every girl he touches is just a poor man’s version of you, so easy, so grateful, so forgettable. You don’t feel guilty because he’s the one sending you videos at 2 a.m., saying her name with your face in his head. Because he comes back to you every time, he always does even when he’s pretending not to. Even when he’s fucking someone else, he’s thinking of you.

You don’t feel guilty because you’re not the sidepiece, you’re the goddamn center of him. And you know it. You count on it. Let them call it twisted. Let them say it’s cruel. You don’t care. You’ve never cared. Because what you have is bigger than guilt, bigger than shame, it’s power, and it’s permanent. He’ll never shake you. Not when every orgasm is a confession. Not when every breakdown has your name buried in it. You don’t feel guilty. You just get horny and turned on.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

My other Nate fics. If you have the time.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash Part 2 : 9 Lives Part 3 : Blessed Part 4 : Shards Bonus Chapter : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, making him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.

[diettwistup]

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 5.1K

NOTES: hiiii!!! hope y’all enjoy this next chapter cuz it’s not my fave thing ever LOL. was also too lazy to proofread so sorry if there's errors. i’m also gonna be going on vacation with no internet for a little over a week so next update will be after that! thanks for reading luv u 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO and ONE

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE TROUBLE

CHALLENGERS TOURNAMENT, NEW ROCHELLE - 2019, 1:00 PM

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I gripped my dress as Tashi got up and cursed before walking off, disappointed with Art’s performance. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going.” I shot and grabbed her wrist, eyeing her up as I took my sunglasses off. 

Shaking my grasp off of her, she bent down and spoke dangerously close to my face. 

“If he’s not gonna play tennis, then I don’t wanna see shit.” She seethed and walked off, brushing off her dress with each stride. 

As I watched her go, I could feel a pair of eyes on me. Darting my attention back to the match, Art was already looking my way. 

Shooting him a sad expression, I put my sunglasses back on, huffed, and sat back in my seat. 

All he did was shake his head and rub the sweat off his face while Patrick smirked proudly. 

He sure seems to love this. 

Sighing, I raised one hand to my mouth to bite my nails, the nerves of the match taking over my entire being. 

At the next serve, I carefully watched the strategic movements behind the boy’s every motion. They have always been outstanding players, and I furrowed my brows as I thought back to the first time I saw them play against each other. 

The stupidity of Tashi and I, dumb enough to pin two best friends against each other. We should have never stepped foot in that godforsaken hotel room. 

Shaking my head, I closed my eyes. The crowd's roar echoed around me as I thought back to the night that started it all. 

The night that ruined it all. 

THE BOY’S HOTEL- 2006, 12:00 AM

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” I exclaimed to Tashi as we made our way to the boy's hotel room. “Why the fuck would you let them come down when you knew I was there?” I shot at her as I smacked her arm. 

Tashi smacked me right back, making me let out a hiss and shoot a cold glare at her. 

“I don’t know why you're acting like you don’t have a game. You’re the best at playing hard to get.” Tashi responded and shrugged as if it was as simple as adding two plus two. 

“You’re a bitch.” I muttered and rolled my eyes as the hotel came into view. “What do you even plan on doing with these two.” I raised my brow at her and studied her expression to gauge what was going through her mind. 

“What we usually do,” she responded, smiling at me. Hypnotize them with our charm and have a good time, of course,” She said proudly as if this was second nature for us. 

I won’t say that Tash and I haven’t had our fair share of fun with boys, but something like this, with two boys who knew their way around the game themselves, was certainly daunting. 

“Fine, but you should have heard how they talked about us at your match. It was disgusting.” I pretended to gag and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Perfect, we already have them locked in then.” She nudged my arm before leading the way to the room.

Rolling my eyes, I smacked her again before following behind her.

On the way to the room, I got lost in my thoughts. How did we get ourselves into such a situation? I hope Tashi doesn’t expect us to have a foursome of any sort because I don’t have the patience to deal with a whole ordeal like that. 

Approaching the door, Tashi stopped to let me walk ahead of her. 

“Perfect, Mila, you can see your ass poking out of your shorts.” She smirked and gently patted it until I swatted at her hand with a laugh. 

“Fuck off, let’s go,” I scolded, waiting for her to catch up, as she knew which room to go to. 

Once we reached the door, Tashi knocked and softly bit her lip. Scuffling was immediately heard behind the door, signifying that the boys were startled by our appearance. 

I moved to press my ear to the door with a slight smirk which Tashi returned as she did the same. 

“They’re crazy…” I whispered to Tashi, to which she responded with a nod and a soft hum. 

When we removed our ears from the door, it swung open so quickly I couldn’t make out the motion. 

The boys stood at the door, looking extremely disheveled. Patrick wore boxers and an unbuttoned linen shirt that looked like it had been shoved in his tennis bag and forgotten. Also wearing boxers, Art wore a beater t-shirt that looked like it had never been in the wash and dryer a day in his life. Both of their hair was ruffled and unkempt, making it look like they had just gotten out of bed. 

Raising an eyebrow, I was the first to speak. “What, did you two just get done fucking?” I questioned as I looked between them and placed my hands on my hips. 

Patrick just burst out into laughter while Art spoke up. 

“No…fuck no…” He muttered with a laugh as he patted Patrick on the back. 

Drunk as sailors. 

I nodded at this before resting my eyes and glancing at Tashi, who smiled fondly at the two, but I knew she was plotting. 

“So, hi,” Tashi spoke calmly with a smile that immediately brought the boys back to Earth as they moved aside to let us in the room. 

I had to stop myself from covering my nose as we entered the room. 

Reeks of beer and cigarettes…typical boys.

Two beds pushed together were messily made. Beer cans, cigarette buds, and clothes were everywhere, though it looked like someone had tried to tidy up a bit. 

That explains all the noise. 

Patrick mindlessly spoke to Tashi as I continued to scan the room, not noticing that Art was eyeing me up. Turning my head, I caught his stare, which didn’t make him falter. He only continued to stare before coming up to me and handing me a beer. 

“Didn’t know you were gonna come.” He spoke as he looked down at me through lidded eyes. Tipsy eyes. And, of course, he had a smirk, but it spoke I’m glad you came, really. 

I continued to study his expression as I let my guard down a pinch. I shrugged nonchalantly as I took a long swig of the beer, knowing I would need it to get through the night. 

“Had nothing else to do. Figured why not.” I spoke calmly as I let my eyes rake over his entire figure, drinking up his messy look which he really really pulled off. Never would I ever admit that for him to hear. 

Or me. 

“Well, glad you’re here.” Art said as he took the beer can from my lips and sipped it while he stared into my eyes, flickering to my lips for a moment.

I kept my eyes trained on his as I refused to back down in this staredown, showing that I couldn’t be swayed that quickly just because he was extremely attractive. 

“You two, come sit,” Patrick spoke up from the ground by the bed where he sat with Tashi. 

Nodding at this, I waited for Art to take his eyes off mine before I made any movement to sit. After a few seconds, he nodded and placed a hand on my lower back to walk me to where everyone was sitting. 

I shivered slightly at this as I softly bit my bottom lip, hiding this motion from him, but I knew Tashi saw it by her smug little smile that said I told you so. 

We haven’t even done anything, and I suddenly feel like I’m in the trenches. 

The next couple minutes were used to discuss how Patrick and Art met each other and how Patrick, predictable enough, taught Art how to masturbate, all while we all took sips from the beer can that Art had given me when we first got here. 

“Y’all are weird as fuck.” I snorted, a bit tipsy, wiping my mouth from my last gulp as I looked between the two boys who had red cheeks from a mix of alcohol and embarrassment, and can’t forget, two big smirks. 

“No, Mila. I think it's a cute story.” Tashi nodded with a smile in an attempt to reassure the boys jokingly—a tactic she used to fully reel them in. 

I rolled my eyes at this and fake glared at Tashi. “Only if you’re fucked in the head!” I laughed again while the rest of them laughed with me. 

“Don’t tell me you two haven’t done anything weird like that,” Patrick said, making me whip my head to him before glancing back at Tashi.

“Yeah, you two have known each other since the womb. There’s no way you haven’t done nothing.” Art added and took a long swig of the beer can before passing it to Patrick, eyes trained on me for longer than I would have liked. 

I shook my head with a small laugh before looking back to Tashi, who gave me an eyebrow in return, signaling something.

You ready?

…

I’m ready.

We nodded at each other before standing up and looking down at the boys. 

“You guys aren’t leaving-“ Patrick started but stopped when he saw the two of us moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

My eyes locked with both of them briefly as I flashed the most innocent smile I could muster. 

Here we go. 

“Patrick, come sit by me…” Tashi spoke and patted the space to her left. 

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He sprung up so fast he spilled the beer can everywhere on the carpet, but he couldn’t give a fuck. 

As he sat down next to Tashi, my eyes locked onto Art’s. I did not need any words to tell him to sit by me. 

He took the hint immediately, got up almost as fast as his best friend, and sat beside me, thigh already touching mine.

I turned to face him with lidded eyes and a small smile. I could hear his breath hitch as Adam’s apple bobbed, signifying that he took a small gulp. I softened my eyes to let him know it was okay to relax and that he could be comfortable around me. 

Even though Tashi wanted to play with these boys like putty, I felt a little different about the situation. 

As I tilted my head at Art slowly, I saw his face contort into a grin that radiated his comfort and need. 

Leaning in slightly, I placed my hand on Art’s chest, noting how firm it felt through his thin shirt. Art mirrored my leaning in but instead placed a hand on my thigh. As I neared his lips, I teasingly pulled away as I felt Tashi pat my back. I smirked slightly at this and turned around as my lips met hers instead of Art’s.

It was an innocent kiss, a tactic to get these boys right where we wanted them. This action certainly answered their questions about us, and I hope it was worthwhile.

Once again, I could feel Art’s eyes piercing the back of my head, so I moved my hair off my shoulder and tapped the side of my neck so he would know what to do. 

Almost immediately, his lips were latched onto my neck. I wondered for a moment if he was a vampire because of the way he was sucking on my neck. I figured he was searching for a blood vessel. Poor baby must have been deprived of any female touch, but the way his lips sucked profusely on my pulse point, I could tell this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Tashi and I pulled away from our innocent kiss and shot each other small smirks when we noticed that Patrick and Art were too lost in our necks to give a damn. 

I tapped Art’s thigh so he would know to stop, which he reluctantly did. His lips were a bit swollen, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. Biting my lip, I reached up and brushed a finger across his bottom lip. As I did this, Art grabbed my hand and studied it before gently kissing my finger where my nail had broken. My eyes widened at this as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest. 

Keep. your. composure. 

Shaking out of my daze at his action, I smiled softly once again and leaned in slowly to connect our lips, hands on the back of his neck, threatening to tangle in his blonde curls.

Pillows. His lips feel like pillows.

The kiss was soft until his hand moved from my thigh to my waist. He pushed forward a bit until my back fully hit Tashi and tried to part my lips by biting my bottom one, but I pulled away before he could get that far. 

Too easy.

Licking my lips to taste him, I turned back to Tashi, who placed her hand on my cheek to kiss me lightly again. As her lips melded with mine, I gingerly placed a hand on the base of Art’s jaw and slowly pulled him towards Tashi and me’s kiss. Immediately, I could feel Art’s lips meld with Tashi's, mine, and then Patrick’s, knowing that Tashi had done the same with him. 

Now, the four of us were all kissing, making me slightly clench my thighs. Only slightly. 

After about five seconds, I felt Tashi tap my back to signal me to pull away slowly. 

As we both pulled away, Art and Patrick were full-on making out, not noticing that the two of us had abandoned the kiss. I glanced at Tashi with a smirk as she watched them in satisfaction. 

It took everything in me not to giggle as I watched the two continue to eat each other's faces fervently. 

Specifically Art.

After a beat, Tashi spoke up. 

“Okay.” She said, which made the boys freeze and pull away from each other. 

Immediately, they both looked at us in shock. 

Got ‘em. 

I tilted my head at Art as I gently reached my hand out to trace shapes on his thigh while he looked down at me like I had three heads. 

“That was cute…” I mouthed to him with a soft smile as he continued to eye me up in shock mixed with a bit of awe. 

“Well, we should get going before our parents freak out and wonder where we are,” Tashi says. I sit up as I follow suit, cutting any tension in the room.

Standing up from the bed, I chuckled to myself as I brushed off my clothes and fixed my hair. “It’s been fun,” I said, aiming my comment at Art. Thank you for having us,” I finished with a small, innocent smile as Tashi and I left. 

“Wait!” Patrick said which stopped us in our tracks. 

Turning around, Tashi and I shared matching grins that we quickly hid when we faced the boys. 

Art spoke up next as he looked right at me. “What about your numbers?” He asked as he stared at me like a puppy deprived of dinner. 

I crossed my arms and shrugged. “If you win tomorrow, I’ll give you my number,” I said plainly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

“And I’ll give you my number if you win tomorrow,” Tashi said to Patrick just as plainly as I did. 

Both boys shot each other smirks before nodding in agreement. 

Tashi and I said our goodbyes before leaving the hotel room. When we were out of earshot, we both started laughing. 

“We have them wrapped around our pretty little fingers!” Tashi exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder. 

I laughed at this and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I really hope Art wins,” I said in a dreamy tone of voice as I thought back to his face, lips, chest, everything, really. 

Tashi shook me back and forth with a smile as she exclaimed, “I’m just ready to watch some good  fucking tennis!” She laughed, knowing that the two boys were really going to battle it out with this new prize put into motion. 

STANFORD UNIVERSITY - 2007 5:00 PM

As I slowly trudged from the tennis court to the dining hall, I felt my arms giving out. 

“Fuck this damn bag,” I whined and went to a nearby bench to take a breather and bask in the California sun. 

Today’s practice was by far the worst of the semester. I worked with my coach on my serve to prepare for my upcoming match, where I would face an opponent ranked decently high in the state. 

Closing my eyes and throwing my head back to catch the rays of the warm sun, I let out a groan. I probably looked like a corpse to every passerby, but just like Tashi, they knew me, so hopefully, they would just smile and wave. 

“Rough practice?” An extremely familiar and captivating voice snapped me back to reality. 

Opening my eyes, I was met with my favorite pair of light blue eyes—something he would never know. Of course, a smirk adorned his features, and his blonde curls were tucked into a backward red cap, most certainly saying “Stanford” on the flip side. 

“Art…” I spoke almost breathlessly as I sat up, brushed a piece of hair out of my face, and used my other hand to block the sun that Art’s head almost blocked. 

“Hey, can I sit?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, and nodded to where my bag was on the bench. 

Quickly moving it to sit in front of my feet, I patted the empty seat next to me. “Sure.” I smiled at him and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. 

Over the summer, I would never allow myself to be so forward with Art Donaldson. I couldn’t speak for my present self, though. Since Patrick won the match, he and Tashi started dating after he scored her number. I, of course, was too upset to act like I didn’t give a damn about not being able to give Art my number. Tashi insisted that to keep their passion and drive for tennis alive, I keep up my end of the deal and don’t give Art my number. Hesitantly, I agreed as I knew how easily a stimulus like that can create great results. Since the match, Art and I have never spoken except for the occasional hello when passing by each other on the tennis court or dining hall. This moment was the first time I could speak with him since everything, and since I may have developed a slight…crush. 

“So,” He started and turned his body on the bench to face me fully. “How have you been?” He tilted his head and tapped the back of the bench while studying my face. 

Inhaling a sharp breath, I turned my body to face him fully, bringing one leg up and letting the other drape off the side of the bench. 

“Do you want an honest answer?” I chuckled softly as I moved my hands to remove my hair from its braids. 

In turn, Art laughed gently while smirking at me. His stare narrowed as he studied my face, acting like I was an old friend he had known for years. 

“Well, if the honest answer is terrible and cruel, then I’m not so sure.” He responded and immediately matched my energy. 

Damn you, Donaldson. 

“Hey.” I softly laughed as I moved my dangling leg to kick his gently while I finished taking my hair out. 

I wondered for a beat how I wanted to summarize months of memories, feelings, and experiences into one sentence, and this made me sigh. 

“It’s been rough. Majoring in biology and the grueling tennis schedule makes me wanna rip my hair out.” I spoke in a low tone as I ironically and subconsciously began to play with a strand of my hair. 

“I feel smothered.” I finished and silently cursed myself for acting so vulnerable. 

That was three sentences, Milan. Not one. 

As I stared at Art almost helplessly, his eyes softened. 

“I feel the same way, trust me.” He chuckled softly before removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. “It really sucks, but it’s gonna be worth it,” He ended his thought before putting his hat back on. 

“Fuck, and I thought I was the only one. Quite naive of me.” I laughed before looking back up at the sun. “It’s whatever, though. You’re right, and everything will come into place and be worth it.” I continued as I looked anywhere but at Art’s piercing stare. 

Silence. He didn’t respond. He didn’t laugh. He did nothing except stare. Stare in a heavy silence that brought me back to the night in that damn hotel room. 

After a few beats, I returned to my senses, slowly stood up from the bench, and brushed my skirt off. 

“Well, I didn’t mean to stay here for long, so I’m gonna head off.” I went to pick up my bag as I spoke disappointedly. 

I couldn’t allow myself to fall into the trenches. I needed to focus on my studies and tennis. Hard work makes everything worthwhile, and a boy isn’t part of that everything right now.

“Wait, Milan,” Art spoke up and grabbed my wrist, his grip as firm as it would be if he held his racket. 

This made me freeze in my tracks. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

My eyes slowly met Art’s as I parted my lips to speak, but nothing came out, so he spoke for me.

“It’s been months, Milan,” he started, his grip on my wrist still firm, his eyes scanning my face for any hints of discomfort.  

“I know we only really talked with each other that one night and had no time to get to know each other, but I would like to get to know you better.” He didn’t falter. Not once. I don’t even think he blinked. 

My lips had gone dry, and my voice, for some reason, grew hoarse. 

“Art…” I slowly began as I looked down at his hand, gripping my wrists. “The four of us had a deal…” I made sure to tread lightly with a severe tone. 

Two feet and ten toes on the ground. Don’t falter. Don’t give in. 

“They’re a happy fucking couple, Milan. I doubt they give two shits.” He stated matter-of-factly as I felt his thumb rub up and down on my wrist. 

How naive. 

Biting my lip in thought, I began an internal battle with myself. I wanted this so bad. And I could tell Art wanted it just as bad as I did—possibly more. 

I deserve a win other than tennis. 

Sighing, I removed my arm from his grasp and moved to my tennis bag to look for a piece of paper. Instead, I found a piece of muscle tape and a small pencil. Quickly scribbling down my number, I could feel Art trying to see what I was doing. 

“Here,” I said with slightly red cheeks as I stood back up and handed him the piece of muscle tape. “Don’t go blowing up my phone now,” I playfully scolded before picking up my bag and walking past him, glancing at the triumphant smile playing on his perfect features. 

Perfect? …yeah. 

Before I began my trek to the dining hall, I touched Art’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. 

“I didn’t want to admit it, but I really wanna get to know you more, too.” 

NEXT DAY, STANFORD DORMS 11:00 AM

MEET ME IN THE DINING HALL FOR LUNCH?

My eyes stared at the text in utter disbelief. Art certainly didn’t take any time once he got what he’d been craving all summer. 

“Why do you look so shocked?” Tashi laughed from the foot of my bed as she hit my leg. 

Fuck. 

My eyes looked to her as I shut my phone, put it next to me, and picked my computer back up to pretend to look at my study guide for an upcoming biology quiz. 

“My mom sent me a weird text,” I laughed awkwardly before covering my face with my computer. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Tashi laughed as I heard her moving up towards my side of the bed. 

She shut my computer to look at my face, which was for sure red as a tomato. 

“You’re lying,” she smirked before sitting on her knees and clapping her hands. What is it? A boy? A girl?” She persisted as she grabbed my leg and widely smiled at me.

I rolled my eyes at this before clicking my tongue. “Why are you so dead set on the fact that I was texting someone romantically?” I crossed my arms and bit the inside of my cheek, probably a dead giveaway. 

Tashi’s face fell as her brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms, mimicking me. 

“You’re joking, right?” She started before studying my stern expression. “We’ve known each other for what, eighteen fucking years?” She used this as a tactic to crack me. “I know your every expression and what it means. I could write a thesaurus on you if I wanted to.” She stated as she sucked on her teeth, brows still furrowed. 

I stared at her sternly for a few beats before sighing and turning my head to look anywhere but at her. 

“Fine, you got me…” I trailed before uncrossing my arms to fumble with my fingers. “but this is the first time I’ve received a text, so it’s not important.” I put my hands up and looked at her as an explanation as to why she shouldn’t ask questions. 

I should know better. 

Tashi’s annoyed face instantly turned into a happy one as she bounced on the bed and continuously hit my leg. 

“Who is the lucky guy? or girl…” She tilted her head with a goofy smile, which she would only show me. 

“It’s a boy…” I sighed before turning my head to look at my closest, as it suddenly looked very interesting. 

No matter how long I had known Tashi, I couldn’t gauge how she would react to this. She’s a very pushy person who likes everything to go her way, but I’m hoping that since it’s me, she will react differently. 

She shrieked and shook my legs back and forth with a giggle. 

She’ll be so disappointed. 

“Who is it? Is it that cute boy I caught you practicing with the other week? Or that one boy that you sometimes study with from your Chemistry class? Or maybe it's that random guy from the baseball team I saw you talking within the dining hall last week?” She fired off in a millisecond as I stared at her in utter disbelief. 

“Okay, first of all, how did you know about all of those? And second of all, the first guy is gay, the second guy has a girlfriend, and the last one was giving my pencil back to me after using it for a quiz we took in statistics.” I responded as I rolled my eyes so hard I thought the whites of them would turn permanent. 

“I’m your best friend. I know everything.” She spoke eerily with wide eyes before breaking into a smirk. “So, come on! Tell me who it is!” She bounced repeatedly on the bed and shook me back and forth until I finally had enough. 

“Fine!” I exclaimed and threw my hands up in the air.

Fuck it. 

“It was Art, alright.” I threw my hands up as I bit the bullet and came clean. 

Tashi’s face dropped almost instantly as his name fell off my lips. She wasn’t happy. Not at all. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” She laughed in disbelief as she shook her head and moved her hands from my legs. 

I immediately sat up more and moved towards her. 

“I saw him after practice yesterday, and we got to talk,” I explained as I bit the inside of my cheek in anticipation. “He asked for my number, and I figured since everything happened months ago, there would be no issue…” I trailed off and looked her straight in the eyes with a pleading expression. 

Tashi just stared at me and shook her head slowly. 

“We had a deal with them…” She stared at me with an accusatory face. 

“Tash, I know,” I exclaimed and grabbed her hands. “But you knew I liked him more than what happened in that hotel room. Plus, you and Patrick are happy, so why should it matter?” I asked and shook my head as I gripped her hands. 

She stared at me as if I kicked her puppy and gasped in her throat. “Um, to keep their passion alive? To ensure they both strive for better and strengthen their relationship with tennis?” She spoke as if it was plain as day. 

Furrowing my brows, I slowly shook my head and parted my lips, shocked. 

“Is tennis all you care about?” 

I shouldn’t have said that. 

My words echoed in my mind as I retracted my hands from Tashi’s and bit my lip, feeling defeated. Her stare pierced into my soul as she looked away from me and placed her hands on her thighs. 

“If this is what you want, go ahead. I can’t and won’t stop you.” She spoke slowly before eyeing me. 

Fuck, I messed up. 

“But never think for a second that I care about tennis more than you.” She choked out as she looked at the picture of us in fifth grade sitting on my bedside table. 

At this, my eyes widened, and I nodded slowly as a single tear slid down my cheek. Moving towards Tashi, I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her. 

“Pinky promise?” I whispered into her neck while she returned the hug. 

“Pinky promise.” She responded and grabbed my hand to interlock our pinkies.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 32

part 1 | part 31 | ao3

cw: explicit sexual content, smoking

"Holy shit," Steve gasps as he shudders through aftershocks. Holy shit. Holy shit. He's never coming alone again; wonders if he could get away with asking Eddie to record some sort of audio for future use, because- because fuck.

Eddie's incredible. Made him tease himself for what felt like hours — featherlight caresses over his stomach, his hips, his thighs — and when he finally let him come, Steve nearly fucking died. Supernovas in his vision, trumpeting angels in his ears. Alpha and Omega; the beginning and the end type of shit. His heart went all off rhythm, and his entire body shook, and that melted honey feeling crystalized inside his chest; a sugar cube embedded in the center of his heart.

"Holy shit," Eddie echoes on the tail of a breathless laugh. He looks just as fucked out as Steve feels, flushed and fucking gorgeous, and Steve hears him shuffling around behind him; tucking himself back into his shorts, taking off his ruined shirt. He wipes his sticky hands on the fabric then moves to clean Steve up, using his t-shirt as a rag; dragging it over Steve's stomach, his pubes.

Steve giggles. "That tickles!"

"You're welcome," Eddie grins. He tosses the shirt onto the floor, and Steve moves to take his off.

"Here," he offers, "take mine." The thing's rucked up under his armpits, probably a little gross from sweat, but he doesn't want Eddie to be cold, and he especially doesn't want him to get up to find a new one. Feels like he might evaporate if Eddie leaves right now.

Eddie pushes him back down gently, and when he looks at him, it feels... reverent.

Like adoration.

Sugar cubes.

"Nah, Stevie." He bends to kiss his forehead with a wet, playful smack. "You keep it."

Steve settles back between his thighs and peppers kisses over the tattoos he can reach, stopping at one he asked about earlier. The fluffy cloud, the sleeping fox. "Will you tell me about these now?" Another kiss. "If you want."

Eddie sighs and sits up straighter; lights himself a cigarette. He pokes at each tattoo in turn, the skin dimpling under his touch, and says, "Fox, and Skye. My half-siblings."

"You have siblings?"

"Sure do. Four and seven last time I saw ’em. And yes,” he adds with a smirk in his voice, “my mom was a dirty hippie, in case their names didn’t make that abundantly clear.”

Steve laughs under his breath. "I see why you didn't want to talk about that before."

He traces the outline of the art; thinks about all the other stuff he doesn't know about Eddie, about his life outside of school, outside of Hawkins. Startles himself a little with how badly he wants to learn.

“Son of a bitch…” Eddie whispers. He sounds like he’s talking to himself, and when Steve glances up at him, his gaze has drifted to the middle distance, staring somewhere past the mirror and the guitar hung on the wall.

“What is it?” Steve asks. A dark smudge of anxiety cuts through the afterglow. It's probably nothing, but three years of fighting monsters has set him permanently on edge.

“Nothing," Eddie assures, blinking fast to snap himself out of it. "Sorry. I'm just— just realizing they’re both way older now." He licks his upper lip; clucks his tongue. "Jesus. I haven’t seen them since ’79.”

Oh. “How come?” He probably shouldn’t ask. Feels intrusive and rude.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. “Oh, you know,” he answers, and his tone is flippant, swooping melody, but Steve can hear the vulnerable quiver lurking just below. The slightest tremor; a flicked bass string. “Pretty classic tale. Mom remarried, I was the moody teenage step-son getting in the way of the guy’s fresh start. Also,” he sucks in another puff of smoke, croaking on the exhale, “turns out hippies can be homophobes, too, so...”

“Wait, seriously?” Steve twists to sit upright, to spring into action, as if he’s about to— what, exactly? Fight the past on Eddie’s behalf? (He’d do it, for the record, but he’s pretty sure it’s not an option. Not unless one of El’s siblings knows how.) "Eddie, that sucks; I'm so sorry."

“Down, boy,” Eddie snorts, voice gone husky from the smoke. "It's fine; it's old news."

He clearly doesn't care to wallow when he just got his rocks off, so Steve eases himself back down; borrows the cigarette. When he hands it back he jokes, "Should I be worried that it’s, like, kinda hot when you talk to me like I'm a dog?”

Eddie hollers out a laugh, his head knocking against the wall, all those wild curls bouncing around his shaking shoulders. "Jesus Christ. You're fucking dangerous," he beams.

Steve smiles back; pokes the comic bubble on Eddie's knee. "You like danger."

"Little shit.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, softer now, biting it back. The cassette reaches its end. A peaceful hush falls over the room. "Yeah. I guess I do."

—

Later, when the moon is high and the weed's all gone and sleep tugs at their eyelids like a needy kid; when they're curled on their sides face-to-face on the bed, Eddie reaches across the gap between them and says, "Stay?"

Steve takes his hand; brushes his lips over bare knuckles. "Kiss me?"

"In the morning," Eddie promises. "If you still mean it, ask me then."

—

part 33

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[its-your-mind]

Something something timkon and hair and how lex lichrally programmed Kon to shave his head before he went all luthor and was forced to attack his team, his best friends, his family. and then how most of the hair on the back of Tim’s head got burned off when he got blowed up (thx Steph) and he had to cut or shave the rest of it off so it could grow back semi-evenly. and how kon was a #rebel esp compared to all-American Boy Scout Superman; Kon’s rockin around with the side cut and the leather jacket and the buckles and the spikes or the (ill-advised and made me sad) black t-shirt and jeans but even the “I am a totally normal bro” getup made him distinct and different from Kal and that is really important to Kon because he wants to be his own person, not a Superman-stand-in. and THEN fucking LEX made it so Kon would look more like Lex! his other DNA donor!!! And Tim!! He kept his hair short — just long enough to spike it up as Robin — until both of his parents were gone. which suggests to me that he kinda always wanted it long (hello Tim Drake, #1 Dick Grayson stan) but that just wasn’t an option allowed to him (not uncommon for parents who care Very Much about Appearances — my own parents were the same about my brothers’ hair growing up, not least because the private all-boys school they went to dictated that their hair couldn’t be long enough to touch the collar of their shirt (with exceptions for [insert kinda racist and vaguely xenophobic language here] hair styles). As soon as he turned 18 my baby brother got a rocker-style mane. But I digress. Anyway). Then, post-tragedy, Tim’s hair got long enough to flip down over his forehead and stream behind him when he swung through the city (perhaps one of his ways of clinging to control and his sense of self in the whole awful situation). But then… Tim got fucking exploded, betrayed by his ex-girlfriend who had only just returned after letting him grieve her death for a year, and now she’s following Tim’s dead father mentor’s instructions to challenge him or whatever the fuck bullshit Batman told her, (a young girl whose own father was an asshole criminal, who so desperately wanted Bruce to be proud of her) and now Tim has to cut his hair all the way down to the scalp again and listen. I’m sorry dc tim looks fucking amazing in adventure comics and I’m in love with how he is arted but hair cannot and does not grow back that quick!! Mf had to wait!! I bet it grew in fucking patchy!! I bet kon’s did too!! (prolly not as bad as Tim’s cuz Tim’s got scar tissue and shit.)

but I just think tim and kon deserve a chance to sit down and just commiserate with each other about growing their hair back out (growing back out a sidecut is a BITCH I speak from experience) and Tim’s prolly having to trim his own hair super often to keep it nice-ish while it comes back in, and Kon’s curls are just a fucking MESS until they grow out enough to like. Curl. (Again, speaking from experience) And they’re just shooting the shit (“well MINE was worse bc I looked like fucking LEX. LUTHOR.” / “well you didn’t have to wait to figure out which parts of your scalp we actually gonna bother growing hair again”) until it gets quiet for a minute. And then one of them asks if the hair also reminds the other one of The Shitty Thing That Happened. And then they fucking talk about it. About how they can’t look in the mirror without having a flashback of pain or rage. How it makes them feel like they don’t even get to control their own bodies, their own appearances, and how much that fucking sucks. How they go to run their hand through their hair and there’s just. Not enough of it to do that. How Kon is terrified that somehow looking like Lex means Lex will use him to hurt the people he loves again. How every time Tim sees another Bat or Bird looking at the back of his head, all he can think about is how they might be planning to lure him into another Bat-mandated trap test. How both Tim and Kon kinda really miss the feeling of people playing with their hair. How they miss playing with each others’ hair.

And maybe then one of them extends an offer and the other does the same and they agree to do each others’ hair. Maybe it’ll help paint a new layer over those awful memories.

So Kon finds Tim once a week (he’s never in the same place, he’s rarely even in the same country) and he trims the hair until it looks even, gives Tim the #sitch on how much hair is growing back in. After the second or third week he realizes that Tim’s not keeping up with his burn-care routine, so he starts bringing burn and scar cream with him too. Then he remembers Tim’s lack of a hair care routine and starts trying out different products on Tim’s hair to see what works best. Tim doesn’t say anything, but he thinks all of this feels even better than when Kon and Cassie used to twist little braids into his hair.

Kon insists that Tim doesn’t have to help until his hair’s grown out more, (that he doesn’t want Tim nearby and distracted while Kon still looks like Lex) but Tim outright refuses to let Kon push him away and he will NOT be outdone in the caretaking game. He waits until Kon’s busy fighting some giant alien robot in metropolis and sneaks in to the Kents’ house to scope out what products Kon uses. When he leaves the bathroom, Ma Kent is there, eyebrow raised. She tells him he “could have just knocked on the front door, sweetheart, we know how’ta keep secrets in this house. Now, let’s get some food in you before Conner comes home. You’re all skin and bones, hun.” So Tim goes downstairs and takes some mini meat pies for the road, and then researches the products Kon uses, what they do, what the ingredients do, if there are other (more expensive) options that people have sworn up and down are better. He amasses a collection, and the next time Kon shows up with clippers and healing creams and a new shampoo to try, Tim’s already got ten different products lined up on the sink — everything from shampoos and conditioners to serums and masks. Kon asks if these are things Tim wants Kon to use in Tim’s hair. Tim tells him that no, all of these are for Tim to try on Kon. Kon almost cries. (He does cry, he just doesn’t let the tears fall until Tim isn’t looking.) (Tim notices anyway ofc.) And Tim’s made a spreadsheet to track the effectiveness of different products, different ingredients, different combinations, so he tells Kon to start coming every 2-3 days instead, so he can establish results using a realistic timeframe. Sometimes, if Tim’s gonna be in one place for a few days, Kon just crashes with him. (Neither of them say it, but they both fucking CRAVE the old Core Four cuddle piles.) Eventually, when Kon’s hair is long enough that he’s ready to switch back to his side-cut again, Tim surprises him by not only shaving the hair down, but shaving a few racing stripes (“they’re flight patterns!” / “rob, I dunno what to tell you. everyone’s gonna think they’re racing stripes. doesn’t mean they aren’t dope as fuck, though.”) into Kon’s hair. Every time Kon’s hair grows out enough, Tim shaves it back and stencils in a new design. Kon starts making requests (“gimme the Super ‘S’!” / “It’s the House of El crest, Kon. You know that. Also, you have a secret identity to maintain.” / “C’mon, I’ll just say I’m a fan!” / “With the same El family crest shaved onto your scalp as Superboy?” / “No one’s noticed the identical head decor yet!”) but it’s the day Kon asks (with the same confident and mischievous tone as always) for Tim to shave in the Red Robin crest that something in Tim’s chest, something formless and warm that he hadn’t really paid attention to before, seers a burning path through his heart, takes root, and solidifies.

“Kon. I love you.”

Kon’s distracted, rifling through their hair-care bags for Tim’s razors. “Love you too, Robbie. Duh. That’s why I’m askin’ you to shave your cre–”

“No,” Tim shakes his head, mildly frustrated with himself for the lack of clarity. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

Kon is seated in the chair they’d pulled into the bathroom from the hotel room’s desk, so he has to look up to meet Tim’s eyes. The hand digging beneath sample bottles of leave-in conditioner freezes, still wrist-deep in hair products. Kon’s expression looks to Tim like one of his video games’ character builders froze between the settings for ‘bright smile’ and ‘shock and awe.’

So Tim just looks down at him. Waits. If this was anyone else, Tim would probably be losing his mind right now, but… it’s Kon. Tim’s safe. Kon would never do anything to hurt him.

Kon unfreezes, blinks a few times. “Could you–” he coughs. “Could you say that again? I think my brain maybe like, malfunctioned for a second.”

Tim takes a step closer, reaches out one hand to cup Kon’s cheek, scratches his fingertips through the stubble on the side of Kon’s head. “I’m in love with you, Conner Kent.”

Tears fill Kon’s eyes, and he blinks them away. “That’s– that’s what I thought you said.” His hand (the one not trapped beneath a sea of shampoos, some detached and unhelpful part of Tim’s mind remarks) comes up to gently rest on Tim’s hip. “Robbie, Tim, I– of course I’m in love with you. You– you’re– you’re amazing, you know that? You’re so kind and strong and you’re a genius and you’re a gift to everyone around you; I dunno how everyone else doesn’t see you like I do.”

Tim can’t help but reach out his other hand to wrap around the back of Kon’s head, to feel where the curls carve a path down through the shorter hair and come to a sharp point.

“I mean, damn Wonder Boy,” Kon tries to muster up his Superboy smirk, but the look in his eyes is full of too much genuine affection for him to pull it off. “I think I’ve been in love with you since Kauai, since you grabbed me outta free-fall and swung me to safety. You caught me. No one’d ever done that before. And then you just… kept doing it. You’re still saving me, still taking care of me.”

Kon reaches his other hand (no eruption of hairspray, thank you TTK, that same unhelpful part of Tim’s mind comments. Read the room! the rest of Tim yells at it.) around the back of Tim’s neck, avoiding the tender and scarred areas with practiced ease, and pulls Tim down until their foreheads touch.

“I love you, Wonder. I love you, Robbie.” Kon tilts his head up, waits until their eyes meet. He’s got the biggest smile on his face that Tim’s ever seen.

Tim smiles back, and Kon’s eyes soften. “I love you, Tim.”

Tim leans down and uses his hands on either side of Kon’s head to guide Kon’s lips up to his own.

This is what I want to remember, Tim thinks as he feels Kon’s fingers gliding softly against the sensitive skin of his burn, feels Kon’s TTK covering and protecting the parts still too tender to touch. Tim runs his own fingertips back and forth over the stubble on the sides of Kon’s head, before pushing them up until they’re tangled in Kon’s curls.

I don’t want to care anymore whether or not the people around me look at the back of my head and see weakness or failure. They don’t get to decide whether this mark on my body matters or what it means. I do. And I decide that these scars are important because they brought me here, to this moment. They brought me to Kon.

Kon tilts his head down to break the kiss. He stands up, and before Tim gets a chance to move away and give him space, Kon wraps his arms and TTK around him. He plants a kiss in Tim’s hair. “Damn, Wonder Boy. Having to grow all my hair back almost feels worth it if it got me here.”

Tim smiles and wraps his arms around Kon’s waist, nestles into Kon’s chest. “You know what, Clone Boy? I was just thinking the same thing.”

[taevescence]

heeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaa

my idea: hate sex, enemies to lovers???

pairing: jungkook and yn

yn and jk have been in the same friend group since highschool, but they could never stand eachother (he always pranked her, would't say bully, but hasn't been exactly nice to her either)

she always stood silent, until one day she just gets fed up and starts arguing back, he might tell her 'oh shut up!' and she could say 'make me' and you know...the rest is history hahaha

The best way to shut someone up

a/n: This is my second order from Jungkook. This is the second time reader ends up being more dom than Jungkook lol. I'm not really sure if it counts as hate sex, I just got carried away for the moment 😣. warnings: Semi-public sex (they're in an alley in the middle of the night), reader is a bit dominant (sorry, I'm a natural dom!reader with Jk), Jungkook has a weakness for reader's brute attitude, unprotected sex, reader is 2 years older than Jk, hair pulling. wc: 2.4k

"Every day I'm more and more impressed by the horrible taste you have" whispered Jungkook, leaning against the same wall you were leaning against.

You had to take your drink in one shot just to keep from hitting his face. It worked a little, but you'd be lying if you said the urge was completely gone. You tried to remind yourself that you’re older than him, you should keep your composure and ignore the fact that he was being a son of a bitch to you, had you ever done anything to make him treat you this way? Before he came to the group you didn't even talk, god, you didn't even know he existed before Taehyung dragged him to your group after you met at an art workshop, then why was he so nasty?

"Seriously, how could you pick that dress? It's hideous" he shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. It was his turn to drive today, so he couldn't afford to drink alcohol.

"Well, it's not like I got dressed thinking about whether you'd like it or not either, my life doesn't revolve around you, you know?" you turned to look at him, grimacing as you felt the smoke from his cigarette hit your face. You forced your brain to count to ten.

"That doesn't take away from the fact that you look hideous, you should take it off," Jungkook turned to you, staring at you. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long puff, blowing the smoke in your face. 

"Okay, I've had enough," you stood in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest, "either start treating me with the minimum respect given to a person, or deal with the consequences."

"And what consequences could come to me if I don't obey you?" he stubbed out his cigarette on the wall behind him, letting the butt fall to the floor. He walked over to you, coming face to face with you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

If he thought you would be intimidated by this he was very wrong. 

"I don't know, maybe a kick in the balls will finally make you shut the fuck up" you growled, mentally preparing yourself to leave him for at least five minutes on the floor trying to endure the pain he would have in his crotch. 

"Fuck, that sounds really exciting" he whispered as his hands formed fists at his sides.

You went blank for a few seconds, wondering for a moment if you had misheard. "What did you say?" you looked at Jungkook, slightly surprised.

Jungkook's eyes widened, his unpleasant countenance quivering slightly, "Did I say it out loud?"

"You were thinking it?" you frowned, beginning to question if you had actually just told him that you were going to kick him in the balls until he stopped saying shit about you and how you dressed. 

"No?" he turned back to that expression he'd been looking at you with since you'd met him. How you hated it. You seriously felt like deforming his face right now. "Why the fuck would I say that?"

"I never repeated what you said, I just asked what you said" you raised your eyebrows. If there was one thing you hated more than idiots, it was idiots who treated you like a liar.

"Shut your mouth" he frowned, moving closer to you. Your chests were now barely brushing against each other, and the heels you were wearing allowed you to be almost at Jungkook's height, so your noses were also millimeters away from meeting. You wanted to ignore the fact that his lips were also menacingly close to yours.

"Make me" you raised your head. This idiot would never intimidate you, ever.

"If that's what you want" he whispered as he shrugged his shoulders, grabbing your neck with his right hand and pulling you towards him until his lips met yours. 

You were totally unprepared for this. There were hundreds of scenarios in your head about what Jungkook could have done to silence you, like covering your mouth with his hand, or shoving some snack in it, things like that, but a kiss? That never crossed your mind.

The sound of glass shattering against the floor echoed in the middle of the alley just as Jungkook pressed his left hand against your waist, pulling you even closer to him. Your bodies were now completely glued together. Jungkook ran the tip of his tongue over your lips, moaning softly at the taste of your lip gloss against his tongue.

He was taken by surprise that you allowed him entrance to your mouth, just as he was surprised that you ran your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He expected you to punch him in the face and tell him he was a sick fuck, to get away from you or you would call the police, anything but accept his kiss and allow him to kiss you. He was really grateful for this.

Once his tongue was inside your mouth, he took the time to explore your mouth properly, he had waited too long for this moment and needed to feel it was real. That excuse he made to himself as he lowered his hand to your ass and gave it a light squeeze. 

He moaned as he felt your hand tangle in his hair and pull him hard enough to separate his lips from yours. Somehow or other that turned him on even more. He really loved your attitude.

"What do you think you're doing?" you whispered into his neck. He was bound to look down at you in this position. He loved the look you were bringing at that moment, as well as the irregular movement of your chest due to the kiss you had just given each other. He could tell he wasn't the only one excited about what was happening.

"You asked me to shut you up" he took your wrist, pulling it away from his hair and closer to his lips. He left a trail of kisses up your arm until he stopped at your shoulder. He really didn't think what he had said earlier was true, the dress looked great on you, and he actually worried when you walked out into the alley outside the bar alone. If someone came up to you and did something to you... he didn't know if he would be able to control himself.

Although on second thought, he told himself, that was just what was happening right now. At least he could defend himself by saying that you hadn't rejected his kiss.

"I was just obeying, Noona" he whispered into your neck, letting out a teasing chuckle as he noticed your head being pushed aside to give him more space. 

"I don't understand how this would help me shut up," you replied, slipping your hand under Jungkook's jacket and stopping at his waist. He seriously had a beautiful waist.

"Well, let me show you" he buried his teeth in the space where your neck and shoulder met, leaving a mark on your skin that he would be tremendously proud of when others saw it. He slipped one of his hands under your dress, brushing your center over your underwear. His cock stirred inside his briefs as he heard you moan softly. He had never heard you make that sound before. Now it was his favorite.

One part of you refused to accept how good the touch of Jungkook's fingers felt on your core, the other was too focused on the knot that was starting to form in your stomach to pay attention to who it was that was provoking that feeling in you. You decided to go for the second one, then you would martyr yourself thinking about the stupid thing you were doing.

"I want to feel what your pussy is like so badly, can I stick my fingers in?" whispered Jungkook into your shoulder, too focused on leaving marks on your neck to notice anything else that was going on around you.

"Don't ask, just do it" you growled in your slightly deeper voice than usual. Jungkook shivered slightly at the sound of you. That tone of voice would be his undoing, and he was more than willing to accept it. 

He pushed your underwear aside, feeling his mouth go dry as he noticed how wet you already were. He was proud to have had this effect on you. You could hate him with all your soul, but you still desired him physically, just as he desired you.

He gently pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, using his thumb to slowly and torturously play with your clitoris. You both moaned at the same time, he, from how tight and wet your pussy was, you from feeling his fingers enter you as he teased your clit. His fingers were doing a wonderful job.

"Amazing, you're so much tighter than I thought" he whispered, pulling your dress up to your waist so he could watch as his fingers moved in and out of you at a steady pace. He swallowed saliva at the sight, using your free hand to rub your cock over your pants. 

"Let me do it" you removed his hand from his pants, quickly unbuttoning them and slipping your hand inside them to rub his cock wrapped around his boxers. Jungkook gasped at the sensation of your cool hand on his member. You weren't even touching him directly yet and he already felt in heaven.

Jungkook rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting his fingers begin to make faster lunges as he returned the favor you were doing him by, if nothing else, rubbing his cock over his clothes. You almost screamed when he curved his fingers inside you, bumping into your G-spot. 

"Is that it? Does it feel good to be touched in that place?" he pulled away from your shoulder a little, resting his forehead against yours. Once he noticed that you didn't plan to answer him, he rammed his fingers into that spot again, this time increasing the force of the onslaught. The shit-eating grin he had put on as he noticed how you trembled every time he touched that spot would not be taken off by anyone. 

"Take your hand away," you said with a slight frown, squeezing his cock by way of threat. Jungkook quickly obeyed, pulling his fingers out from inside you and watching as your hand traveled to the elastic that held his briefs in place. 

He gasped as he felt the cold air hit his sensitive member, or perhaps it was because he was turned on by the sight of you unabashedly pulling out his cock and groping it, squeezing his balls and rubbing his slit. You were exactly what he thought you would be like in sex.

"Who knew Jungkookie would have such a nice cock" you laughed softly, squeezing the base of his member, noticing how preseminal fluid was starting to ooze out of his slit. You ran your thumb over the tip, taking the liquid into your mouth and licking it off. 

Jungkook moaned at the sight. He never thought you would taste his cum like that. 

"Always acting so nasty every time we're together, was it because you were desperate to fuck me?" you commented teasingly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He just nodded quickly, resting his hands on your hips. You looked so beautiful that for a second he completely forgot that you were in a seedy alley, outside a bar where all his friends were enjoying.

"Okay" You moved towards the wall that faced your back, Jungkook followed you without even questioning you. His hands were clinging to your hips, and he refused to let go. "Then fuck me the fuck up and stop acting like a motherfucker."

It took him a while to process what you had just said, but as soon as he got the message he lifted you up by your thighs and leaned you against the wall, resting his hand behind your head to keep the brick from hurting you. 

"Fine" he nodded quickly, taking his cock in his free hand and rubbing it against your middle. 

You had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming as you felt Jungkook thrust in. It felt really good to have his member in your pussy. It's not like you were going to tell him out loud.

"Fuck, so tight" he growled against your lips, kissing you messily. Jungkook was sure this would happen again, so he would no longer take the time to enjoy the kiss.

The knot in your belly grew tighter and tighter as Jungkook rammed hard against your insides, causing your back to hit the brick of the wall. It was painful, but the pleasure was enough to make you forget the pain completely. 

"You feel so good" Jungkook nuzzled your neck, taking his time to kiss and lick your bottom lip. He grunted on this very one as he felt your pussy clench on his cock before his words. "Shit, if you keep doing that you'll make it hard to hold back, you know?".

"The night is long" you hummed, resting your head on Kook's hand, closing your eyes and letting barely audible moans escape, "we can always leave and pay for a hotel."

You felt Jungkook's cock contract inside you at the thought. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to spend the whole night fucking you. "So it's okay if I cum?" he looked up, trying to meet your gaze.

You grabbed his hair, tugging lightly on it. "If you don't I'll be really mad at you, and believe me, you really don't want me to be upset for the rest of the night" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hair. 

Jungkook moaned at the action, beginning to quicken the pace of his thrusts, as well as the force he applied to them.

You bit your lower lip as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten tighter and tighter as his lunges grew deeper and deeper. Despite having done that with the intention of keeping quiet, you almost screamed as you felt his cock collide with your G-spot, squeezing Jungkook harder.

That was enough for him to come to his release, without ceasing to move his hips against yours. You came moments later, just as he leaned his head against yours, letting the last spurt of his cum spurt out inside you.

"So," he whispered between gasps, brushing the hair back from his forehead, "what hotel are we supposed to go on to?"

Masterlist.

[uneatenclient]

murderbot tv show eps 1 & 2 reactions/spoilers under cut. i actually liked that a lot thank fucking god

holy shit torture in the first couple minutes??

— — EP 1 — —

ooooo its hacking the gov mod on screen. this is so fucking funny what the hell

FREEDOM UNIT GETS ME EVERY TIME

oh this title sequence. ohhhh this title sequence

asfhjbgadsjkfadkj the way the preservation team looks like a trap to it. yep.

AND THEN IT COMES BACK TO RESCUE THEM OHHHH

holy fuck thats so graphic

what the fuck port free commerce looks insane???

oh my god hes got gurathins rbf down pat

PIN LEE "IS THAT AWKWARD?"

oof yep hearing them talk about secunits as products is just as bad as it should be

OMINOUS HUMMING — RATTHI, STILL HUMMING BUT ALSO TALKING: GURATHIN GET IN HERE — CONTINUED OMINOUSNESS, GURATHIN JOINS THE GROUP LIKE A RECALCITRANT TEENAGER — RATTHI HUMMING: YEAH THERE WE GOOO

theyre really fucking w the corporates omfg

FILTHY HUMAN BODIES

oh my god. oh my god. i love preservation bitches. theyre so cute and genuine and like, happy and loving??? which i knew but seeing it...... they decorated the hub..........

gurathin from the cr basically confirmed

TRULY UPSETTING MUSIC

holy FUCK gurathins dancing

arada and pin lee???? if they had to combine two characters i GUESS this is acceptable

ratthi makes his own jewelry

help meeeeeee

oh. my. god. sanctuary moon

this is so stupid. this is SO STUPID. oh my godddddd

the cuts in and out from sanc moon are so perf

its giving 'no one ever listens to me'

oh my god super hero entrance??

OH GROSS

OH NASTY

THE REALLY BIG GUN IS HERE

just staring at my guts hanging out

holy shit IT COPIED SANCTUARY MOON TO COMFORT ARADA

FOR FUCKS SAKE RATTHI

holy fuck that decision sequence. holy fuck.

THATS MY MB hiding its care for human life behind 'it wouldnt be worth it anyway'

'so...' mb you GOTTA at least TRY to be normal

THESE PPL ARE CLUELESS 'THIS SECUNIT IS DANGEROUS'

without gurathin they wouldnt ever figure it out. pin lee would suspect but no one else knows shit about sec units. the show really makes that clear its so funny

oh my god the vid of it asking arada questions. its painfully awkward. its perfect.

im just. sanctuary moon plzzzzz

they are high key playing up the star trek its so dumb i love it

lmfao the deep hesitation in coming around the corner THE PERFORMANCE RELIABILITY DROPPING AS IT COMES IN

NO SHOOOEESSSSS SADLY HUMAN FEET

that line from ratthi is perfectly done i love it

NO NOT THE CLAPPING. POOR INTROVERT MB. ITS LIKE BEING SUNG HAPPY BDAY IN A RESTAURANT

DICK MEASURING PROCESSING CAPACITY

its such a little shit i love it sm

SHITTY EQUIPMENT 'NOT YOU YOURE GREAT'

oh gurathin is DEFS from the cr

oh my fuck his face. he did it perfectly holy fuck

gurathin is being a bit of a bitch tho. which is in character so good job there.

wait. it doesnt know it did the massacre? hacked its gov mod for no reason? or thats just what its telling itself

"honestly i didnt like to think at all" art's gonna have a field day with you

oh my GOD DID THEY HIDE HIS NIPPLES

NIPPLE-LESS MB AS IT SHOULD BE

NO DICK EITHER OMFG SHE LOOKED. VALID. SEXLESS MB FOR THE WIN

really super bad at appearing fine

interesting. i guess its more mysterious if the viewers dont know if it did the massacre or not (we know the truth)

IT USES SANCTUARY MOON LINES TO COMFORT ITSELF!!! HELP MEEE

— — EP 2 — —

wait i didnt mishear in the last ep they called him gura. they all call him gura

'i trust you. i trust this team' aww

GOOGOO

gurathin cr extra confirmed

GURATHIN JFC ITS A PERSON AND YOURE GONNA MELT IT

horror movie vibes i love it and then its baradwaj sfgjhnasdjklfna

ratthi is so fucking tall

'i guess ill close the fucking door' lmfao

like i get it gurathin its mad sus but like. itll be okay. probably. also it can probably still hear you somehow. suit cams??

honestly is that intro claymation???

STUPID FUCKING HUMANS

lmfaooo i knew it its still watching

giant tooth monster

"what was his fucking problem?" he has so many problems

MB PLZ YOURE REALLY PUTTING THE MURDER IN MURDERBOT RN

gurathin this is just as fucking weird as it seemed in the clip. you dont even know its rogue yet wtf are you doing

it really isnt convincing especially with all these added scenes

i am a necessary precaution moron

OK WEIRDO

"whats it like to be you?" "i dont know what its like to not be me" im emotional oh my godd

gurathin is etiher digging deep or a hell of an actor

CUZ YOURE A DICK?

ick. gurathin the ick im getting it stooppp

hes making himself a target but jfc gurathin can we chill for 5 mintues

oh god no plz dont discuss the poly shit dont make it weird

RATTHI???

pin lee oh dear

gurathin are you trying or. no youre trying. NO YOURE FUCKING MEAN. I KNOW WHAT YOURE DOING BUT YOURE SO MEAN. YOURE TRYING AND YOURE BEING A BITCH

oh for gods sake mensah

GURATHIN THE ICK ITS BACK

GURATHIN STOP

it gets everything from sanctuary moon omg

oh no. pin lee oh no. goddd i hope this is resolved nicely. ratthi can talk his way thru this right oh god

MENSAH FOR REAL

MENSAH

what the genuine fuck

MENSAH

oh this is mega creepy. alien remnants man

THE STARING AT THE WALLLLLLL

poor timing gurathin. god plz dont actually be in love with her ughhhh

deltfalls next babeyyyy lets gooo

— — bonus bingo by murderbotched — —

[bloomness]

chapter one: new moon masterlist

contains: swearing word count: 1.2k

“miller's on your ass today.” 

you sighed, your gaze flickering from the beautiful, authentic sun setting over the city’s buildings to the blazing, sun-colored dork next to you.  

“i mean really—“ he pulled out a gummy bear— from what seemed to be his never-ending side pocket stash —and stuffed it into his mouth. “you’d think the divorce would give the old bastard a revelation or something. but noooo, he’s still a bitch.” his confident gossip bubbled down into a dramatic murmur as he eventually shrugged his shoulders. 

you sighed again, head dropping into your hands as it throbbed, mind too scrambled to focus on keigo's deep interest in your manager's love life. “i need a job.”

“you have two.” keigo retorted as he moved to cross his arms. 

“i need another one.” you massage your temples before letting your hands fall to your sides. 

keigo scoffed. “you’re really not making enough?” 

“not if i don't want to be drowning in student debt for the rest of my life.” you complained. 

keigo pressed his lips together and scrunched his nose. it was the face he made when he wanted to argue on but knew better than to. the back of his head hit the brick wall behind you two as he too, stopped at a sigh. “well, i hear there’s a new club down the block. LOVE, or something?”

“love? like the word?” your voice peaked as you looked at him. 

keigo's fingers twirled around the string from his waist apron. “something like that.” the blonde's eyes fell to the sunset. yours followed them. “a couple of guys in my historical art class were talking about going.”

“the hippies—?” 

keigo cut you off before you could finish your comment  “my point is,” he leaned closer— most likely for dramatic effect, “they’re probably hiring.”

it was your turn to press your lips together now. 

“bartending isn’t that bad.” keigo coaxed and you almost laughed at how fast he was able to switch his opinion on this idea. but keigo kept his eyes on the sun, like he was thinking about his plans for the future too. a good future. “plus the tips make it so worth it.” he titled his head toward you, shooting you a sly grin. he nodded his head, ‘yeah?’ as he nudged your shoulder. 

your cold façade cracked into a warm smile. keigo always found a way to cheer you up. it was stupidly ironic. “i’ll apply when i get home.” 

“and you want to swear up and down that we aren’t friends.” keigo scoffed. you showed no mercy when shoving his shoulder though he just laughed loudly. “midnight is doing pretty nice though. the regulars are cute and who knows, maybe miller will consider giving us raises.”

a chortle escaped your throat. “yeah. like shit.” your lips didn’t remain curled up for long. your eyes faltered to a determined degree, your mind sharp on your goal. you had always tried your best to fight for yourself, nothing about that would change. nothing would change. a high tension that you didn’t even realize you had dropped from your shoulder like anchors. you were secure. you were safe. 

keigo kicked a rock at the ground, “my shift ends in thirty so i should head in.” he pointed back at the door. you nodded your head, giving him a small wave as he turned to go back into the bar. 

the orange and yellow kissed hue from the sun tinted your face. you didn’t think about how long it'll actually take you to pay off your tuition. you didn’t think about the piles of homework you'd have to do when you got home. you didn’t even think about how you’d last the last half of this twelve-hour shift. 

you just closed your eyes and focused on the sunshine’s delicate mark on your skin. 

just a block down the packed city was LOV, whose grand opening last saturday had a total of twenty-three arrivals.

“told you this was a shit idea.” a gravelly voice opined as he flicked fresh ash from the window sill and let it fall onto the dirted path outside.    

a low voice snarled in response, bony fingers typing away on his computer. 

“don’t know why the old man—“

“shut up.” tomura snapped. 

touya just grinned, “whats got your panties in a bunch, boss?” he shook his head in amusement, a stupid grin unreasonably placed on his lip. “you had high hopes or something?”

“shut the fuck up.” tomura eyes didn’t leave his screen, they only squinted as he muttered something to himself and his fingers swiped across the mouse pad of his laptop. 

“god— are you like, virtually wired to the internet or something?” touya trudged over to tomuras set up, finding a comfortable spot on the back of his chair to rest his forearm on and inspect what tomura was so fixated on. 

touya—surprisingly—was stunned.

“what the fuck is that?”

his laptop displayed a website page for a bar named moonlight. the layout was impressive alone; the backdrop flashed photos of a variety of very satisfied customers at the bar. an animation of a sparkling star shot across the top of the site, lighting up the bars boldly displayed name. and even—

“shit.” touya voice dropped to a whisper, mouth hanging dangerously close to tomuras ear. “look at that. they even got an interactive menu.” he disclosed, treating it as a cherry on top of moonlight's enormous advantaged cake. 

“how the fuck are these bougie ass motherfuckers packed every. single. fucking. night.” tomuras finger tapped rhythmically against his desk, seemingly mindless, but touya took notice.

touya pulled away, crossing his arms as his hip leaned up against tomuras desk. “we could use some better advertising.” he shrugged— acting as if he wouldn’t take huge offense if his comment wasn’t taken into consideration.

luckily, tomura could recognize touya's snotty tone for what it really meant and couldn’t be bothered to push it.  “yeah.” he sighed, elbows falling onto his desk as his hands found themselves tangled into his sea of unbrushed hair. “when you learn how to code, come back to me with that.” he taunted through gritted teeth.

touya rolled his eyes, even though he knew tomura couldn’t see. “whatever. we can’t be in the slumps forever.” scarred hands reached for his phone as he pulled up the website on his own. his feet led him to the back door, hand reaching for his coat on the rack. 

tomuras head peaked up at the sound of touya fleeting feet. 

“and where the fuck are you going?”

“out.” touya dismissed, eyes still glued onto his phone screen as he typed in the directions from the website onto his map app. 

tomura huffed out a heavy breath when the back door slammed shut. he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and legs far before settling back into his— what he swears is —not-so-horribly crooked posture. “fucking hell.” he muttered.

eventually his finger fell back onto his keyboard, clacking sound blending into the background noise once more. 

touya sneered on the other side of the door. his gait was confident as he followed direction of the rising moon. 

masterlist next

“here it comes, here it comes” | LCD soundsystem

[just-another-personal-side-blog]

Session 0 - Damian Priest x Tattoo Artist

Part 1 of 6

Rating: T

Beta Reader: @jstarr86

“Trust me Dam, she’s the best at what she does. It doesn’t hurt that I’d trust her with my life. You’ve been going on about finally getting that back piece, there’s no one better.” Rhea practically herded him towards what looked like an absolute hole in the wall, his nerves judged it based on first appearance.

“Most of my art was done by her, I’ve been meaning to introduce Dom as well. You got first dibs of course.” She paused at the door giving him a single raised brow, “You do trust me, don’t you Damian?”

Cornered he let out a sigh, it doesn’t hurt to at least take a look to appease her. 

“Fine, after you.” 

A bell above the door could just barely be heard over the heavy rock that beat like a pulse within the confines of the lobby. Framed detailed tattoo sketches hung upon the walls, behind the front desk were a collection of awards and licenses to prove this place was legit. Folders full of premade basic bitch designs sat on the coffee table by comfortable leather chairs, Rhea pressed a button at the front. No sound could be heard but in a span of seconds a young woman came out from the back.

“How can I- Oh! Shit! Rhea! Hey girl! Why didn’t you give me a heads up that you were coming?” Priest looked up from one of the framed pieces he was admiring. Apparently the new arrival hadn’t noticed him from the angle he was standing, not something he was used to given his size. He took a moment to admire the person before him…

Purple faux hawk with an under-fade, full tattoo sleeves on both arms, legs, and back, several piercings both visible and one not, brilliant blue eyes with some intense metallic goth eye makeup and a stunning smile. A pair of fake leather leggings with lace ups on the outside of the legs, a fishnet crop top under a Beetlejuice tank top, tying it all together was a basic durable black dog collar and a pair of Demonia knee length boots.Unlike the blonde Barbie she was finishing up, Rhea’s friend wasn’t stick skinny. She was probably a good size 9 or 10, there was some plump flesh but it appeared to have some sturdy muscle underneath. A full pair of breasts accentuated beautifully with the fishnet, and hips perfect to dig fingers into.

“I brought a friend that I thought you might like meeting, he’s been talking about wanting a new big tat for awhile now. So I told him there's only one person I’d trust with that.” After a moment the girl turned to look at him, there was immediate recognition as well as shock across her features. It was brief and fleeting before putting up a friendly facade.

It took Rhea slapping on the bicep to smack Damian back present, realizing he’d been staring at the artist long after the gal she’d been working on had left happily. Meaning he had given her an intense resting bitch for a good minute now. Incredibly embarrassed Priest offered a hand which she accepted with an impressive firm hand shake.

“You can call me Minnie, only people I like get to use that.” Rhea playful shoulder checked her with a warm smile,

“It’s short for Minerva, her parents were from Athens originally”

“So your namesake is a Goddess of War, seems fitting.” Bright sky blue eyes flicked up from the sketchbook she’d grabbed to start jotting ideas from him. And without pause blossomed like a Sunflower, taking note of the dimple on her right cheek. 

“Best make sure you never get on my bad side, Rhea has some great stories of me chasing off her exes prior to Wrestling. I’m only five years older than her, not to mention like 5 inches shorter even without those elevator shoes she stomps around in.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed that at all. Both of you still don’t have me beat.”

“Well you clearly discovered immortality in high school, because you haven't aged a bit.”

Rhea perched herself on the spare stool in the room, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she watched the two getting comfortable with their back and forth.

“What she neglected to mention is the three times she chased them off with a metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and nails welded to it.”

“Jokes on you, I still sleep with that bat beside my bed. Safety first and all that fun stuff. Safer than a machete, I’d rather not accidentally stab myself in my sleep.”

“That’s why we’re best friends.” The Aussie grins before giving Minnie a cheeky wink.

“Why do I feel like I got led into a trap?” She wrinkled her nose at Damian before opening the sketchbook before her.

“You have nothing to worry about Butterscotch, I take my art very seriously. Now let’s start discussing what you’re looking to get and where. I’ll let you know now, that while I’m sure you’re likely VERY blessed… I don’t do anything where I gotta see dick or vag.”

Priest momentarily choked on his saliva while Rhea guffawed in glee. A quick side eye glare at her smothered the sound to a quiet chuckle. Something about her felt like she was messing with the poor Puerto Rican man, akin to a cat staring directly at their owner while pushing a glass of water off the counter playfully.

“You’ve already got plenty of gorgeous pieces on that flawless flesh. What are you thinking of doing?”

No hesitation he pulled his t-shirt up and over while turning to show the empty expanse of his back. Her breath caught audibly, eyes briefly went wide glancing at Ripley wildly. The female wrestler grinned like the Cheshire Cat, watching each interaction with fascination. Plans coming to fruition.

The tattooer bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to focus on what he was actually saying. Once locked in, Minnie began to sketch up fluidly upon paper, at one point he was leaning over her shoulder admiring the work of a talented creative. Bringing his vision to life on the crisp white paper, each description rumbled like incoming thunder located in the man’s voice box. Thank god for hyperfocus cuz lord only knows this was gonna be a genuine challenge for her self-control. All she wanted to do was trace those tattoos on him with her tongue. She had to shake her head to focus back in again, hands working on autopilot, taking in his words with each glide of charcoal across parchment. 

When he finished describing it she looked back up at him with a friendly smile,

“How big are you thinking of making it? So I know what to prepare for, as well as how many sessions to schedule in advance.” He tilted his head in thought momentarily before answering,

“Ideally I’d like it to cover a majority of my back.” She nodded in agreement,

“Alright, I’ve got the sketch started. I'll email you three different versions and you let me know what you like and what you don’t. And if there's aspects you like in one and want to add it to another one, just let me know. This is your tattoo on your skin, I want you to love it decades from now. How’s that sound?”  Damian was genuinely impressed with her professionalism, even as he controls the strong desire to flirt with her. This was a time to behave, she was Rhea’s best friend, and thus not someone to attempt to make any moves towards. 

“That sounds great to me, thanks.” Her smile was so sweet it could have made him diabetic just looking at it. 

“Great. Oh and Rhea, let me know when you want to come in and do those matching ghost tattoos with Dom.” 

“No rush, he’s busy planning his wedding right now so it’s gonna be a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. Now unfortunately I do have another client coming in twenty minutes so I gotta start prepping.” She pulled a business card from her bra, handing it over to Damian,

“My email and personal number is on there in case you think of something you want to add to the tat.Sound good?” Minnie gave a bashful little smile, and it made something deep in his chest want to say something incredibly forward. Rhea snagged him by the elbow, grinning like a cat that caught the canary. 

A nod of thanks was all he got out before being ushered back out, quicker than able to verbalize his appreciation. Ripley called back loudly,

“Thanks love! I’ll make sure he remembers to check his email regularly.” As if he didn’t already do that for work contacts to begin with. Once back in the car Priest gave his companion a look of utter suspicion, he could tell that she had ulterior motives. Nothing vicious or cruel, but she’d tried to set him up on a couple dates in the past, none that worked out. He’s focused on work, most women didn’t appreciate not being number one in his life. It’s been a string of disappointments, to where he bluntly asked Rhea to stop playing cupid. 

“This better not be an attempt at matchmaking again-” She cut him off with a sigh,

“I’ve long accepted that the ball is in your court from now on. I really truly just wanted you to go to an artist I’d trust my life with. She’s a good one, professional, talented, she spent twenty years as an apprentice before taking on her own clients. To top it off, she’s loyal, fun, and could use more genuine friends other than me. Can you blame me for that?” Her tone of voice was honest, after how much time they’d spent together, he could easily tell when she was bullshitting. Damian nodded to her as a show of acceptance to what she was saying. Her attention locked on the drive back to her place, Buddy was gonna get some sparring practice in with the other man. 

His gaze trailed a spot in the distance, trying to keep that woman out of his thoughts… failing miserably. She had such a lovely face, and all the art on display was impressive to be sure. The name Minerva fit her perfectly, especially with how protective she was of the Australian wrestler. It was endearing how she was barely 5’3 and was ready to take on the world to keep her 5’7 well-muscled friend safe. He hadn’t noticed the small smile that spread across his features, but Ripley sure took note of it. Keeping her features stoic while internally she was so pleased with herself. 

She pulled into the driveway where her man was waiting, he waved as they got out of the car. Buddy smiled at them, 

“I’m guessing it went well? Minnie is great at what she does. Rhea doesn’t like to share her with people, so it’s a hell of a compliment she brought you.” She gave him a quick kiss before heading into the house calling back,

“Play nice boys don’t forget the Terror Twins have some matches coming up.”

Damian shook his head w a huff before following the ginger towards their personal gym. Somehow he still had a sneaking suspicion that Rhea was playing a long game now instead of all the quick fruitless dates in the past… The image of Minerva slid by again, and for once… he might be okay with that.

Tagged:

@superlove167 @midnightlycan @mooshroomii420 @hotwheels1108 @misslackey @gigisview @abadbitchblogs @sexyblacksimper @sweetmoonlove0214 @daithideolishmer118 @tomandbuckyfan1 @terrortwinunicorn @iy-16-18 @sluttysierraaa @jstarr86 @zombiedixon89 @horsekoala @fearlesschimera @eringobragh420 @elainneoneill570 @gretavanhockey @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @sad-dreamer93 @agustd202204 @nubian-queen22 @kaitlinlovetwister @bosslady3168 @gabberzzz1998 @mol2311

[woollyrhinocrafts]

Let's Talk About Gearbox

I mean Gearbox Software, the development company behind the Borderlands video games, which have been some of my favorites for their unhinged tomfoolery and general ridiculousness, but then also profoundly deep moments for stark contrast, of course. 

You may be familiar with my crochet Claptrap pattern. See it. It's extremely detailed. Not for the faint of heart. It is so much assembly. So many parts. Takes so long.

The pattern has been around for a while (since 2012, I think). I've made a lot of improvements over the years and recently added videos to help with the buckwild assembly. It was even featured on some official Borderlands social media back in the day. Back in the day when Gearbox was cool with fans making stuff.

What do you mean, Michelle? You might be wondering.

Well, well, well. I got a nice lil cease and desist notice from Gearbox the other day and the pattern was removed from Etsy and Ravelry. Shit happens. And they have the "legal" right to do this. It is, in fact, their IP and whatever. 

The amount of money I've made from selling the pattern for over a decade is a drop of water in the ocean of a million dollar company, so I think cease and desists from million dollar companies to individuals like myself is really fucking stupid, but it normally doesn't bother me. It does not impact my feelings toward a company at all. I normally give it a lol, make the patterns free so no one makes money, and add whatever company to the list of million dollar companies that I have butthurt with my patterns. Again, getting a lil CnD normally doesn't bother me AT ALL, but getting one from Gearbox does, obviously, or I wouldn't be bitching about it.

Let me rant for a moment: I've only ever actually made three of these. I do not make them custom because they take like 50 hours to make. It is not as if I am mass producing Claptrap plushies in a Chinese sweatshop for pennies on the dollar and marking them up for a 300% profit. I am in no way genuinely interfering with their own official merchandise. 

My first problem is thus: it represents a change that I did not want to see in their mentality toward their fans. 

What's more...I looked into the report, which was filed by someone with the super made-up sounding title "Customer Protection Specialist." What customers are they protecting? I am a customer. I have been a loyal customer. I have purchased official Borderlands merch. I have essentially done free promotion for their games. But I daresay, they do not offer a crocheted Claptrap nor a crochet pattern for one, so I was filling a void and making a negligible profit compared to the profits they make. 

It has been proven time and time again that people who buy fanart and fan-made stuff STILL BUY OFFICIAL STUFF. I am not TAKING AWAY their money. I am not claiming I conceived of the character. I praised the games in the pattern and the listing.

But I digress and here is the real issue: the "Customer Protection Specialist" actually seemed to be contracted from an AI company that Gearbox has outsourced to. I will not name the AI company nor link to it because I do not want to help their SEO in any way. The AI company's sole purpose is to find "infringement" so companies can "protect" their IP. This is cool if someone has perhaps stolen, you know, your logo or your slogan or something, but to use it for fanworks...to go after fanart...to go after someone who is a supporter of your IP...

Gross.

Just fucking gross. 

Another way AI is killing art.

And guess what, my wallet is now non-buynary. They've lost a customer they were trying to "protect." Borderlands 4 can fuck right off, and if you give a shit about fanart, well...I'm not going to tell you what to do, but hopefully you get the idea.

[lxcke]

@killerlittlerejects: The Master Post

As you all know, I love to sit back and watch things unfold before bringing up an opinion. I don't really talk a lot, but when I do, there's usually something very serious going on. Well, today's the day I air out all that dirty laundry @killerlittlerejects has been desperately trying to keep under wraps. KLR, you've got multiple GROUPS of victims spanning back entire years, and they've all got a lot to say about you, girlie. I know what you did, and I'd love to share with the class your hypocrisy, lies, and long history of bullying.

After hours of research and conversations with your various victims, it's clear you have a pattern:

You catch wind of a target when they say something you don’t like.

Proceed to make it your entire personality for months to years at a time.

Shitpost, stalk, harass, and threaten this target completely out of left field.

Bask in the attention until your victim catches onto what you’re doing.

Get called out and play the perfect little angel victim against all the allegations.

Block block block, ignore, deflect, and/or fandom-hop to the next clean slate.

Repeat.

I don't tread lightly with my words when I tell you that this chick is psychotic. She's been caught stalking, with not two, not three, not four, but SEVEN known alt accounts. My team has had to sit down as a group and block a total of sixteen other related accounts to this person in an attempt to get her and the people associated with her fully off our back, and we're still not sure if that's all of them. Her cyberstalking habit has gotten to the point of police reports being filed on her. Twice.

This chick has pushed people into getting the police involved.

So, for one, harassing someone over something as simple as writing, attempting to stir up a little hate group against one of the biggest Cluster B artists on Tumblr, is scummy and comes off like you are clout farming. You've gone from what I thought was a bad case of keyboard-warrioring to one of the vilest attention whores I've ever been forced to witness beg on this platform.

You thought you could get away with trash-talking a man who has openly stated he has a disorder that affects how he communicates, who has openly said he uses his art as a coping mechanism, and who has openly made it clear he creates for those without a voice in the ASPD community. To me, and to many others, it looks like textbook middle-school bullying. You clocked him as an easy target, someone you thought you could overpower, banking on him either staying silent or slipping up just enough to hand you more ammo.

You thought. Bitch.

I've made other posts about this. Much more civil posts. Much more genuine attempts to connect and level with you, but you're just not getting the hint. There are way more people than you know of who will defend this good man with everything they have because he has done them nothing but kindness. You want to sit here and police everything Anton does when you don't even know him, nor have made efforts to, all because you need a punching bag. Every time he so much as breathes wrong, you got something to say, and I'm so fucking over it.

It’s honestly pathetic how you refused to just block the guy like a normal person. Instead, you lurk like some bargain-bin PI, desperate to dig up more dirt to whine about. It’s also incredibly suspicious to me that both Anton’s and my accounts went under a mass report review out of nowhere after nothing but complete normalcy, and not even twelve hours later, you're back at it after MONTHS of supposed radio silence on our end. I genuinely thought we were good up until now. You don’t “get dragged into drama” like you love to bitch about, you light the match and dive headfirst into the gasoline, then cry that it burns. You’ve spent every waking moment trying to paint yourself as some pure little victim while you stir shit behind the scenes. Now that the truth's out? You're flailing and mass-blocking like that’s going to save you. It's always your move: deny, deflect, block, repeat, a predictable little meltdown from someone who thought they’d never get called out by more than just those involved in your little game.

I’m not gonna name names, dox, threaten, or send people after you, because I’m not like you. I was nice to you, dude, but I’m not going to continue and let my team grovel at you and your circle’s feet and beg for forgiveness. These kinds of serious accusations from troves and troves of people, especially since their stories all line up with ours, really makes me wonder…

Anton hasn’t done shit to you or anyone else, and frankly, I’m fed up with your bitch ass tone, instigating other creators in the fandom to come up with insane rumors and accusations, and acting like you know the motherfucker’s “dark secrets” when all of you and your flying monkeys are completely clueless. None of you want to take any of the WOMEN in his circle seriously, blatantly ignoring what we’ve all had to say in favor of your self-righteous circle jerk. I’m not an angry person. I don’t normally do this. I’ve never even been involved with internet drama like this in my entire internet career, but you. You’re on a lot of people’s shitlist. YOU KINDS OF PEOPLE ARE THE REASON I LEFT THE FANDOM YEARS AGO. This is nothing new to me!

So, let me just… go through some of the shit you’ve been spewing here.

Everything you’ve posted reads like a tantrum wrapped in fake concern?? If you’re “scared” to post and need to open with a “no harassment” disclaimer, it’s obviously just drama you’re trying to dress up as activism. You complain Anton makes people “walk on eggshells,” but really, he just has standards and refuses to turn his project into your Tumblr fanfic fantasy land. You want to sit there and claim “oh that’s not the case and they’re bad boys!!!” but then get pissed when they become too disturbing for your taste. You’re mad that he actually has a backbone, not that he's some fandom dictator. Claiming he “shames” anything that doesn’t fit his vision? Of course he does… it’s HIS project. It’s HIS blog. It’s HIS space, and you are actively stepping into his online space and then crying about it??

Anton isn’t responsible for memorizing every bad Wattpad rewrite you cling to like scripture. Calling him a hypocrite for using shock value when he’s actually writing horror and not some pity party is insane; using shock to unsettle is what real horror authors do. You just can’t tell the difference because your taste was formed by creepypasta TikToks and 2010 dance AMVs. You even admit the fandom was never realistic, yet you’re mad that Anton had the audacity to actually do something different with it. 

Anton didn’t “mistype” to cover his ass, he had to clarify because people like you twist everything into a federal crime scene the second you get confused. You think pointing out that he criticizes other Jeffs is a gotcha…? No, he critiques, that’s allowed. We all know that and we’re not fucking stupid, bitch. What YOU are doing is attempting to destroy Anton’s name with baseless but HUGE accusations getting stirred up on your blog. None of us EVER tried to do this kind of shit to you. Now the cat’s out of the bag because you just couldn’t leave us alone.

As for the Leech and Tyrant situation: he's writing a toxic dynamic on purpose to show how evil it is, not to endorse it. If you can't handle seeing morally bad characters doing bad things without thinking it’s an endorsement, you’re not fit to be talking shit. And accusing someone of guilt just because they edited a post is the dumbest middle school logic imaginable. You’re not exposing anything real here. You’re just pissed that Blessed Be the Wicked isn’t the fandom-safe, pastel-coated story you wanted. You didn’t "catch" Anton,  you exposed yourself as someone too lazy to engage with actual horror storytelling and too entitled to realize you aren’t owed anything.

You have never bothered to investigate further into Blessed Be The Wicked’s messages. Your "criticism" about how "violence isn't maturity" is laughable, no shit, but Anton isn't just throwing gore around for shock, he’s showing broken characters being broken, which is leagues more thoughtful than pretending Jeff just needed a hug. You ramble about feminism like it has anything to do with Anton's work when it doesn't. And your complaints about “spite” and “hatred” are projection at its finest, dude, you are the one bashing Anton publicly. Anton talks about the fandom, his takes, and his arts. You encourage people to call him an incest supporter, a creep, and a misogynist. In the end, you admit you don’t know anything about his actual story. You tuned out, you didn’t engage, and you decided your shallow personal grudge mattered more than facts. That’s not critique, bitch, that’s straight selfism.

Look at Terrifyer 2. Look at Hostel. Look at literally any fucking horror movie. Anton’s level of gore/sexuality in his work is like a goddamn tea party. You’re acting like a fucking baby. You admit you were emotionally unstable when you wrote your original hit piece (no surprise there), but you still cling to your outrage like a little fucking kid. You’re mad because in early drafts, two characters were written to be the same person (not literal twins,) or mentor-apprentice, and in later drafts they were rewritten, as if that’s some cardinal sin in storytelling. You PURPOSEFULLY took that literally to cause shit.

Rewriting and evolving relationships is called developing a story, not "one-upping yourself." Then you reach for the laziest grenade you could find. "It’s misogyny!!!! Look guys it’s misogyny!!!! It’s bad!!!" As if screaming misogyny without evidence somehow makes your whining valid. You tried the "healing art isn’t for the internet" take, which is such a bad-faith, selfish argument it’s practically villainous. Anton sharing art he worked through trauma with doesn’t obligate him to babysit your feelings. I’m sure we can all agree that we hold art close to our hearts in one way or another and want to share that. Your grand finale on one of these latest posts is calling yourself an "ignorant cunt" like it’s a badge of honor. Fine. Self-awareness is the first step to recovery. Stay there.

The guilt-tripping lately is Olympic-level. Someone from her asks apologized for accidentally fanning the flames, and KLR practically threw a pity party. She claims it’s "not their fault," but immediately shifts to passive-aggressively blaming us for daring to defend ourselves, because how dare people try to keep an innocent man’s name clean? Then she acts like a martyr, whining about being "singled out," even though she was the one who reignited an old drama with a new post. Actions, consequences. Not a hard concept dude, come on. She says she’s "upset it escalated," like she’s just an innocent bystander, when she chose to publish drama-bait and knew exactly what kind of response it would get. You’re not a victim of some grand scheme; you're just messy, and now the mess splattered back on you.

After stirring the pot until it boiled over, KLR pulled this AWESOME classic internet martyr move: announcing a dramatic "signing off" like she’s some war hero going into exile. She cries that blocking people somehow wasn’t enough (because her victims have to silence themselves just to make her comfortable). She insists she’s “safe” and “not self-harming,” fishing for sympathy, doing that bullshit manipulative undertone of accusation that we’re threatening her SAFETY??? while conveniently ignoring that her side started the harassment, ableism, and dogpiling over personality disorders. “I’m not suicidal guys!!!” Motherfucker, nobody said ANYTHING about coming over to hurt you. You’re projecting.

Then, just like clockwork, she wraps it all in a syrupy "you are loved, have fun, be creative" speech, because nothing says emotional manipulation like trying to look wholesome right after turning a fandom into a battleground. If she wanted things to calm down, she could've stopped months ago. But no, she kept kicking the hornet’s nest and now wants a parade for "stepping away." The Oscar is in the mail.

So, let’s look at the receipt here:

Saw Anton’s views she didn’t like → obsessed over them.

Months of “poking the bear,” shitposts, stirring the pot, supposedly dropping vague DMs from alts, keyboard warrior shit.

Ramped up the disinformation campaigns and ableism when she didn’t get the attention she wanted

Played "truth-teller" while getting ego boosts from followers.

Anton’s defenders decided to FINALLY clap back after finally getting sick of it.

Immediately switched to "I’m scared 😭 I did nothing wrong!!" mode.

Blocked critics, played dead online. Prepping for a comeback in a different fandom probably as we speak.

Yup, that checks out. She’s textbook. Not "misunderstood." Not "scared." Not "traumatized into lashing out." She's a professional abuser LARPing as a martyr and I am not about to sit here and let her continue to abuse not only my lover, my friends, and myself, but the fandom I grew up in and hold dear. 

I’ve got THIRTEEN individual people in my inbox telling me all about you, and I’m so happy to know that it’s not us, it’s you. Fuck you.

Sincerely,

Locke

[diettwistup]

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 3.9K

NOTES: hey y’all!!! so excited to be posting the first chapter of this story. manifesting my edits are all good LOL. enjoy! 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTIONS AND EMBARRASSMENTS

US OPEN TOURNAMENT- 2006, 2:00 PM

Sitting down on the hot bleachers, I put my sunglasses on and adjusted the braids in my hair. Sucking on my teeth and brushing my fingers across the hem of my uniform skirt, I let my eyes gaze at the large crowd of people accumulating. 

Damn Tashi, you always know how to make a bang. 

Crossing my arms and softly laughing, I let my mind wander back to my match yesterday. 

I had lost to the girl who would be playing Tashi for the championship. I really don’t know if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, I lost from a bad call when I was so close to the end. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to battle my best friend and get absolutely decimated, as she would say. 

As I continued to lose myself in thought, two boys, blonde and brunette, moved through the growing crowd and sat in front of me. 

You’re kidding me. 

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson—the “fire and ice” duo—had just won their doubles match, if I’m not mistaken. How could I be when their trophies were sitting right on their laps?

There's still a ton of seats open, and they choose to sit here? 

Rolling my eyes and crossing my arms, I pushed my sunglasses up, waiting for Tashi to come out. 

Staring at the door to the locker rooms, I clicked my tongue in boredom before grabbing the tournament pamphlet to look at everyone’s stats. 

“Don’t you wanna meet Tashi Duncan?” 

My ears perked at this as I put the pamphlet down and narrowed my eyes at the brunette boy. 

Whoever said eavesdropping was a bad thing…

I had to hold in my laughter as they began to talk about Tashi and how she was the entire package. Telling her this later would be the highlight of my week. 

“What about Mikaelson, you know her?” Patrick asked as he slung his arm around his companion. 

I froze at this and tilted my sunglasses down to better see the two of them. 

“Of course I know her. Have you seen her play? She’s fucking hot.” Art added with a smirk as he attempted to whisper, failing miserably. 

My face heated up at this as my eyes narrowed at the boys. 

Do they not realize the person they’re talking about is behind them? 

“Agreed,” Patrick started as he pulled his friend closer. “She’s also got a fat ass.” He laughed as Art chuckled along with him. 

Gag. 

Closing my eyes and pretending I didn’t hear that, I heard cheers and claps from around, signaling that Tashi had come out of the locker room. The chair umpire immediately began to talk about her stats and how she was the best female player in our division. 

I happily clapped as I beamed at my friend, her eyes scanning the crowd and locking with mine, a large smile playing on her features. 

“Fuck, did you see that? Tashi Duncan just smiled at us…” Patrick exclaimed in awe as he pushed Art in the chest. 

“Shit, I missed it.” Art complained before leaning back and adjusting himself in his seat.

I almost had to cover my mouth to hide the vomit that was about to let loose. 

Dumbasses. 

After a few minutes, Tashi’s match began, of course, in her favor. Everything was perfect: her serves, backhand, line receives, counterattacks, and every single step she took. 

I smirked widely as I watched Tashi decimate the bitch who, unfortunately, decimated me. 

Patrick and Art watched Tashi in awe for the first ten minutes of the match while commenting on how amazing a player she was. 

I snorted at this, wondering how long it would take to notice who was sitting behind them.

On the next serve, Tashi’s opponent hit the ball out, but the line umpire declared it as in. 

Standing up immediately, I pointed a finger and yelled at the top of my lungs. 

“What?! Come on, Tash, don’t take that shit!” 

Everyone else agreed with me as the crowd began to roar in protest of the shitty call. 

Lost in the moment, I hadn’t realized that Patrick and Art had turned around and stared at me in horror and awe. 

“Oh,” I started and took off my sunglasses. Did I yell in your ear?” I looked between them before looking back up at Tashi. 

“Fuck, you’re-“ Patrick started in a slightly panicked state before I cut him off. 

“Milan Mikaelson? Yeah, I’m guessing you two know me.” I spoke with sarcasm as I kept my eyes trained on Tashi and her opponent. 

Caught. 

“Shit, I’m real sorry for what I said, I-“ Art started before I placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, eyes still not leaving the game.

“Don’t sweat it, was too focused on the game to give a damn.” I lied straight through my teeth as I pretended to act nonchalant. 

I could feel both of their eyes staring long and hard at my hand lingering on Art’s shoulder before I took it away to throw my hands in the air and yell as Tashi locked in another point. 

“Come on, Tash!” I yelled and clapped with the roaring crowd, boys still looking back at me. 

Sighing, I crossed my arms and looked back down at them. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” I spoke in annoyance before sitting back down and putting on my sunglasses. 

All I could hear were muffled whispers and attempts to counteract my statement before they turned back around and shared we’re fucked looks. 

Stifling my laughs, I angled my eyes back to the match. 

As Tashi continued to hit the ball effortlessly for the rest of the match, her win came almost naturally. 

Standing up and yelling, I quickly ran down the bleachers, feeling two pairs of eyes following me. I stood against the fence and clapped loudly while Tashi caught my eyes after her victory yell and smiled widely at me. 

I jumped up and down with all the fans cheering with their signs and matching t-shirts. 

Running around the court to thank everyone for coming, Tashi came over to me and grabbed my hands. 

“Tashi! I’m so proud!” I yelled and bounced on my heels, extremely happy with my friend's success. 

“My biggest fan.” She smiled and reached over to hug me before letting go and continuing to thank everyone. 

Smiling proudly at her, I pushed my braids behind my back and took off my sunglasses. Turning around, I looked back at the sea of people cheering for Tashi before my eyes landed on two figures. 

What a mystery those two are…

I smirked proudly at them as their eyes shifted between Tashi walking back to her locker room and myself standing by the fence. 

Patrick leaned over to Art and whispered something as their eyes darted between us. I could only see Patrick's smirk and Art’s growing grin at his friend's words. 

Snorting to myself, I turned around and put my sunglasses back on. 

“Fucking morons…” 

ADIDAS BRAND PARTY - 2006 8:00 PM

“Tashi!” I exclaimed as I weaved through a crowd of familiar and influential faces to ambush my best friend. 

I could see her bright smile miles away as she turned to meet me at the edge of the dancefloor, engulfing her in a hug. 

“Milan, I was wondering if you weren’t coming.” She laughed as she wrapped her arms around me and returned my hug. 

Pulling away, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Tashi Duncan, my best friend, thought I would miss out on this?!” I questioned as I gestured to the bustling party. "You must be crazy if you think I would miss out on anything that concerned you and your tennis career,” I snapped at her with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll have you know I was late because my mother insisted on making me change ten times.” I rolled my eyes and tilted my head to where our moms were conversing. I stuck my nose up and closed my eyes, annoyed at the memory of how nagging my mother was when getting ready for the party.

Immediately, she raised her hands in defense and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, Miss Mikaelson, didn’t mean to assume.” She laughed before crossing her arms. 

I watched her expression change slightly as her eyes softened and lips parted. 

“I watched your match yesterday,” she said, lightly treading. “I’m sorry about the loss.” She finished and brought a hand to my shoulder, rubbing it gently with a sad smile.

Flashes of my match fluttered back into my mind as a small pit formed in my stomach. 

I shrugged this off and took up a carefree attitude, whereas my insides were screaming. 

“It was a shitty call, what can I say? That bitch had and has nothing on me.” I smirked and made sure not to falter, but secretly, the loss had internally crushed me.

Tashi laughed, brought her other hand to my shoulder, and bent down to level our eyes. “Don't worry, I decimated her for you. Plus, at Stanford, the both of us will be fucking up bitches right and left.” She shot a cocky smirk at this as I gave her one back in turn. 

Stanford. The next four years of my life with Tashi Duncan would be the ultimate dream. 

Right? 

I extended my pinky to Tashi with a slight wink. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip and smirked at this familiar gesture between us. 

As long as I can remember, Tashi and I have made over a hundred pinky promises. Our first one involved her letting me borrow her Barbie doll while we played house and my promise to return it. Since then, it’s been a norm between us. 

I felt the confidence radiating from Tashi’s grin as she moved her right hand from my shoulder to interlock our pinkies. 

“Promise.” She repeated and swung our interlocked pinkies back and forth. 

I laughed like a child all over again before quickly raking my eyes across the entire party. As I scanned the crowd, I let go of Tashi’s pinky and leaned in to whisper. 

“Lots of important people here, I see,” I whispered as Tashi’s eyes followed mine.

“And familiar faces too…” She responded in a lower tone, angling her eyes to an older man by the beverages. 

“Shut up!” I gasped before looking back at Tashi. “Is that Mr. Reynolds?!” I asked in shock at seeing our fifth-grade English teacher. 

“Yup,” Tashi responded, standing straight as she crossed her arms. She studied the older man as he scanned the beverages offered. “He was always my favorite,” she quipped, not needing a huge explanation for why he was here. 

At this, I burst out into laughter, as did she. 

“I thought he died years ago.” I clutched my stomach before placing a hand over my mouth and muffling my small laughs. “Wait, that’s not nice. I mean, I thought he passed on peacefully years ago.” I corrected in a serious tone as I watched the older man before glancing at Tashi and bursting into laughter again. 

As I laughed with Tashi, I felt a burning feeling on the back of my head. 

Was someone staring?

Wiping my eyes carefully to avoid messing up my makeup, I slowly turned around and almost froze as I locked eyes with the person, or should I say persons, staring at Tashi and me. 

Oh, hell no. Is that who I think it is?

Quickly, I turned back around and whispered to Tashi in a hurried tone. 

“Tash, is that Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?” I looked her in the eye as they narrowed at the mention of the “fire and ice” duo’s presence at the party. 

“Oh yeah, they’ve been staring all night.” She smirked and looked between the two of us. “Frankly, I don’t blame them.” Her smirk grows even wider, mirroring the Cheshire Cat. 

Biting my lip, I remembered my earlier encounter with the two tennis players. I shuddered as I remembered their smirks and remarks about Tashi and me. 

“Tash…” I said warningly, pointing my perfectly manicured finger in her face. “Please tell me you don’t have one of your ideas in mind.” I slightly scolded her, studying her face to see what she was thinking. “Those two are complete and utter idiots.” I continued as I shook my head. 

She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and whispered back as she lowered my finger and sucked on her teeth. “Do you really need to ask this?” She questioned with an air that spoke obviously, are you stupid? 

“And believe me,” She started and moved to fix the straps of my dress. “I know exactly how they are…teenage boys.” She snickered wider at this as I rolled my eyes. 

I huffed loudly before grabbing a piece of my hair to fiddle while I groaned. “But Tash, it’s our summer before we go to college. No boys.” I retorted as the music in the background got a little louder. 

Grabbing my hands, Tashi dragged us to the middle of the dance floor and forced me to dance. “First of all,” She started as she twirled me around, “This was never a pinky promise.” She spoke, wrapped her arms around my neck, and swayed us to the music. 

Fuck, she got me there. 

“Second of all,” She continued before touching my neck to untangle my necklaces while swaying with me. “I know you’re internally drooling over Art Donaldson. He’s exactly your type, and he’s going to Stanford.” She laughed to herself as she worked on my necklaces. 

Fuck x2 can’t deny that. 

I rolled my eyes and turned away, knowing I couldn’t argue either of those statements. 

“You’re crazy…” Was all I could protest. 

Untangling my necklaces, Tashi clapped and smiled brightly at me before putting her hands back on my shoulders. “This is gonna be a great start to the summer.” She grinned like a mad woman as we kept dancing across the floor. 

After dancing, mingling, and trying not to focus on the two hard stares hitting Tashi's and my head for the entire night, I decided to go to the beach. 

“Hey, Tash, I’m going to the beach for a quick breather. If my mom asks, I’ll be down there. Come down if you need anything or if I miss something interesting.” I smile gently at her while I take my heels off.

“Got it. Be safe.” She waved before going to get pictures with her family. 

I smiled at her before walking to navigate the path to go down to the beach, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes following me. 

10:00 PM

I wonder how long I had been down here listening to the sweet waves ripple against the hot sand. I almost feel as if the ocean is calling me. 

Imagine the escape of living on a secluded island where nothing mattered. Not school, not tennis, and not the future.

Especially the future. 

Staring at my newly manicured nails, I continued to get lost in my thoughts while the ocean rang in my ears.

Shit, I’m over everything.

I reached a hand up to my mouth and began to bite one of my nails. 

Do I even wanna go to Stanford? 

Practically gnawing at it, I can feel the acrylic wearing off.

Doesn’t matter because I’ll be with Tashi… right?

SNAP

“Fuck…” I muttered to myself as I broke off a nail, leaving a tiny bit of blood seeping from my nail bed. 

Rolling my eyes, I held onto the broken nail and rested my head on my knee as I watched the ocean. 

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” I heard a deep voice ask behind me, making me let out a small yelp and nearly fall off the rock.

Quickly turning around, I was met with two, unfortunately familiar, faces. 

Why now?

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson stood before me, shoes in one hand and cigarettes in the other. Frankly, I had no idea which one spoke, and I had no care to know at this rate. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and they disturbed that. 

“What the fuck,” I explained as I stood up from the rock and patted my dress down. “Do you know how rude it is to sneak up on someone?” I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes as I looked between the two boys sheepishly standing before me. 

“Shit, really sorry, didn’t know you were here,” Patrick spoke up as his counterpart dropped his cigarette from his lips upon seeing me study his stature. 

Bullshit. 

“Hm, okay, well, I’ll be going then,” I exclaimed, irritated, as I bent down to grab my heels. “I hope you two have a grand time.” I sarcastically quipped as I went to walk past them and go back up the path to the party. 

“Wait,” Art, almost panicked, stood before me with a lopsided grin as he flicked his cigarette bud beside him and treaded lightly as he motioned to the chairs near the rock I had just occupied. “We’d love it if you joined us, just for a chat.” He had a genuine smile on his face now. 

Are they serious?

Before I could open my mouth, Patrick beat me to it as he walked to sit in one of the chairs Art motioned to. 

“Yeah, just to talk. You're one of the best players in our age bracket, and it would be a real treat to get to know you as an apology for what happened earlier.” Patrick added and smirked so wide I could feel pure smitten radiating off it. 

They are serious.

Both boys were now staring at me, gazes identical in pure amazement, awaiting my response. 

Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck x3.

Sighing softly and crossing my arms, I dropped my shoes, returned to the rock, and sat down. 

“You get five minutes,” I spoke curtly as I looked between the boys, waiting for one of them to speak up.

Art took this chance to open his mouth, but before he could begin, I held a hand up to stop him.

“Oh, and there’s no need to introduce yourselves. Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, the “fire and ice” duo.” I spoke unenthusiastically, keeping my eyes on Art for a little longer before angling my expression to Patrick.

Both boys stared at me with slight smirks as I adjusted my dress and grabbed a piece of hair to play with while they continued. 

“Well, Milan Mikaelson,” 

I inwardly shuddered as he spoke my full name. 

“During your match, I thought that call was fucked.” Patrick spoke up and got right to the point. He laughed as if he remembered it as a fond childhood memory. 

Almost instantly, Art chimed in to add to his friends' thoughts, a bit too eager for my liking. “I mean, that Anna girl could barely serve your entire match, and then that?” He stated as he shook his head, acting like he was scolding my opponent to her face like a coach.

My eyes lit up at this. They knew how to crack me. Bring up my pride and losses, and I’ll talk your ear off for hours. 

“I think the official was blind because that bitch’s ball was totally past the line,” I explained matter-of-factly. “Did you see the way he hesitated before calling it? He probably had it in with her.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in annoyance at the memory of the loss. 

“Still, you were fucking amazing out there. How did you get your backhand to be that powerful?” Art quickly added and leaned forward in his chair as if moving closer to me would allow him to understand my words better. 

I let a slight smile adorn my features as I studied his position. 

Fuck x4.

For the next four minutes, the three of us talked about tennis and our matches throughout the tournament. Though brief, I could quickly tell how these two relied on each other and their sport. It was definitely the glue for their friendship. I could also tell how they hung onto my every word, like a toddler waiting for his mother to let him out of the time-out-chair. 

Checking my watch, I stood up and looked between the boys. 

“Though this was fun, your five minutes is up.” I flashed my watch at them with a subtle smile before bending down to grab my shoes. 

When I bent down, I could hear some rushed scuffles and whispers. Standing back up, I saw that both boys were also standing, very tense, might I add. 

“How can we contact you to do this again?” Patrick asked with a smirk, which I presume was a signature for him.

Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms and looked between him and his blonde companion. 

“Who said I wanted to do this again?” I asked as Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets with a defeated grin while Art let out a muffled chuckle. 

“Come on, this was fun.” Art added and took a cautious step towards me. “Can we get your number?” He asked as he studied my face with the cheekiest grin he could muster.

I laughed at his question dryly before pointing my finger between the two boys. “We? You think I’m gonna get between this? Hell no.” I replied, walking past them to the stairs and back to the party. 

Immediately, I could feel their eyes staring into the back of my head, and I wondered if they would beg or plead. 

They better not. 

“Come to our hotel,” Patrick yelled, making me whip my head around. “We have beer,” he grinned once he saw my interest somewhat piqued. 

Fuck x5.

“It’s not far from here. We can talk more.” He gestured between the three of us and then pointed up to the party. 

This made me look back to the party, about to question what he meant before Patrick chimed in. 

“We talked to Tashi earlier and told her the same thing. Would be fun getting to know the beautiful golden tennis girl duo.” He chuckled as I watched his eyes flicker from my face to my lips.

This made my face heat up, but I would never reveal that. Teenage boys don’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing they have any sort of effect on me. 

Clicking my tongue, I nodded at this new piece of information. 

Tashi did say she had a plan in place. This could be fun. 

“Maybe,” I replied as my eyes shifted between the boys.

You’re not easy, Milan Mikaleson. Remember that.

“Depends on my mood.” I finished and shot them small smirks before walking back up the stairs, not giving the boys a moment to retort. 

As I walked back to the party, my eyes shut as I felt a headache coming on. 

What the hell did I get myself into?

[fantasyqueen502]

Suspension

Summary: Ellie gets suspended from school. Joel helps with that. Along with the help of their favorite art teacher. (Set in Jackson.)

Rated: PG-13 (language and mentions of intimacy)

“She's the devil!” the teen shouts the front door swinging open hitting the wall behind it.

“Whoa! ‘ey! Don't be slammin’ doors.” Joel scolds shooting up from his lying position on the couch. Rubbing the scuff the door handle had given the wall. The teen shoves a pink sheet of paper into the man's chest.

He skims it.

“It's just three days.” Joel reasons lagging behind what was hurricane Ellie.

“The wicked bitch of the west!” she screams, throwing her backpack to the ground. Her list of names for Jackson's school Dean now had another entry. Fighting in a flurry to get her jacket, the zipper went off track midway. Opting to tear it up and over her head.

“ ‘ey Ellie.” Joel sighs cautiously going to help the girl before she actually injures herself.

“Save it, Joel!” Freeing herself, her hair wild and face red as she catches her breath.

Reading over the reasoning for Ellie's three day suspension. Serial counts of swearing, combative altercations with other students and staff being the majority. With one “display of violence” against another student that left him with stitches.

“I'm not going.”

“Ellie!” He barks sternly. Tilting his head waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't she waits silently glaring and panting through her flared nostrils. “We had an agreement.” He reminds. “That we both would try.”

The teen groans dramatically. “They're sending me to jail.”

“Three days service.” He reads aloud. “They care about you kids. Back in my school days they expelled you and didn't blink twice at what will become of you.”

“I'd kill for that.” Dragging her feet to the stairs. “Can you talk to your girlfriend?” She stands midway up the staircase.

“What girlfriend?”

“Mrs. L/N, she'll bail me out of this shit.”

Joel chuckles. “You can earn your hours with her, your feral self. Spare the others.” He teases. “I'm gonna go talk to her.”

“The Dean?”

“Ms. L/N, get all of this smoothed over.”

He assures the ascending steps of Ellie with the close of her bedroom door.

“Girlfriend?” Y/N coos peeking from the couch buttoning up her blouse eyeing the top of the staircase as Joel was.

“Yeah, it's just…” he stammers in a fluster. “...just something she does to annoy me.”

She chuckles softly slipping into her flats fixing her hair.

“I’ll talk to the dean and smooth all this over.” she assures walking over to the door. "She can help me with the younger students. Dealing with glue and glitter next week." She grimaces with a smile.

He exhales a breath of relief, looping a hand to the small of her back giving a kiss, holding her close.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime. Have a long night of grading ahead of me.” she groans.

“I'll make sure to swing by with a plate, having venison tonight.”

“He cooks too, Joel Miller how have you not been swept up?”

“There is this art teacher, I bet good money she has a chance.”

She snorts.

“Don't be a stranger.” She bids leaving out.

Closing the door Joel smiles to himself.

“You sly dog.”

He quickly turns, heart stopping at Ellie at the top of the staircase. A smug look on her face.

“How lo---”

“The two of you whispering and sucking faces like teenagers.” She snickers, skipping down to his level. She follows as he walks away from her and the conversation. “Hey, you're both adults, and I already like Ms. L/N…does that make her my step mom.” She wonders. “Are you two gonna move in together, Are you gonna get married?”

“Ellie!” He scolds.

“Relax.” She groans, punching his arm. “I'm just messin’.” she says. “I'm happy for you.” She smiles with a nod.

“I appreciate that.” He nods.

“I just have one more thing to ask.” She says seriously.

“Shoot.” He allows.

“Kay.” She takes a breath. “Are you using protection?” She breaks into laughter as Joel storms out of the kitchen. “C’mon, I'm actually serious, but if you're trying for a Joel Junior, I volunteer to be God sister!” she calls out.

Receiving a door slam.

Last of us Masterlist

Masterlist, Imagines, and Miscellaneous Drabbles

[jasonthetoymakesmybbg]

Sweetness is a Tasteful thing. (1/??)

Yep, back immediately cause this man is legit invading my mindset and I can not-like he’s actually so fine 😍🙏

Anyways-

Patrick Hockstetter x Female/Male Reader

I am making this cause a scenario kinda went into my head like what if Patrick and his mom met your guys family and stuck around your house for a bit, but y’all are kinda like enemies and he’s forced to be in your room so y’all get along, and like he starts talking about horny shit. Then he started touching himself while staring you dead in the eye, casually moaning your name? I might make a second thing for this adding the rest of the Bowers Gang but,Like bro-HE WONT LEAVE MY HEAD 😭 and for male like he decides to leave Fem flabbergasted and bumped into Male room, then kinda walked in and yeah?

Another day passing, a peaceful weekend, meaning not having to deal with the Bowers Gang…is what I thought but this day became stressful for me.

I was peacefully in my room drawing who knows what, mostly just random doodles of cats or silly goofy things cause why not? I heard a knock on my door and I look up, seeing my mom.

“Sweetie? We’re having guest, get a shirt on.” My mom said quickly, closing my door again, oh yeah forget to mention I was chilling in a pair of shorts and bra cause I was comfy, but who could be visiting?

I sigh and get up, getting a long sleeve shirt on, I grumble as I left my room to see who is was, and who do I see?

Hockstetter and his mom standing inside our living. In my home? Fuck this-before I could slip away back to my safe space my dad spoke up.

“And there’s one of my kids” He said that on purpose? Fuck you dad.

Hockstetter turned and saw me, smirking a bit, damn it why is he so submissive and breedable looking but is a sadistic asshole that’s a tad aggressive?-

(All Y/n as siblings cause yeah)

“Hi…I’m [Fem]Y/n” I grumble a little, feeling all my stress appearing again and I barely left school.

His mom simply waved, greeting me and probably clueless of what her son was planning, meanwhile I felt like killing myself.

My brother walked in [Male] Y/n and he looked in disbelief seeing Patrick, he glanced at me and I shrugged.

“Ah, there’s my son” my dad spoke up, damn it.

“Why don’t you hang out with them?” My mom said looking at Patrick, he shrugged and walked over to me, meanwhile my brother left already, really said ‘ladies first’ we walked to my room, dread touched my heart.

Opening to my glorious room filled with randomly shit that related to my interests or gore art on the wall I pinned up. I sat on my bed, Patrick closed my door, damn it. He smirked lightly sitting in my spinning chair.

“You seem so tense..why is that?” He lightly mocked, I glared.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I grumble to myself again, glaring in hatred.

“Maybe..I might’ve said something about you to my mom to convince her to come over” he grinned.

“…bitch” I said lowly, he smirked at my hostile attitude, but he’s low key hot-stay focused.

“You know…I bet you would look so good bouncing on my dick.” I choke on my spit, not expecting that-well it was expected but it was so random.

“Huh?-“

“You heard me.” He stared, his eyes were burning into my soul and all I felt was lust waving over him.

“..image me fucking your thighs, then finishing on your stomach, or me fucking you senseless with a knife to your neck..image all the things I could do to you.” He had said so casually, i wasn’t used to a guy telling me his fantasies.

“Sometimes…I wanna fuck you from behind while you suck off Henry” he had continued.

Wow-wait? Henry? Damn, I knew it-he was most definitely bi. Probably gets off to fucking or pleasing girls while watching a guy.

“Or…suck Henry while you ride me I don’t complain” I cock a eyebrow at his words.

“…so…your just spilling your bisexual fantasies?-“ he simply nodded, I notice his hands started caressing near his bulge, but now I finally notice his bulge was erect.

“Look at that..all hard, and just the thought of you makes me all hot and bothered..even though sometimes I just wanna slit your throat.” He let out a low growl, he lightly started to rub his bulge, I gulped knowing I wanted out.

He moaned softly, “Y/n~..got me all excited~”..so how do I feel watching this go down?..mixed feelings. My heart jumped when I notice him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Letting his length come free he gripped it a tad tight while stroking.

“Fuck.~..I wanna feel you so badly. Ngh~” I was not gonna make eye contact with his cock, but he made me nervous looking him in the eye, good thing the walls are thick.

He was just touching himself while looking at me, he bit his lip.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t handle seeing me want release Y/n?~ o-ah~” He closed his eyes for a second feeling the moment, it was a surprise he was so peaceful while masturbating.

He stopped suddenly, simply fixing his pants he got up and left my room, I was just-wow

“Huh?-“ was all I could say, I was speechless.

————-/////—————/////—————/////————

[Male] pov

I was chilling in my room, laying on my bed with music blasting through my headphones, eyes closed. But I wasn’t aware of the devil literally finding me and coming into my room, not even noticing he closed my door.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my chest, my eyes open immediately and I sit up. Patrick..what the fuck?-

“What does your bitch ass want?” I ask, taking my headphones off.

“Hm-“

“Actually don’t answer that.” I quickly said.

Before I could move much his hand gripped my thigh to prevent me from leaving. My cock twitched in confusion, but I didn’t wanna react to much.

“.you aren’t gonna leave.” He said lowly, before smirking again, he leaned in to the crook of my neck and started laying kisses down. My breathe lightly hitched at the feeling.

“Huh?-“ I was confused why he was showing a form of affection when he isn’t affectionate at all. I felt him lightly rest his hand on my thigh again, his thumb lazily rubbing against my bulge to get me excited. And yet it did, my cock started to harden at the sensation, I felt his smirk grow bigger in my neck.

He let out a chuckle, “fucking knew it”

“Knew what?-“ I cock a eyebrow,

“You would enjoy me touching your dick…slut” and there it was, the word I hated being called But liked it so much.

“What you call me?-say it again…i-like..hearing you call me that” I had shared, Patrick laughed at my words.

“Aw..the slut wants to be humiliated huh? Would you allow me to call you it in school?.~”

I nodded, “yes-if it means to hear you say it..” my body was begging to be stripped and fucked, he knew it to.

“Fucking prepare cause when the rest of the gang get here-“

“…what?” I side glance, my eyes went wide.

“Yeah..they’re planning to tag along here..mostly to play with you and your siblings.” He casually said, laying on his side comfortably.

“Let it sink in slut” the way the word slid off his tongue made me excited.

“Jesus fucking Christ” I rubbed my eyes.

“..your so-hot?” I randomly say, Patrick was amused by the way I was acting.

“I can tell I am in your eyes…also to let you know I randomly masturbate in front of your sister” that made my jaw dropped.

“The fuck?-“ I tried processing what he said.

“How did she react?-“ I ask

“Flabbergasted and confused” he shrugged his shoulders

“Sounds accurate enough”

(And here we are, one part done.)