#it's because of fucking assholes like this one

[datschaos]

You know?

Maybe an unpopular opinion-- but I don't hate ads on principle.

But I do hate *most* ads. I hate how the majority of them are utilized, and that it's the current 'norm' for marketing wares and services.

I hate the ones that are manipulative. That are purposefully structured to mislead someone into buying something whether they actually -need- it or not, whether the company/seller even *cares* about their product / service or not.

I hate the intrusive ads, that force themselves into my soundscape, visual scenery, and the like.

I like ads that tell me about their cool product or company because... well, advertising what you sell is the only way you make money. It's also how I've found out about companies that I genuinely enjoy doing business with, either between our businesses or as a direct consumer of their services or products.

As a small business person who grew up running a shop with my mom and now wholesales pewter we make, like... no, ads are important.

But they don't have to be shitty and lack respect. They don't have to smash themselves in our faces or ears, or on radios be played at twice the volume of the *music* we want to listen to so you're forced to turn the volume up and down repeatedly or deal with Loud Advertisements.

Normalize... normal communication. I miss when ads used to tell me about cool local artists and products and companies that care about what they do, about themselves *and* their clients. They're not extinct, but they aren't the norm.

But that could always change.

every ad is a personal insult to everyone who sees it and i’m not kidding

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[pencil-n-pen]

YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[sweaterkittensahoy]

As a dog owner myself, this drives me fucking bonkers. Because, first and foremost, forcing retail workers or friends to put up with your dog when you have not previously agreed to do that is bullshit. It's rude. It's uncaring. And, especially in retail spaces, it makes shit harder for people with service dogs.

We recently went to a yarn store that had previously been welcoming to all dogs. We took Bean because we'd been able to before. There was a sign on the door saying "service animals only."

So, Sean and Bean went back to the car while I did my shopping.

Because we're not assholes, and our dog is not required to be the center of everyone's fucking universe.

I do NOT bring Bean to anyone's house without first gaining permission because that's fucking rude. No one's ever turned us down, but if they did, fine. It just puts a minor limit of how long we can stay since she'll need to be crated while we're out of the house, and we prefer she not be crated for more than about four hours if we can manage it (she has proven she can be crated up to eight hours if necessary, but we would rather not make her do that on the regular as it is not the regular routine).

She is a very dog-reactive dog. We keep this in mind in all places we bring her. She is less reactive if we pick her up, but if she starts barking before we can, we have to make her follow the rules of "You fucking know you're not supposed to be acting like this" before we can scoop her, and it's stressful to everyone. It's why she is NOT allowed in houses with other animals because she will bark at any other dogs and try to fight any other animal. So, we won't even ask if we can bring her if we know you have animals, and we will ask if you have animals and let you know she's an ass if we don't know.

I'm not writing this out as a "Haha I'm so much better at dog ownership than you idiots." I'm writing this out because I think Sean and I do a good job of wanting to be with our dog but also not being dicks to other people, and these are the ways we keep that balance. If you don't want my dog in your house, that's 100% fair. It's your house. She can hang out safe and warm in the crate while we enjoy your company.

If you come to my house, you know we have a dog, and if you don't want her to cuddle up on you, we will do our best to keep her from deciding you are something to sleep on. Yes, it's her house, and she's our pup, but you are also our guest, and it's our job to make sure you are comfortable. We're lucky she prefers to sleep with us when people are staying over, honestly. It takes a whole issue out of the equation.

Also, shout out to @infiniteeight8 who is great at refusing to let Bean do whatever she wants because then it lets us watch Bean go into 'cat mode' in order to get pets. Basically, Bean will do all her cute dog shit to try and get pets, and inf will go, "No. Not interested." and Sean and I will distract Bean away as well. But she will always try again, and Inf will refuse again and make it clear she's not into it, and finally Bean will just lay down next to her, and Inf will go, "Yes, this is good. Be a cat," and pet Bean, and then the rest of the time Inf is visiting, Bean will just go cat mode to get the attention she wants.

But the only reason it works is because Sean and I, as Bean's people, reinforce that Bean doesn't get to do whatever she wants just because it's her house. You are responsible for your dog, and part of that responsibility is not forcing your dog onto other people.

We gotta do something about the way dog owners behave. No other pet owner is just bringin the pet wherever the fuck they go all the time but for some reason with dog owners they think its fine if they bring their dog to the gym and taco bell and whatever. And you invite a dog owner to your house where youve got your own pets youve got your dog and your cats and whatever it is you have and this dog owner shows up at your door like "oh i brought my dog i hope thats okay hes so sweet youll love him" and it is always the most untrained poorly behaved agressive animal that has ever lived. And we all have to pretend like its acceptable behaviour well im sick of it

[writingsbytee]

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. 

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

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Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink. 

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat. 

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV. 

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID. 

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again. 

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your  twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your  teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone. 

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks. 

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you  said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. 

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me. 

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice. 

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline.  Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a  part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons. 

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.  

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you. 

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return. 

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up. 

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body. 

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question. 

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face. 

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks. 

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat. 

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought. 

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt. 

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision. 

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar. 

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil. 

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease. 

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually. 

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,” 

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist. 

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers. 

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air. 

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex. 

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met. 

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl. 

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers. 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you  going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud. 

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick. 

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months. 

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged. 

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is. 

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick. 

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you. 

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member. 

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address. 

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry. 

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly. 

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!! 

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work. 

Until Next Time

Tee <3

[zyoojis]

"YOUR SECRET'S SAFE WITH ME, NERD."

edited warnings. 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader but interpret this as however you want. slightly suggestive nsfw content, nsfw hcs, drabble. might be ooc. aged-up characs! izuku x reader x slight! katsuki.

izuku is such a pervert. he knows it. no one else seems to notice, but deep down, he's fully aware.

how could he not be? he grew up with the internet at his fingertips, exposed to all kinds of media from a young age. he's seen things. learned things. and now as a hormonal teenager, it's not like he can just turn it off.

especially not when it came to you.

you're the kind of girl who turns heads the moment you walk into a room. the one everyone has a crush on—of course you are. you move with confidence, like you know exactly how good you look. and god, do you look good.

your lips are always glossy, teasing like you've just licked them. your scent clings to the air, sweet, intoxicating. and that uniform—it's driving him insane. the way your blouse clings to your curves, buttons straining to keep everything contained.

oh, and that skirt? way too short. every step you take, it rides up just a little, flashing more of your thighs, drawing his eyes to the way your thigh-highs press against soft skin.

it's maddening. you're maddening.

and izuku? he's obsessed.

which is why he keeps that notebook.

filled with nudity sketches of you. written notes of your likes and dislikes. your kinks, desires. he writes it all down, lets himself imagine. it's horrendously wrong, he knows it is, but fuck, how can he stop?

that's when things took a turn.

after school. the halls are mostly empty, the classroom eerily quiet. katsuki is being a usual major asshole, shoving izuku around, mocking him. the same routine.

and to his absolute horror, the notebook ended up falling into the blond's hands.

he should've just left it at home. but his mom has been doing more room checks lately, and class was so boring today. he kept sneaking glances at you from across the room, indulging in his own twisted little word, scribbling away.

which is why it got katsuki hooked, too. the hell's gotten into that nerd, it's pissing him the fuck off. he thought it's another one of the nerd's dumb "hero analysis for the future" that he gets to blow up again.

but they don't know that this notebook isn't about heroes.

but as katsuki continued flipping the pages, his crimson eyes took in the contents of the notebook so intently that his friends in the back are urging him to read it out loud, unaware of what's actually inside the notebook.

izuku braces himself. this is it. katsuki is going to destroy him. to screech and look at him in disgust. rat him out. get him expelled. call him a creepy, sick fuck. maybe even kill him.

but that's not what happened.

instead, katsuki's gaze flickers toward the window. izuku's eyes followed his, pulse hammering.

there you were, laughing with your friends as you walk out the school gates, completely unaware of the catastrophe unfolding in this classroom.

then, to izuku's bewilderment—katsuki smirks. and without a word, he shoves the notebook into his own bag.

izuku's stomach drops. what the hell just happened?

katsuki doesn't say anything. he just turns on his heel and walks away, his friends trailing after him, pestering him about what did he read. he ignores the lackeys. but not before flashing deku with an all-knowing look with that smug smirk.

like izuku just got away with something.

because now, it's a secret they both share.

© zyoojis 2025. do not repost, copy or steal my works. interested for more?

[allfearstofallto]

"You bumped your leg this morning, you need to be more careful," Caleb spoke casually as he slid down on one knee. Pulling your foot against his lap, he raised the leg of your pants to show a small bruise that you didn't even know you had.

You did indeed hit your ankle that morning, but it was in the comfort of your own home. Early in the morning, when you were getting up. Assuring yourself that you knew the darkness of your house better than anyone else, you still managed to knock your leg against the coffee table. But, you were alone when that happened.

"How did you know that?" You questioned as he put a little bandage on the bruise, a familiar apple shapped mascot adorning it.

"Just a hunch," he said with a shrug, his hand still holding and massaging your ankle. Big purple eyes looking up at you with so much care and adoration, it was almost palpable.

XxX

"Only coffee for breakfast again?" Caleb smelled of the outside, still wet with sweat from his morning run, but holding a bag from a cafe that you loved to frequent, "That's why you're so tired all the time, ya know?"

You cocked an eyebrow as he dropped the bag into your lap, using the end of his shirt as a towel to wipe his sweat. Your cup of coffee was after Caleb had left and you'd cleaned up long before he'd returned. You presumed the only reason he knew that was because the smell of the rich beans lingered in the air.

You couldn't even open your mouth to ask, instead being met with a charming smile and a chuckle, "Just a hunch, pipsqueak."

Inside the bag was your favorite pastries, warm and waiting for you. He was already in the shower before you could ask how he knew your order, the cafe opened after he left linkon and you were sure he'd never been. Although, you were sure you'd know the answer.

XxX

"This is the type of asshole you're fucking. Are you serious?" Caged between Caleb's big arms and the firm wall, you look at his phone screen. A guy you'd drunkenly hooked up with was shown stumbling from your house. Grainy security footage from your hallway, you're sure of that, but how did he get it?

You can see the anger on his face, the way his breathing is heavier, smelling the sweet scent of his shampoo and a hint of something that was specifically Caleb. You look down at the screen as the video replays, then back up at him, eyes wide and fearful.

"How did you know we even-" you pause to try to find the words, not wanting to anger him even more, "-did something together?" You finish sheepishly, suddenly feeling embarrassed about your escapades that were technically none of his business.

His hand grip his phone tighter, so tight you can hear the strain of his fingers against it. A look of knowing is in his eyes, a look that tells you more than you'd like to acknowledge.

"Just a fucking hunch,"

[therainbowgorilla]

White couple on a train saying they love another cultures food then making out... Who the FUCK cares oh my goddd let them live. And why mention that they're white specifically? It's like they're implying there's something wrong with white people really liking Ethiopian food? And the (2023) part is the real kicker for me because it's like they're signing it with a date as if it's some work of photographic art and not just getting up in someone's business for no reason

---

Wtf is even wrong with buying a single banana? Like my god mind ya business! She could have low potassium, have a kid waiting in the car or that she's about to pick up who she's buying a snack, she could be buying herself a snack, she could be cooking something, YALL DON'T KNOW AND IT DON'T MATTER CAUSE IT DON'T AFFECT YOU!!! AAAAAAAA

---

"got my first victims! Can't wait to send them to jail 😝"

Whether or not she's being facetious about the jail thing, she's just outing herself as an asshole. Like, the trash seemingly was IN A BAG and unless they're somehow charging her per bag of trash or there's some stupid HOA I don't see how there's any harm! And even if there was, she didn't have to yell? What ever happened to calmly explaining something?

---

Goddd I remember as a kid in chorus I'd move one of my hands along with the beat as both a stim and a way to keep track of the beat. And the embarrassment when my classmates made fun of me made me ashamed of it the entire rest of my time in that class.

Shit like that last one probably piss me off the most because God DAMN we can't even enjoy music without someone on our ass acting like we're weird for it???

TikTok is like a stigma factory, constantly churning out new things to get mad at people over.

There are good people on TikTok, then there's these folk...

It’s so fucked up how tiktok culture has made clout-poisoned people turn the public into content, every day I see people minding their business have their entire faces put online for thousands of likes, a couple kissing on the train, a lady dancing across a cross walk, a guy nodding his head to the music at a club, a lady buying a banana at the store, ring camera footage of the neighbors kids being stupid. Just let people live jfc

[lovelymindescape]

Break You, Keep You

pairing — nam gyu x fem!reader

Summary - Namgyu’s rough flirtation with you turns into something deeper when you find yourself in his apartment after a night out. What starts as playful teasing quickly escalates into intense physicality, but when Namgyu’s roughness pushes you past your limits, he realizes his mistake.

warnings - 18+ Content MDNI - Explicit sexual content, including degradation, rough sex, and physical hurt/comfort. - Themes of dominance and submission, with a shift from rough to soft aftercare. - Contains elements of possessiveness and emotional vulnerability. - Explicit language.

author’s note — ignore typos , English is not my first language, this was inspired by a post from @amoristt and a reblog from @namsgyu

The club was buzzing, neon lights flashing in rhythmic bursts as bodies moved to the heavy bass. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and something dangerously intoxicating. Namgyu leaned against the bar, one arm resting on the counter as he nursed his drink, eyes locked onto you with a smirk.

"You know, babe," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "you don’t have to keep pretending you’re not staring." You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you took another sip of your own drink. "And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re not an arrogant asshole."

His smirk widened.

"I don’t pretend, sweetheart. I own it."

There it was—this constant back-and-forth, the unspoken tension that crackled between you like a live wire. This wasn’t new. This was your dynamic—flirty, biting, electric. You and Namgyu had always danced on the edge of something dangerous, something that threatened to consume you whole.

And tonight, you were teetering dangerously close to the fall. "You gonna keep playing hard to get," he murmured, stepping closer, "or are you finally gonna admit you want me?" You raised a brow, tilting your head. "Want you?" You let the words hang between you, savoring the way his eyes darkened. "I think you’re confusing me with one of those desperate girls who throw themselves at you."

He chuckled, low and dark. "Babe," he murmured, brushing his fingers against your wrist, "you’re not desperate, but you’re predictable." "Excuse me?" Namgyu leaned in, lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear. "Because you always end up in my bed." Your breath hitched, and his smirk deepened. Bastard. But he wasn’t wrong.

His hands were on you the second you stepped inside his apartment. "You act so fucking cocky," he murmured against your lips, pushing you against the door. "Like you don’t know you’re mine." You smirked, tilting your chin defiantly. "And you act like you’re not obsessed with me." His grip tightened. "Sweetheart, I don’t act." Then his mouth crashed against yours, and the teasing turned into something darker.

Namgyu wasn’t soft. He was all teeth and tongue, all rough hands and impatient touches. His fingers gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he backed you toward the bedroom.

"You wanna be fucked like a slut, don’t you?"

he murmured, his teeth scraping against your jaw. Your stomach clenched.

"Say it."

You swallowed hard, pulse racing. "I—" His hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control.

"Say it, babe."

His voice was a low growl now, all amusement gone.

"I want it,"

you finally admitted, breathless. A dark chuckle. "That’s what I thought." Then he pushed you onto the bed, eyes gleaming with something wicked. Namgyu took his time, but not in a gentle way. He kissed his way down your body, but every touch was laced with dominance. His fingers ghosted over your thighs before gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at you," he murmured, running a single finger up your inner thigh. "Already soaked, and I haven’t even touched you properly." You whimpered, hips shifting slightly.

He chuckled, dragging his finger through your slick folds before pulling away completely.

"Pathetic."

You glared at him, but he just smirked.

"Say it, babe,"

he murmured, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit in slow, teasing circles.

"Say you’re a desperate little slut for me."

Your pride battled with your arousal. Then he suddenly pulled away again, sitting back like he had all the time in the world.

"Namgyu—"

"Say it."

You clenched your jaw. "I’m—"

His fingers brushed your entrance, just barely. "I’m a desperate slut for you," you finally breathed. His smirk returned. "Good girl."

Then, without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you. You gasped, back arching as he set a brutal pace, his fingers curling just right. His free hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "See how easy that was?" he murmured.

"All that attitude, and now you’re just a little mess for me."

You could barely focus on his words, pleasure clouding your mind.

Then—

Pain.

His grip on your thigh suddenly hurt —too much.

His thrusts turned almost punishing. "Namgyu—" you gasped, a twinge of discomfort cutting through the pleasure. "Stop please". Everything just felt to much in that moment , every little thing.

The grip he had on you , his mean words , which you could barely make out tho.He didn’t notice at first. He just let a few more terms of degradation escape. They hurt. You were stressed , you felt pain and you couldn’t handle how he was talking down to you , it was to much , to hard and to mean.

You started to cry and beg him to stop. He let something along the lines of

"Oh , is it to much for the poor whore to handle" ,

slips past his lips ,his tone mocking. He was lost in his own dominance, in the way you swallowed, and suddenly he was very aware of how this isn’t about pleasure anymore.

You swallowed again.

Until—

A sharp intake of breath. A wince.

His hands stilled.

He immediately pulled back, eyes scanning your face. "Fuck," he muttered, his expression shifting. "Did I hurt you?"

You didn’t answer right away, still caught between arousal and the sudden change in atmosphere.Namgyu cursed under his breath.

"I—shit, I didn’t mean to."

There was a long pause before you heard him speak again.

"Baby, I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to... I wanted to make you feel good, but I crossed a line."

You finally looked at him. His eyes were wide, filled with regret, and his voice was shaky. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought... I thought you were just feeling to much pleasure. I should have listened when you asked me to stop."

You felt a knot in your chest loosen, but the sting of the violation still lingered.

"I...I....I don’t want you to ignore what I say, Nam-gyu." , you sniffled , still crying.

"I need to know that when I say please stop, y...yo..you’ll respect it. No matter what." "I know," he said softly, dropping down next to her, his hand hovering over hers but not quite touching. "I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry I made you feel like your voice didn’t matter."

You took a slow breath. It wasn’t easy, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I just want us to be on the same page. I don’t want to feel like I’m being pressured or pushed. I want to feel safe with you, emotionally and physically."

Nam-gyu nodded, his voice breaking slightly. "I understand. And I’ll work on it. I’ll make sure to listen next time. I don’t want to hurt you, Baby. I’ll do better."

Your heart softened as you reached for his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. There was still some little distance between you—emotionally and physically—but in that moment, you felt heard, seen.

"Do you still want to continue this" , he asked already prepared to go into Aftercare-mode.

"Yes I still want to , but could we go a little softer this time ,maybe ? ",

you look at him with your soft glazing eyes, tears still being held at the brim , he nods "Of course".

Next time," he murmured between kisses, "tell me if I go too far." You nodded, fingers threading through his hair.

"You’re mine," he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than lust.

Gone was the degradation.

The roughness.

Now, Namgyu moved like he was trying to make up for every bruise, every sharp word. His kisses were softer, his hands gentler. His touch, once demanding, now lingered with something almost reverent. As he got to the end of the bed , he slid off his remaining clothes.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, crawling over your body again which ends with his lips brushing against your temple.

"You," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

A sharp exhale.

Then, his lips found yours again, slow and lingering, as he pushed into you slowly and with aching tenderness.He didn’t tease. Didn’t taunt. Just held you close, like he was afraid to let go.

His hips rolled into yours in slow, deliberate movements, each thrust sinking him deeper, pressing your bodies flush together.

There was no urgency, no teasing—just warmth, just him, filling you and holding you like you were something fragile, something precious.

His forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours, his lips brushing soft, wordless reassurances against your skin. A shiver ran through you as he reached between your bodies, fingers finding the bundle of nerves that made you tremble.

He worked you open with the same careful reverence, his touch gentle but sure, guiding you toward the edge. Your fingers curled into his back, nails ghosting over his skin as the pleasure built, slow and deep.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

And you did.

A quiet moan slipped from your lips as pleasure overtook you, your body tightening around him. He groaned against your neck, his movements stuttering before he followed, hips pressing deep as he spilled into you, his breath heavy against your shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled in the warmth of each other, in the steady thrum of your heartbeats slowing in tandem. Then, he shifted, carefully pulling out and pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone before disappearing briefly.

He returned with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with gentle hands, his touch soothing.

“You okay again ?”

His voice was soft, searching. You nodded, eyes fluttering open to find him watching you with something tender, something almost hesitant. He settled beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers trailing along your arm absentmindedly.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, voice careful.

“I… I don’t ever want to push you too far again , I'm really sorry.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, lifting your head to look at him.

He exhaled, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. “Sometimes I get caught up in it. I don’t want to hurt you again.”Your chest ached at the sincerity in his tone. You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing along his jaw.

“We can use a safe word,” you offered.

“Something that lets you know when I need you to slow down or stop.” His lips pressed together, considering. Then, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay. Something easy to remember?”His expression softened, and after a beat, he chuckled.

“Pineapple?”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s the point.” He grinned, brushing a kiss to your forehead.

“That way, I know for sure you’re not saying it by accident.”

You shook your head, amused, but warmth settled in your chest.

“Alright. Pineapple.”

His arms tightened around you, lips ghosting over your temple. “I love you, you know."

Your breath hitched, your heart stumbling over itself, but when you looked at him, his gaze was steady. “I love you too.” His smile was soft, a little relieved, and as he pulled you impossibly closer, you knew —this was safe. This was home.

[jo-harrington]

Antiquing v. Thrifting (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: You have a little booth at the local antique market and the owner of the neighboring booth tends to get on your nerves.

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Slight enemies to lovers, meet cute, misunderstandings, fluff, banter

Note: This is a late birthday gift to one of my fandom loves who has become an amazing friend IRL too. @bettyfrommars. Betty thank you for being one of my weirdo soulmates, loving old gameshows, wishing we could live in a mid century modern house with all of the original fun appliances. You are one of my favorite people and since I can't send you my bowling ball (one day) I've written this for you. Love you.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

--

There was not much to drive you to want to murder someone. In fact, you would say that you were probably one of the most easygoing people you knew. And you knew plenty of people.

But the person at the receiving end of your ire, and the target of your bloodlust, was one of the most inconsiderate assholes you knew.

Actually, you didn’t even know who it was.

You’d been one of the vendors at The Little Traveler's Antique Market for years. You had a booth along the back wall, acquired when you realized your love of vintage Pyrex was getting a little too overzealous for your shoebox-cum-condo. Besides, the thrill of the hunt was the real thing that you enjoyed: estate sales and rummage sales and thrift stores were filled with treasures just waiting for you to find.

So a few shelves of Gooseberry and Butterprint went up, and eventually it turned into a haven for all sorts of vintage pieces. It was a shrine to your whims, rather than any real desire to find monetary value. Of course, people seemed to flock to it, so the cash you made from it was nice..but that was neither here nor there.

It was something you were good at, and something you loved. You'd met some very interesting people--and some of your closest friends--because of it. Heard the best stories.

Unfortunately, you'd also met some of the most insufferable people because of it too. Or rather, in this case, one insufferable person you pointedly had not met.

It had started when a bunch of Royal Doulton character mugs showed up in your space. And they weren't terrible, but they just weren't yours. Your hand-picked selection of Hazel Atlas glasses had been carelessly shoved to the side on a vintage mahogany sideboard you'd painstakingly hauled in, and in their place were Paddy and Toby and George Fucking Washington, all staring goofily up at you.

Ok, so maybe the Anne Boleyn one wasn't bad.

It was the principle of it. There were unspoken rules in an Antique Market. You just didn't encroach on someone else's space.

You painted the kindest smile you could manage--which, in all honesty, probably looked more like you were baring your teeth--and headed up to the front to confront the manager of the market.

"Margie," you began with a saccharine tone. You set the Anne Boelyn mug down on the counter. "May I kindly ask who Seller 86 is?"

"Oh, that's our new guy," she laughed, oblivious. "Ed. Great guy. He's got some fun stuff."

"Yeah, real fun."

"We did a little shuffle over the weekend," she continued, diving into one of her rambling midwest-isms. "Jim wanted to downsize, which opened a bigger space for Michelle to move into. One thing led to another, and I put Ed in Chelle's old space, next to yours. Hope you don't mind."

What could you say except a cordial of course not? Even as you were left to grumble and mope back to your booth to move all of the Royal Doulton back to Ed's new space. You set them out on a folding table he had in the corner, very nice and neat, which was your standard.

You might have also left a little, tiny, friendly, scathing note.

No big deal.

And you wouldn't lie, you snooped a little.

Come on, everyone else would, too. It was just...shopping. Not snooping.

You couldn't judge the wild array of things he had for sale; much like you, it seemed that everything in Ed's booth was suited to his tastes, because there was just a vibe of "who in their right mind would put some of this shit together." Little taxidermy animals playing poker, postcards from the most random places, vintage beer and coffee cans that, though empty, looked as new as the day they were bought. Garfield and Snoopy memorabilia. And mugs...so many mugs, as far as the eye could see.

It was charming, you could admit that, as long as it all stayed on his side of the vaguely-defined boundary between your booths.

Unfortunately, it did not.

It was never anything major but it was enough to annoy you. Books left out on a table, vinyl records in a crate in a corner, gaudy biker costume jewelry thrown in one of your mixing bowls. Each time you went to restock your booth, you'd have to find whatever treasures he left behind and return them, along with another note.

It was like finding the secret little corner where your cat pissed because they were mad at you. Admittedly, this might've been worse because you were proud. So very proud of your booth. It was a snapshot of you, after all. But that was sullied by little pieces of Ed, a guy you didn't even know, who seemed to enjoy pissing strangers off.

Every week, he metaphorically photobombed your snapshot at the last second and your perfect polaroid had bunny ears.

Or a crude gesture.

Or sometimes even his whole, bare ass.

And you were simply not vindictive enough to do anything about it.

It just wasn't worth the trouble to actually return the favor to him, or better yet, get him kicked from the market altogether. What if his little booth was his livelihood? What if this was how he made ends meet? Your pride wasn't worth ruining something for someone else.

Yes. You were a pushover.

You, surprisingly, got a reprieve for a few weeks.

Each time you'd gone to restock your booth with fun new treasures, there were no hidden trinkets waiting for you. Actually, Ed's booth didn't even look like it had been restocked or touched at all. There were holes in his displays where his wares had been purchased but not replenished. Was he on vacation? Maybe he was under the weather.

You took it upon yourself to spend a few minutes shuffling his mugs like a good neighbor would.

It was a disappointment relief.

Why wouldn't it be a relief? It wasn't like you'd started looking forward to what and where you'd find Ed's little surprises. It wasn't the thrill you'd get when the adrenaline spiked with your anger.

No, not at all.

"What's got you so pouty?" Margie asked as you trudged through the doors about three weeks after Ed's initial disappearance. "Did Dunkin get your coffee wrong again? That's how I know my morning is gonna be shitty."

"Must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed," you gave a weak excuse and headed towards your booth.

You were juggling an armful of tote bags and your coat, so you didn't notice the stranger standing in your space as you approached, until they turned around and spotted you.

"Oh, hey, lemme help you with that," came the rasp of a friendly voice as you rounded the corner. You looked up, surprised, as a set of hands hoisted the heaviest of your tote bags from your grasp.

He was like a relic, frozen in time. In a good way, though, like a well-kept polaroid from the 80s. Faded band tee, bootcut blue jeans, leather jacket that looked butter-soft from eons of wear. His hair was on the longer side and tied back; salt-and-pepper streaks proudly confirmed his personal antique status, along with the crows feet surrounding his deep, warm brown eyes.

He was a gentleman...and he was cute.

You felt like an idiot as your eyes slid down to his left hand on instinct. But there was no ring, so that self-loathing feeling disappeared. Well, no wedding ring, actually. He had a gunmetal band on his pointer finger, and a silver signet ring on his pinky.

Time returned to its appropriate speed as he hauled the tote onto your folding table just a few feet away.

"Jesus, what've you got in here? Bricks?" he laughed. "Are you trying to put Home Depot out of business?"

"Uh..." You floundered for words. "P-pewter tea pots. One of my regulars is getting married. Asked me to keep an eye out for them for her centerpieces."

"Never seen that at a wedding before."

"How many weddings have you been to?" You questioned.

"Well, my buddy Gareth alone has gotten married 3 times." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against your sideboard. "So I think I've got a pretty good chance that I've seen it all.

"Is there anything I can help you find today?" you asked, laying your best customer service voice on thickly. You busied yourself with unpacking your bags so you wouldn't have to look at the charming, crooked smile that settled on his mouth. "Was there anything that caught your eye before my hopeless self stumbled over here?"

"Ah," he pushed off the sideboard and tilted his head up so he could scratch along the length of his neck. "I, uh, was looking at your cookie jars, actually."

"Oh yeah?" You looked up at that and glanced over to the hutch in the corner that held an array of Pillsbury doughboys in various, charming poses. "Can I tell you a secret? I used to hate watching commercials with Poppin' Fresh. That claymation was frightening. I think he's pretty cute now, though."

You abandoned your unpacking and approached the hutch to try and figure which cookie jar he'd been intrigued by. You picked up a jar that had its lid askew and were about to ask if he wanted you to bring it up to the counter for him, when you lifted the lid and looked inside.

And found a rubber-banded stack of Metallica cassettes carefully nestled inside.

You felt your face get hot as you stared at the track listing and colorful cover art of Ride the Lightning. Coincidentally the same album that was on this newcomer's t-shirt.

"So," you huffed and slammed the lid on the cookie jar, careless of any damage it might cause. "You're Ed, huh?"

He chuckled behind you, "Eddie, actually. I prefer to go by Eddie. But yeah, that's me." You pivoted on your heel and glared at him; he faltered under your burning gaze. "Nice to, uh, meet you. Neighbor."

And with that, you let him have it.

You might've blacked out at some point during the absolute barrage of a verbal dressing down you gave him. How dare he not respect the etiquette of the market and stay within the confines of his allotted space, how dare he waste your time week after week as simply minded your own business and sold your trinkets, and how dare he ignore every single note that you left behind.

The fucker had the audacity to look amused with every word that fell from your lips.

In the end, you stood there, huffing and puffing as you caught your breath and felt several months of anger finally extinguish.

"You done there, killer?" Eddie asked with a smirk. "You feel better?"

"Yeah," you shouted one last time, then lowered your voice. "Yes I do."

"Alright, good." He nodded. "Gotta get it out sometimes, otherwise you might get an ulcer. Or develop alcoholism."

"Might be close to both, to be honest," you muttered.

"Shit, then I'm extra, extra sorry that I put you through all of that, sweetheart." He laid a hand over his heart. "This is my first rodeo selling in a place like this, I didn't realize that everyone was so...territorial."

"Yeah, well. Most of the time I'm not." Lies. You were a liar. "I think the thing that pissed me off more is that I kept leaving notes for you and you kept ignoring them and messing with my shit."

Eddie looked bashful all of a sudden. "Oh shit. See I thought you were just flirting with me."

Talk about a record-scratch moment; what...what had he just said?

"Flirting?" you asked.

"I mean, yeah, not to sound cocky either because I was definitely flirting right back at you. What do they call it in the movies? A...meet cute moment? I thought it was fun. You leave me a sarcastic, threatening note, and I leave you a little treasure hunt to solve. Like a...fucked up version of You've Got Mail."

"That's nothing like You've Got Mail," you pointed out.

There was a beat.

"I think this is a really good time to mention that I fell asleep halfway through You've Got Mail," he explained with a laugh. "Regardless, I read things wrong. That's on me. But I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

He held his hand out to you and his brows shifted upwards and behind his dated bangs.

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment and tried to claw at the vestiges of your anger for a second, but this guy...he looked like such a kicked puppy...and you suppose that it was a cute way to flirt with someone you'd never met.

God, you really needed to work on that pushover thing.

"It's alright," you told him as you slid your hand into his and accepted his apology. "As long as you don't do it again."

"Cross my heart," he nodded enthusiastically.

You introduced yourself, formally, and offered your help in the future if he needed it. He introduced himself and told you that he would appreciate any pointers that you had to give.

"I'm pretty new to this whole...thrift thing," he shrugged. "I've had a bunch of this stuff in storage for a while. I used to move around a lot, you accumulate a lot of junk. And then my uncle...some of this stuff is his. Was his. He passed away last year. Finally decided I couldn't keep hoarding it all anymore. Turns out, I had a lot more shit than I thought I did."

"Story of my life," you laughed and offered your condolences. "It's hard, deciding what to keep and what to get rid of."

"Tell me about it."

"But, I do have one main lesson for you," you offered.

"Oh yeah?" he smirked. "Already? Just when I thought I couldn't fuck it up any more."

"It's an Antique Market," you told him. "Not a Thrift Store."

"There's a difference?" Eddie asked sarcastically, although a blush bloomed on his cheeks. "Guess the learning curve is much steeper than I thought."

"It's alright. You'll get it sooner or later." You smiled at him, trying to be as friendly and supportive as you could.

He stared at you for maybe a few seconds too long, then shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forwards on his heels.

"Maybe you could explain it to me, in-depth?" he questioned. "Antiquing, thrifting, whatever."

"Of course," you agreed, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

"Over lunch?" He asked with a nervous smile. "There's a great diner up the road. And I figure I owe you one for all the anguish I put you through anyway."

You stared at him in shock for a second, wondering how to respond. First there was the comment about the flirting...and now this. What if he was a creep? But he didn't seem like as much of a jackass as you thought he was...and he was cute.

Oh, what the hell.

"You know what? Why not? I'm a girl who loves a free patty melt," you winked at him bravely. "It's a date!"

[cinnamqnx]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ plug!dabi headcanons

⋆˚࿔ warnings. drug use (weed), swearing, toxic behaviours from dabi, smut (so minors dni), dub con kinda (ur both intoxicated & sleep together)

୨୧ plug!dabi who’s been your dealer for years now, meeting him because of your best friend toga

୨୧ plug!dabi who’s always thought you were a pretty little thing, but never making a move because toga always told him to leave you alone

୨୧ plug!dabi who is known for sleeping around, always with a different girl every weekend

୨୧ plug!dabi who just can’t help himself, always having to make a flirty comment to you every time he sees you

୨୧ plug!dabi who is always giving you freebies & discounts purely because he finds you attractive

୨୧ plug!dabi who is an asshole, but you’re not complaining when he’s giving you free weed

୨୧ plug!dabi who gets so high that he’s making bold moves on you at a college party

୨୧ plug!dabi who somehow ends up in your bed after a one night stand

୨୧ plug!dabi who fucks you so good

୨୧ plug!dabi who has you in doggy, his left hand gripping the plush of your ass, while his right was tangled in your hair, shoving your head down onto the pillow

୨୧ plug!dabi who underestimated how good you’d feel, having to edge himself constantly so he didn’t cum in 2 minutes, but he would never tell you that

୨୧ plug!dabi who doesn’t care to stay around in the morning, telling you he’s not a relationship guy but he’s more than happy to fuck you whenever you want

୨୧ plug!dabi who is more than surprised when you tell him the same

୨୧ plug!dabi who is so utterly confused you aren’t devastated by his rejection

୨୧ plug!dabi who is weirdly nicer to you after your night together

୨୧ plug!dabi who can’t get the thought of your pussy clenching around his cock out of his head, stroking himself and cumming to the thought alone

୨୧ plug!dabi who refuses to admit your pussy might have him whipped

୨୧ plug!dabi who starts getting obsessive over you

୨୧ plug!dabi who keeps asking you if you’re down to fuck, to which you’ll always reject him (you don’t wanna end up getting involved with a whole ass drug dealer)

୨୧ plug!dabi who keeps inviting himself to yours and toga’s hangouts by giving you both free weed

୨୧ plug!dabi who has the mindset of ‘if i can’t have you no one can’

୨୧ plug!dabi who makes sure to threaten any man who you’re talking to, warning them to stay away

୨୧ plug!dabi who hears about how upset it’s making you that every man you’re interested in seems to ghost you from toga

୨୧ plug!dabi who is so shameless about it and jokingly (he’s not joking) offers to fuck the sadness and insecurities out of you

୨୧ plug!dabi who is pleasantly surprised when you say yes

୨୧ plug!dabi who fucks you so strangely tender, telling you how beautiful you are and how these men never deserved you in the first place

୨୧ plug!dabi who has you confused, his gentleness a complete 180 from how he first fucked you

୨୧ plug!dabi who takes a shower after and tells you that you can chill at his if you want

୨୧ plug!dabi who keeps having his phone go off, making you roll your eyes before going to pick it up to silence it

୨୧ plug!dabi who has message notifications from the men you used to be involved with, causing your brows to furrow as you read them

୨୧ plug!dabi who has messages, threatening these men to leave you alone

୨୧ plug!dabi who comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist with his hair disheveled and wet as he catches you on his phone

୨୧ plug!dabi who asks with a wicked smile, “did you find something you didn’t like, pretty?”

© cinnamqnx | do not plagiarise or translate any of my works

[jasper-dreams]

I'll explain why it's complicated.

Because these rightwing "democrats" in question? They're the ones who have racheted the Overton Window so far to the right that Nazis have a chance. When MLK talked about centrists who cared more about Order than Justice? He was talking about them. Because they didn't just back but pushed for genocide in Palestine. Because they were primary architects of our busted prison system. Because they built the concentration camps that Trump abuses. Because they chose to run with Neocons over leftists. Because they're pro police state and crack down on student dissent. Because they were instrumental in the mass die offs of unions in the US. They're the same sort of monied "democrat" who fought the New Deal tooth and nail.

Because they enable the further right assholes, and are every bit as much of the problem -- /both/ dishes are poisoned and lead to fascism.

Like the biggest evil is Republicans, MAGA idiots especially, sure. But the biggest actual obstacle to things getting better is neo liberals, who will paint everyone else as responsible for their mistakes but themselves. Same now as it was before FDR was elected in a landslide... despite scraping by into the democratic nomination by the barest of margins.

And, let's cut to the chase. At root? The problem is people like /you/ who just blindly do what they're told, rather than stand on principle. It's specifically because of your short sided tribal view of politics that everything keeps shifting towards fascism. The GOP and rightwing democrats are using you, and the solution to this problem, sadly for us all, because history seems clear that your are incapable of such self reflection, lies in you waking up to this so that you might stop abetting it.

Fucking stop going to bat for Neoliberals like Biden and Harris. We need to do better. Stop coyly blaming leftists for the mess you made and take a long hard look in the mirror. And maybe don't sit so goddam fucking high on your horse when you're tacitly backing people who admit to genocide.

/rant

In a country where the only real options are “Democrats” or “Nazis who will hurt everyone” the only moral thing to do is not only to vote for the Democrats but also do whatever you can to talk other people into voting for them too

When offered two dishes one of which is poison you don’t complain that the one that’s not poison is overcooked

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 11

Source for pic

Trouble 11 🔞

Word Count: 6979

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: Okay, you guys know I like to write smut, but in this story... it just felt so oddly out of place to just write a "porn" scene. So it evolved... it's something deeper. I hope it's still satisfying to read, I've put some thought in it. That being said, special warning for this chapter: NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI.

Masterlist

“I knew you’d be here.” Zoro drawls as he enters Mihawk’s office and closes the door behind him. “The workaholic that you are.”

His captain sneers, his amber eyes never leaving the folders he has neatly scattered in front of him in a controlled chaos on his desk.

“Takes one to know one.”

Zoro glances at bloodied pair of hands in one of the photos and sighs. “Still no leads?”

“We’re nowhere close. I feel like we’re missing something crucial. If I just–”

“I think I know who he wants.”

Mihawk’s gaze finally leaves the photos and reports and settles on Zoro. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in his pupil’s dishevelled form and leans back on his office chair, entwining his hands as he crosses his legs, waiting for Zoro to continue. 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure.”

“Spill it out, Roronoa.”

And Zoro does. With a deep sigh, he shares his worries about how you’ve become distant, ghost-like, a shell of your former self. He shares details about the gifts you received earlier and the way you’ve been acting as if someone is watching you. He tells Mihawk that Lucci flirted with you at the yacht party and that the store clerk did too. Too many fucking coincidences.

But more importantly, he describes the bruise he saw on your wrist today. It seemed somewhat recent, but worse than that, it looked dangerous. 

“And she’s not letting me in! She keeps pushing me away when all I want to do is help! If this fucker–”

“Language.”

“...is the one doing this to her, he’s fucking deranged and needs to be fucking stopped!”

Zoro keeps pacing the office, twirling one of Mihawk’s chess pieces in his hands as he seethes and rages.

“I understand your concerns, Roronoa, but you’re far too invested in this. It’s personal for you and–”

“Damn right it’s fucking personal!”

Mihawk sighs, his index finger and thumb pressing against the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop an oncoming headache.

“I agree with you, coincidences don’t happen like that in our line of work. But I need you to be sure. Take an emotional step back and analyse it.” Zoro opens his mouth to interject, but Mihawk rises in his chair, hands supporting his weight on the desk as he leans forward, forcing Zoro to listen. “What if the gifts were only from an admirer? What if there’s something personal in her life making her act the way she’s acting? There’s no assurance she’s being harassed by the person who’s committing these crimes.”

Zoro’s eye burns into Mihawk, and he grips the back of the chair with so much force he can hear the wood groan beneath his hands. 

“She’s not like this. She’s not herself. I know her.” Mihawk opens his mouth, but Zoro turns on his heel with a hiss. “Fine. I’ll investigate myself, and when I bring you all the fucking evidence you need, you just make sure the fucking bastard rots in jail.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” Zoro stops, his hand gripping the doorknob as his jaw clenches and unclenches. “You go keep her safe. I’m calling the special squad from the city precinct. If we’re dealing with the same person, I’m sure he’s not acting alone.”

A deep exhale leaves Zoro’s lips as he closes his eye, his chest feeling lighter. You might not want his help, you might want to push him away, but he’s not giving up on you. 

Never.

He nods and turns the doorknob just as Mihawk’s phone starts ringing. Zoro’s about to leave when his captain stops him by calling his name. When he turns, Mihawk’s wrinkles are more prominent, he has a hand in the air to signal Zoro to wait and is nodding at whatever is being said to him over the line. 

With a heavy sigh and something that resembles a small grin, Mihawk bends over his desk to gather the photos and neatly stacks the folders, then locks eyes with his pupil. “The store clerk wants to have a word with us, crucial information, he’s saying.”

Crucial? Zoro’s chest tightens again. He knows it’s about you. 

“Are you coming?”

Mihawk’s question feels daunting. Obviously, he wants to go, but what about you? Are you all right? He can’t stop thinking about that damned bruise on your wrist. What if the fucker who did that to you wants to finish the job?

“Can I meet you there? I just want–”

“To make sure she’s safe?” His Captain’s tone could be perceived as teasing, if Zoro believed his Captain to actually feel any kind of emotions. “Go, Roronoa. Meet me there, or I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The knots in Zoro’s stomach finally loosen. He’ll solve this fucking case and protect you. 

He won’t let you push him away anymore.

-*-

Fear turns your insides into jelly, and your breath comes out in irregular wisps. He was in your room. He put his hand on your hair. What else could he have done– no. What else did he do?

Nausea churns your stomach, and you muffle a sob, your eyes still boring into the polaroid. Mine. That possessive scrawl summons another whimper and you rise from your bed with a start. This has to stop. 

You can't tell Zoro, but you'll talk to his captain. 

Fighting back tears, you shake your head, trying to push away the phantom sensation of his hands on your hair, and grabbing your phone and polaroid - evidence - you rush downstairs, putting on your sneakers and not bothering to dress in anything else before you bolt out the door and into your car. 

By the time you reach the police station, your cheeks feel wet and puffy from all the crying and as soon as you push open the heavy doors, your heart thrums against your chest. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Wrong move, Kitten. Are you sure you want to do this? 

Yes. You have to. This has to end. 

Unknown: Telling the cops is the same as telling THE cop. I'll still hurt him. 

No. No! 

Every time you feel like you’ve found a way out, he blocks it. It’s impossible to get away from him.

The bright lights from the station force your eyes upwards, and you put your phone away with shaky hands. Searching the almost empty station only makes you more nauseous, and as a kind policewoman talks to you, you take a step back. 

“Miss? Do you need any help?”

Yes! Oh, God, you need all the help you can get. But he just said Zoro will still come out of this hurt. 

The bomb threat, the constant calls to duty, that week Zoro was called away… it all comes down to him. He can easily manipulate Zoro, and Zoro doesn't even know he's being played. 

“No. No. I'm fine, this was a mistake.”

The policewoman calls after you, but you're already halfway out the door, tears mixing with the unforgiving rain, which comes down to darken your mood. 

And then you hear him. Your lifeline, your anchor. 

Safety. 

“Trouble?”

Zoro. 

With the loudest sob you've ever released in your life, you turn back to face him. He looks worried and frazzled. Mihawk lingers by his side for a beat, saying something too low for you to hear, to which Zoro nods, then the captain leaves with a subtle nod and a worried gaze your way. Zoro sighs, his hair is already dampening from the rain as he hastens towards you.

You want to hug him. You need to feel the strength of his arms enveloping you - protecting you. Instead, you hug yourself, shivering violently both from the helplessness of it all and from the cold rain. 

Zoro releases a stubborn noise and quickly pulls you under the building and away from the rain. Then he sheds his jacket and helps shelter you with his oversized clothes. 

It's warmth. It's safety. It's protection. 

“You're shivering.” He states, his hand smoothing your disheveled hair as he takes in your appearance. You see the way his jaw clenches and the way his eyes darken. He wants answers, but you can see he doesn't want to press too hard or too fast. “I'll take you home, and we'll talk.”

“No!” Instantly, you cling to his shirt, eyes pleading with his. 

“Fuck, Trouble. Enough is enough! We will talk, and–”

“Not that… don't take me home… please.” Home is now tainted. He can get into your sanctuary, it’s not safe.

Zoro stops arguing and his hand finds yours, holding it against his chest, trying both to calm you as well as to search for answers in your panicked gaze. He finds none. “Okay. My home, then.”

Bzzzz.

You ignore the buzz and tuck the crumpled photo into the pocket near your phone, where Zoro won’t pry, even though you clearly see him struggling to keep his hands still. Once again, he’s giving you space, not pushing anything. He’s just there. 

He holds your hand as you both make a run to his car. The small distance from the station to the car has you both drenched, though your sniffles are a consequence of much more than that.

Zoro starts the car and you stay silent. Even though you tucked the photo into your pocket, its image still burns holes into your mind’s eye. The stalker is becoming bolder, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. 

You might buy another night of safety just by being next to Zoro, but does your safety bring about his demise? Just the thought has you sobbing uncontrollably again, and you hear Zoro groaning next to you.

He still doesn’t press. It’s like, in between the time you left him at the club and now, he’s made up his mind about something as he’s, somehow calmer. 

When he parks the car and you both enter his apartment, the first thing he does is take away the wet jacket from your back, hand you a dry towel and shove you in the bathroom for you to dry off. Then, when you emerge, looking small and fragile, he hands you a dry, green, oversized sweater, and you pull it over your head.

It smells like Zoro. It’s home.

You shove your clenched fist inside the pocket and store the phone and picture in the safety of the fabric.

“Thank you.” You say, softly. He nods and grabs your shivering hand, pulling you towards the couch and making you sit near a steaming cup of tea, that you know you won’t touch. You’re still too shaken, too nauseous. 

But even though you can’t tell Zoro anything about why you’re behaving the way you are, there’s still something you want to say to him. Something important. 

“Zo…”

“Yes?” He’s eager to hear all you have to say, you can tell, but what you want to tell him won’t be enough for him. But maybe it will be enough to keep the stalker tame, since you know he’s bound to be furious that you sought refuge with Zoro once more.

You sigh and clutch Zoro’s hand tighter, your eyes boring into the way his hand engulfs yours. “I– I didn’t mean any of what I said. You matter to me… a lot.”

Zoro sighs too, and you know this isn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. Then, his index finger and thumb tip your chin upwards forcing you to look at him. “I know that.” A very light chuckle leaves his lips and he leans his forehead forward to touch yours. “I know it.” He repeats and you feel his hot breath fanning against your lips.

“Still, I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I just wanted…”

“To push me away?” He’s right. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s the truth. “Why? What’s gotten you so shaken up? Let me in…” Zoro’s face moves, his eye boring into yours as he hovers near your lips, they brush together, barely touching. It’s clear he doesn’t want to force anything.

But you can’t hold back anymore. You need him.

“Zoro…” Your hand squeezes his, and you angle your face. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t. But… Zoro makes you feel so safe. He gives you purpose. He grounds you. And you’ve been feeling so lost and out of control lately that, just for a little bit, you want to feel like yourself. 

“Trouble…” Zoro finally leans in, taking your lips in his, and you sigh, your hand climbing to his shirt as you grip it tighter, pulling him towards you until you’re both flush. His hand travels to your nape, his fingers entwining with your hair.

And then, just as his tongue traces your lower lip, begging to deepen the connection, your phone buzzes and you know Zoro feels it too. 

You gasp when he breaks the kiss abruptly, his hand traveling to your pocket like he wants to get to the bottom of this for once, but you reach first, pulling the device out in a rush and strangling a whimper between your lips. 

It’s at this moment that everything happens in slow motion: you clasp the phone tighter to your chest, keeping it safe from Zoro’s clutches, but fail to notice as a piece of paper gets dragged behind in the motion and flutters to Zoro’s lap. Another gasp steals your breath, but you’re powerless to stop what happens next.

Zoro picks up the photo and stares at it for what seems like forever.

You shiver and whimper as Zoro’s eye darkens. His jaw clenches tight, and you can see his knuckles turning white from how tightly he’s holding the photo. “What the fuck…?” Zoro’s voice comes out rasp, thick with raw fury, and it almost seems like the temperature has dropped. 

“Zo…”

“Do you know him?” Zoro’s gaze never leaves the photo.

You whimper and shake your head. You can’t speak, you can’t tell him anything. The way you’re risking his safety just by him seeing this is already twisting your insides into impossible knots. 

“Was he the one who did that?” Zoro growls pointing to your covered wrist. This time, a buzz from your phone is answer enough for him. He lunges forward, barely giving you time to react as his hand swipes the phone from your grasp in a quick motion.

“No!” You shout, rising after him as Zoro checks the screen for the incoming messages.

“You should’ve stayed home, Kitten? I told you not to say anything to the cop?” Zoro’s gaze snaps to you and he holds out the phone, the device shakes alongside his hand. “Unlock it.”

You shake your head, frantic tears spilling down your cheeks as you feel helpless. “No, no, Zoro I can’t! He’ll hurt you!”

“Now, Trouble.” Zoro takes a step forward and his aura is so intense that you nearly shrink away from him. With a shaky hand you use your fingertip to unlock the device and slump back into the couch, unforgiving tears marring your face as ugly sobs wrack your body.

You couldn’t even keep Zoro safe.

You just had to leave the house. You couldn’t even handle him yourself.

Useless. Idiot. Coward.

Now if something happens to Zoro, how can you ever forgive yourself?

“Such a good Kitten?” Zoro paces the living room, his hand running through his damp locks as his face twists with each new text he reads. “The punishment worked? His arms around what’s mine? Hurt the cop?”

Zoro keeps growling and scrolling as you curl into a ball on the couch, raising your knees to your chest and hugging them tight. At one point you hear Zoro release a string of curses as he hits the punching bag he has hanging in the corner repeatedly. The dry thuds of his punches bring a new set of tears to your eyes.

He strides back to you with purposeful steps, showing you the phone. “How long?” You just sniff and curl further. Zoro grunts and swipes furiously, not bothering with reading anything anymore, just wanting to finally grasp the situation. “Weeks and weeks and weeks? Fuck!”

Zoro slams the phone on the coffee table so hard he might have broken the screen. Then, he kneels in front of you, taking deep steadying breaths to try and calm himself down. He sets his trembling hands on top of yours, leaning his head against your knees with a defeated groan. 

“I’m not angry at you.” He whispers. “I just can’t stand the fact that you’ve been facing this alone.” He sounds impotent, powerless, and helpless. All words you would never associate with Roronoa Zoro. And the thought that he’s feeling like this because of you churns your insides and makes your chest constrict and ache.

So you raise your head, a sniffle still making you shiver as you run your fingers through his green locks, tugging slightly until he looks at you. “I couldn’t tell you, Zoro… He��”

“He said he’d hurt me. I read.” Zoro scoffs like that is a preposterous idea, and you grimace. He needs to stop thinking he’s invincible. 

“He’s dangerous, Zo…”

“So am I.” Zoro’s smirk is as endearing as it is unhinged, but only for a small moment. Then his head slumps forward again and he lowers his hands, placing them on your calves. “I just can’t help but feel like… like I’ve failed you.”

“You didn't know.” 

“Still–”

“Zo.” You let your legs fall open to the side so you can lower your head and be face-to-face with him. As your thumb caresses soothing circles on his cheek, you cup his face. “Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault.”

Your eyes lock, and the air shifts. Zoro cups your cheek and nearly growls. “I won't let him lay one finger on you.” It sounds like a promise. 

“I know.”

Your foreheads touch and your fingers lower to grasp his wet shirt, pulling him closer. 

“You're not his!” Zoro hisses the word as if it's venomous. “He doesn't fucking own you.”

Zoro's hand grips your nape, desperation seeping through his touch, and you nod and agree, already breathless. “I know.”

“Fuck!” Zoro channels his fury into his lips and crashes them against yours. A soft mewl escapes you as you melt into the intensity of his kiss, your arms climbing and wrapping like a vice around his neck. It’s not cautious or romantic - it’s desperate and messy, clingy and demanding.

You feel Zoro's grip on your neck like a steadying pressure. Then, his other hand climbs your thighs and clasps your hip, pulling you effortlessly against him, closer to the edge of the couch. Moulding into his touch, you wrap your legs around his torso at the same time as he deepens the kiss. It starts with a soft nibble on your lower lip and evolves into him sucking on it until you grant him full access to your tongue. 

Zoro's throaty noises against your mouth are kindling to your flame, and you whimper carelessly, forgetting for a moment about the danger that surrounds you both. That's all it takes for him to hook his hands under your thighs and lift you effortlessly, never breaking your hungered kiss as he stumbles blindly towards his bedroom. 

You need him. 

You desperately need him. 

Your fingers travel to the hem of his shirt, and you tug harshly, as if the clothing item has personally offended you just by existing. You both gasp for air as Zoro helps you pull the shirt over his head, letting it fall carelessly somewhere in the hallway. 

Damn. 

Zoro could very well be a statue of a deity. He's so firm and well-defined. 

Damn! 

He chuckles as you bite your lower lip and stare. Your fingers trace his abs and pecs, and an absent sigh leaves your lips. Zoro uses the moment to find his way through the bedroom door and throws you on the bed, immediately following you and latching his lips to yours again. 

You unbutton your jeans and shimmy out of them because his touch is igniting a fire that needs to be put out immediately, before you combust. The way his calloused fingers travel your bare legs has you panting into his mouth, and you wrap the limbs around his waist again, pulling him towards you and feeling just how hard he already is. 

Zoro swallows your mewl and palms your ass, pulling you harshly closer to him, the friction of his jeans on your clothed clit burning like the hottest fire. Unrestrained, uncontrolled fire. It's exactly what you want. 

Arching into his touch, you feel his hand slither inside your shirt, groping flesh, feeling, claiming, but his movements are restricted, and he groans as he parts with you, pulling you upward so he can hook his fingers under your clothes to finally get rid of them. “Off.” He growls, and you nearly melt.

Zoro’s intensity is only equal to the fire burning in his eyes. It's not just exactly what you want, it’s precisely what you need. 

He gets rid of your clothes, and the minute you're bare to him, you shiver under his hungry stare. 

And then he freezes.

You cock your head to the side, your hands stilling their motions on his arms as you try to grasp what’s going on. It’s only when a gargled sound leaves his lips and you follow his gaze that you understand what’s going on: the bite mark.

Zoro opens and closes his mouth as your eyes widen, your hand instinctively raising to cover up the mark. But he’s faster. He grips your hand to stop you, his eyes unwavering, though the tremble of his hand betrays his composure. 

“Zoro…”

“Are those fucking teeth marks?” Zoro’s voice hits a low, dangerous tone. “What else have you kept hidden from me? Where else has that motherfucker touched you?” Zoro raises your arms, moves your legs, looking for something that’s not there, his teeth clenching so hard you can hear them grind, and his muscles drawn so taut, all the veins in his arms are prominent. “I’m going to kill that fucker for ever laying a finger on you.”

You stop his frantic search, your own hands stilling his as you search his eyes. “Zoro–”

“No, Trouble! Fuck!” Zoro punches the mattress twice, you can almost feel the fury seeping out of him in waves. “I failed you! I didn’t protect you, I–”

“Stop!” Cupping his cheek, you force his gaze back onto your face. His nostrils flare with heavy breaths, and a single tear travels down your cheek. “Zo… he already took so much from me.” A sob shakes your shoulders, and you pull Zoro closer. “Don’t let him take this too… please!” Zoro groans. “Please…”

It takes him a few seconds to breathe out all of his fury - to contain it - and even then, you can still feel it brimming under the surface.

Still, his gaze softens as he stares back into your eyes with a small, condescending nod. Then he presses his lips against yours again, though this time it's much softer. He starts slowly, lazily taking your tongue in his as he lays your body back down on the bed with controlled movements.

He only parts the kiss to remove his pants, then he settles his body in the middle of your legs and starts worshiping you. Zoro’s touch went from intense to soft; from ravishing to reverent; from a raging fire to a slow ember. 

He grabs your hip as his lips travel from your belly button to your sternum, then to your breast, where his tongue comes out and swirls around a perky nipple. You gasp and arch into his mouth, then feel his hand tremble against your hip, as if he wants to grab you harder but stops himself from doing it.

Then his fingers hook on the hem of your panties, and he pulls them down, his tongue never ceasing the dizzying motion around your erect nipple. You let out an unbridled moan, and he grunts, his hands now rough on the back of your thighs as he spreads them open. Zoro lifts his head away from your breast, clenches his teeth, and his touch softens again.

It feels… wrong.

So you reach, helping him out of his boxers and touching him, trying to bring back that intensity and fire that you so desperately need, that he was so willing to give before. His cock is thick and veiny, and he lets out a throaty mumble when you stroke it softly, the coil of desire wound tight in your belly. 

“Zo,” you try, “let go.” He nods softly as his hand cups your cheek and he claims your lips. The kiss is urgent, and you relent. It’s almost what you need. Then his hand travels from your neck to your back and he positions your back against the bed, angling himself with your wet folds, his tip probing slowly. 

A moan leaves your lips as you move against him, but he doesn’t thrust - not yet. You look at him and see clearly the way he’s trying to control himself: a tightness of his jaw, the unrestrained anger behind his eyes. 

His touch is featherlight, and he holds you almost as if he's afraid to break you. Then Zoro takes a deep breath and finally sheathes himself inside of you. 

Your head falls back in abandon as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer. The stretch feels good. But there's something amiss. 

“Fuck.” Zoro curses, his brows furrowed tightly as he pulls back torturously slowly, and you whine, shaking your head. 

“Stop, Zoro, stop.” The press of your hand against his chest along with your words makes him halt, his eye widening as he searches for any sign of pain. Instead, he finds frustration. 

“You're holding back.” It's not a question. It's a statement. He sighs, head slumping forward as his jaw sets. 

“I don't… he… fuck! I can't hurt you, you've been through so much and I'm… I'm so furious!” Another punch against the mattress helps Zoro vent some frustration. “I can’t control myself.”

You trace soothing circles against the tautness of his biceps. It's physically visible the way he's controlling himself. “It's not what I need right now, Zo. I've been feeling trapped, held ransom, controlled! I need to feel free… I need to feel like myself. I have to be in control.”

Zoro's gaze falls to yours again, and you hold him there. 

“I need all of you. Let go.” He's still breathing hard, weighing his options, making sure that's what you want. “I want to feel like he doesn't own me.”

Your words cut through Zoro's thoughts like a sharp blade, and you see that unrestrained rage clawing its way from behind his erect walls. He minces your words for a few moments, and you feel the change happening. Zoro grabs your waist tighter, his fingers digging deep into your skin, making you gasp. Closing his eye, Zoro takes a deep breath, and when he opens it again, there's a fire burning deep. 

“Trouble…” He grips tighter, his lips kissing your skin, pressing, claiming. “You know how much I like you, don't you?”

A shiver courses through you, the air feels different - heavier, thicker - filled with tension and unspoken words. 

“Yeah. I think I do.” You nod softly, feeling his gaze baring you in a way that being naked never could. 

“Good.” Then he steals your breath with an earth-shattering kiss. Fiery, determined, desperate. His teeth sink into your lip, and you moan as his tongue swallows the noise. When he breaks it, you're panting with flushed cheeks. “Cause I'm about to fuck you like I don't.”

And he does just that. 

In an instant he's thrusting again, a deep, shattering thrust. Zoro pulls your hips against his body at the same time and you cry out his name in surprise. 

Everything feels like desperation and want. His thrusts are relentless, each one harder than the last, each one hitting deeper. 

It's this! This was exactly what you wanted! 

“Oh, God, God!” You pant, throwing your head back as Zoro grabs, bites, nips and licks every bit of flesh he can get his hands and mouth on. 

“This what you want, Trouble?” Zoro lifts your butt to angle it the right way, his hand pressing down on your stomach to tighten your walls against his throbbing cock, and suddenly, you're hit with blinding, hot, pleasure. “This what you need?”

“Yes! Zo! God!” You moan, a litany of mewls that sound like a prayer. You chant his name over and over again as you feel pleasure building up. You can't think, you can only feel! 

“I don't believe in deities, Trouble. It's all me.” His grunt is primal and possessive as his grip tightens and you clench him, an instinctive response to his claim. The unholy squelches fill the room like an erotic symphony and you’re lost in bliss.

Then Zoro chuckles darkly as he watches you almost break apart beneath him, your legs thrown carelessly as your nails bite and dig into his tanned skin. “Harder?” He asks, breathless as he pulls back, dragging his cock against your walls and then thrusting with such force that the moan that leaves your lips sounds foreign. “Faster?” He thrusts again, relentless, hitting your G spot with such precision that you're pretty sure your brain is melting. 

Zoro's forehead glistens with perspiration as he feels you tightening around him. He's numbing every thought, every feeling of helplessness, filling your mind with just one thing: Zoro, Zoro, Zoro! Another harsh thrust makes you tip over the brink, and the rough touch of the pad of his thumb against your clit in an unforgiving motion, has you spiraling and falling. Zoro's name spills out of your lips laced in moans and praise and you feel more like yourself than you have felt since this nightmare started. 

Still, he barely lets you recover. 

Your body still trembles and shakes as you come down from your high when he flips both of you, laying his back on the bed with you on top, riding him. You brace your hands against his taut chest to try and ground yourself with a gasp as he shows you a cocky smirk. “You wanted control? Take it.”

You feel yourself clenching in response to his teasing words. You did say you wanted to feel in control, but you barely have strength to hold your head straight, let alone ride this man. Zoro’s hands rest on your hips, but he doesn't move. He doesn't guide you or thrust into you. He just waits. 

Slowly you begin to rock your body, the waves of the previous pleasure still rippling through you, pulling another lazy mewl from your lips as you feel every vein of his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deeper than you thought possible. Zoro lets out a strangled groan as his digits create indents against the flesh of your thighs. He gasps and clenches his jaw, and you realise you are in absolute control of how you're making him feel. 

It's empowering. 

But it's not what you need. 

Zoro sees the way you start to struggle, trying to fall back into the relentless pace he set, but failing miserably. It's pleasurable, but it's not mind-numbing. 

His hands stroke your thighs as he lets out a raspy breath, his cock twitching inside of you, pulling a whimper from your parted lips. “Just ask for it.” He mumbles and your throat tightens. 

You know that his words have a much deeper meaning. He's not just telling you to ask for more. He's telling you to ask for his help. Like you should've done. All these weeks spent in suffocating silence, in a desperate struggle to just survive, and he was right there… 

“Say it.”

Your nails dig into his chest and you stop your futile motions. “Help me, Zo…”

It's so much more than a request to take control. It's a plea. It's a cry for protection. 

And he answers. 

A heavy sigh parts his lips as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady. Then he pounds you with a strength you didn't know he possessed. You can't hold back your moans as your body arches for him, head thrown back in rapture as another wave of pleasure starts to crest deep inside your belly. 

Zoro grunts and lets out a string of curses as he feels your cunt clenching him and squeezing him, his hands bruise, his pace quickens. 

And then you fall with a loud cry. 

Zoro's right behind you. 

He lifts his body, holding you tight against him as he buries his head in the crook of your neck and comes undone with a groan, his body stilling against yours in a crushing hug. 

It takes you both a few moments to calm your breaths, your heart rates evening out slowly, though you're both still lost in each other's embrace. 

“All you had to do was let me in, Trouble.”

His breathless words cut deep, and this time you truly shatter. 

Your body heaves and tears sting your eyes. Even though you try to control your sobs, you can't, and you hug Zoro tighter. He's still buried deep within you because neither of you wants to move, but his hand caresses your back in a soothing motion. 

“You're safe now. I won't let him touch you again.” He mumbles, though his words tremble with rage, and you know he's making much more than a promise: it's a vow. Then his lips seal the oath, pressing softly over and around the wound, scorching away the remnants of your stalker's claim: purifying it. 

And you sob harder. 

All the hurt and helplessness, all the fright and feelings of despair, all the stress and anxiety - vanish. Gone, just like that. Because Zoro is safety, Zoro is protection. And you know nothing will harm you as long as you're in his arms. 

“You're safe.” Zoro repeats over and over again, and with each echo of his words, his anger melts further. His hand tangles with your hair, and he kisses your neck, your cheek, the corner of your eyes. He's claiming your tears. 

He’s healing you. 

-*-

In the aftermath, when you’re both lying in bed, you sense Zoro wants to know more, but are you willing to share?

“Was it at the club?” He finally asks and the words are heavy, like they��ve lingered on his tongue for a while, marinating before he lets them spill out. You don’t have to ask what ‘it’ is, you know.

“Yes.” A sigh parts your lips as you know this will only feed Zoro’s anger. “He trapped me against the bar and clutched my wrist.” You don’t tell Zoro all the things the stalker said to you, you can show him that mercy. “Then he marked me… as his.” 

Zoro’s rage is now controlled. Subdued under layers of care and worry for you. But you know this fury is a monster on its own - a demon - and when Zoro finally unleashes it, he will bring forth hell. 

“Tell me everything.” Zoro demands. 

And you do.

Like you should’ve done weeks ago.

-*-

The night is still dark and eerie, it must be around four in the morning, but it’s not daunting or scary. Still, you can’t sleep.

Zoro dozed off a while ago, though his arms around you still hold the same strength, the same barrier of protection he created just for you. But you can’t stop thinking about his safety.

He assured you that you were now safe. He promised. But it was never your safety you were worried about. It was always about keeping Zoro safe.

With a heavy sigh, you disentangle from his embrace and step out of the bedroom on light steps. Your intention is only to go to the bathroom. You and Zoro talked, and he said you should just chuck the phone away, not even pick it up anymore, and you intended to follow through.

But as soon as you step into the hallway, the phone buzzes against the glass of the coffee table.

And you falter.

The buzz is relentless, taunting you, frightening you again. You shouldn’t look, you know that - hell, you promised that.

Still…

Your footsteps take you towards the living room, and you kneel on the floor, eyes darting to the sides because you’re already feeling that familiar prickling on the back of your neck - the one that tells you you’re being watched. 

And then you flip the screen over.

Unknown: Fucking whore! How could you? Unknown: You’re MINE! Unknown: You slut! Moaning for him like a dog in heat? I’ll teach you manners! Unknown: … I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s not your fault, Kitten. It’s all the cop’s fault. Unknown: He tainted you, he DARED touch what’s mine. Unknown: It’s not your fault. You just need to learn. But I’m patient. I’ll teach you. Unknown: We still have to get rid of him, though, don’t we? Unknown: He can’t get away with making you moan like you’re a common wench.  Unknown: I have half a mind to climb up his bedroom window and gut him like the fucking pig he is! Unknown: Would you want that, Kitten? To see his blood dripping from his open belly? His guts spread out on the floor as he’s still alive and breathing and FEELING all of the pain?

You drop the phone on the carpet with a soft thud, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. This was what you feared. You shouldn’t have come to Zoro. You shouldn’t have…

The nightmare didn’t stop, it just paused and restarted even worse than before. 

The phone buzzes again and you stare down, your hands still trembling as you try to fight the feeling of dread that has settled in your chest. 

Unknown: I’m usually a patient man, Kitten, but I’ve run out of patience with the cop.  Unknown: It ends now.

What does he mean? You barely have time to conjure up all the grisly thoughts to the forefront of your mind before you see it: a little red laser dot, shining against your hand. You turn your palm upwards, and the laser lingers until your mind associates it with danger: a gun.

You gasp and snap your head forward towards the window where the dot is coming from. And then it moves. Your eyes follow it, dread knotting your stomach and making you nauseous - you don’t need to follow it, you know where it’s going.

Zoro.

With trembling fingers, you clutch the phone, and for the first time since you’ve realised he was a stalker, you answer his text.

You: No, please, no! Stop! You: Don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything!

You angle your body towards the bedroom, and you see the dot stop, then disappear. Did it work?

Your chest thumps loudly against your ribcage, and when the phone buzzes again, you’re eager to read the answer.

Unknown: Anything, Kitten? Unknown: You’ve just saved the cop’s life. Unknown: Meet me at our home. You’re ready.

Fear and apprehension hold you ransom for a few moments before you compose yourself. There’s no room to back away now, no room to feel regret. You saved Zoro’s life. You’re willing to trade yours for his without a second thought.

So you collect your clothes - doning Zoro’s sweater too because you can’t stop shivering, even though you know it’s not the cold that’s causing it - and scribble a small note for Zoro: I’ll handle this.

Even though you know you won’t handle anything. Maybe it keeps him home?

You suck on your lower lip to stop a sob or a desperate chuckle, you’re not quite sure which - Zoro would go to the ends of earth to keep you safe. You know that. That note is trash.

Still, you turn to leave, but before you exit, you reach into Zoro’s holster and grab his gun. 

You won’t go unprepared. You’re willing to fight.

-*-

Returning home has never felt so terrifying. You took Zoro’s car, both because yours was still at the police station - though it’s not that far from Zoro’s - and also because it will slow him down if he wakes up and decides to look for you.

The porch light is on - you didn’t leave it like that - and the front door is open - you closed it, even though you didn’t lock it.

Before leaving the car, you place the gun inside the sweater pocket and mumble a prayer to whichever deity might be listening. 

This ends tonight. It has to. One way or the other, you can’t live like this anymore.

Each step out of the car and closer to your home sounds like the drums of doom. Each light tap of your sneakers is like a nail being hammered on your coffin. Your confidence oozes out of your body as if it were perspiration and gets lost somewhere on the steps of your porch.

You reach the open door feeling bare.

He took everything from you, and he’s about to claim all of it as his own. 

“Finally, Kitten. Come to me.”

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

He turns on the lights inside the house and you gasp, your eyes widening as recognition strikes. “You? Why?”

“Because I love you, Kitten. And you will, too. Soon. Soon.”

The sound of the door closing behind you seals your fate. It’s the lid on the coffin, and it’s suffocating. There’s no air, there’s no light, there’s no room. 

Only despair.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

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[theyluvpeach]

just a taste.

dealer!reader x client!chris blurb. he can't take it anymore.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: switch chris. switch reader. big dick chris. (🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️) fingering, unprotected p in v. (#wrapthat) riding. use of ma. possessive chris. creampie... thas abt it :)

Chris finds Matt annoying ninety percent of the time, but times like this? Oh, he could kiss the ground he walks on.

He can't sleep. Again. And he can't talk to you, he still hasn't figured what that werid feeling in his chest is.

When Matt gave him that joint, he smoked it and napped hard. Expected, but wasn't expected was him waking up and feeling the bass of a speaker in his chest. He forgot all about the party tonight. He's been so busy with actually going to his classes, homework, and avoiding you.

It's been weeks since you guys last talked, and he knows you're going to be here tonight—There's no way you're not. Matt begged the president of their frat to do this theme for you.

He's still a little high, which is amazing. If he wasn't, he'd probably be freaking out. He groans, feeling the music get louder every second. He's not in the mood tonight, to be ogled by girls, to have to take disgusting shots, to see the neon clothes everyone is going to be wearing.

He doesn't even have clothes that even fall close to fitting the theme—But, whatever. He can't go back to sleep when all he can hear is people screaming.

Chris is fucking wasted. He didn't mean to drink this much. Honestly. Beers just kept finding their way into his hand. Especially when his eyes finally laid on you, cuddling up all pretty on the couch with Matt and his friends, giggling at the stupid, unfunny jokes they make.

Tonight's outfit beats all of your other ones by far. Most people just came in neon but you, oh you put thought into yours. The rollers in your hair, the plain white tank that brings attention to your tiny light pink shorts, god, don't get him started on your makeup. You look like someone just dragged you out of the house in the middle of getting ready, but in a good way. Because you always look good. Because you're fucking perfect.

You shouldn't be next to Matt or his terrible friends. You should next to him. With him. But he can't just drag you off to his room— "Hi."

He jumps out of his skin. You scared the shit out of him. You tilt your head at him again, annoyingly, and give him that shit eating grin. "You were staring." He was. He'll admit it. He takes a swig of his beer and locks eyes with you. Oh, you're high as hell. He doesn't think he's ever seen someone get eyes as red as yours.

"Didn't know you were so close with all of them." He nods his head towards the couch, you giggle. "Most of my clients all come from Matt. He keeps my rent paid." Chris would've laughed at that if that didn't mean that you were meeting up with these guys on the regular.

"You're too pretty, too gorgeous to have to deal with talking to those assholes." Is what he wants to say, but since he doesn't wanna deal with the repercussions of that, he just stares at you and watches you squirm.

He smirks. "Do... do you like my outfit?" You mumble out, giving him a spin and a perfect view of your ass hanging out your shorts.

"Mhm." He nods. "Look perfect, baby."

"Thanks." He watches you mess with hem of your cropped shirt. It's addicting to watch you squirm under his gaze. The way you shift from foot to foot, slightly bit at your lip, and refuse to meet his eyes....he can't take this anymore.

He takes one last sip of his beer and places the empty can on the counter. "Kid."

You press your thighs together and play with a lose strand of your pinned up hair, "Huh?"

"Squirming n shit..." He mumbles, "Just say you want me to fuck you."

"Wha...?" The way your eyes widen is cute. He wonders if you'll make the same face when his dick enters you. "Heard me. Look at you right now, squirming and pressing your thighs together. You can say it's okay."

"Chri- chris -" The stutters cute too. He cups your face in his hands. He's glad the music is as loud as it is so he can get away with this. "C'mon. You got it. Say it."

"Want you...wan' you to fuck me." His smirk widens. "Finally got it out. Good girl."

You taste heavenly, like peaches and weed. Godsent compared to the beer he drank. The way you wrap your arms around his neck and grab at his shirt, you're perfect. Just perfect.

He throws you onto his bed, his knees pinning you under him. You gulp. "Don't be scared. You were beggin' for this." He says against your lips, pushing your shirt up, you gasp into the kiss. He takes that as an invitation to slip his tongue into your mouth.

"Mhn— Chris—" You whine. He pulls back, a string of saliva trailing between you two. "Needy already, princess?"

You nod slowly, embarrassed. He laughs. "Baby, don't be embarrassed... gonna take real good care of you." He says, tugging at your shorts. "Lift up for me, ma.. there ya go." He throws your shorts to the floor. "Pretty," He spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your clothed nub, making you squirm. "So pretty." He moves to your inner thighs, pressing wet kisses there.

"Chris— Chris, please—" You whine, your legs threatening to close. "That needy? Not gonna even let me have my fun?" He coos, preventing your legs from closing. Slipping your panties down.

"Please— Please— Need—" He nudges one finger at your entrance and you gasp, "Need me to make you feel good, I know, mama, I know."

You moan when his finger actually enters you, he groans. "So tight. Been a while, huh?"

"Y-yeah—oh!" You throw your head back when a second finger enters you. "Chriiiis—" You drag out. "G-god! Ohmy—" He makes scissor motions, making you let out even more moans. When he adds a third finger, is when you almost lose it. "Chrischrischris—"

"Yeah? Gonna cum?"

"M— m gonna cum—!"

"Cum all over my fingers, baby." You let out a moan loud enough for the entire party to hear as you cum.

"Good girl." He praises, pulling his fingers out slowly and licking up your jucies. "So sweet."

You pant softly, staring down at him. "Kiss."

"I just—"

"Kiss, please." You whine. Pulling him into a kiss by his hair. It's messy and breathless. He's surprised you don't care that you're tasting yourself. "Thanks."

You're adorable. Saying thanks to him kissing you after he just made you fall apart on his fingers. "Ya good?" Most of the rollers that were in your hair fell out. "Mhm." You nod.

"Words."

"M good." His eyes can't help but trail down your body. "Still want me to fuck you?"

"Think I let you lead me all the way to your room just for you to not fuck me?" He laughs. "Jus' making sure you're not tapping out." You pull him into another kiss, giggling against his lips. It's so....intimate. His other hookups aren't like this, but he doesn't mind. The way your hands slip into his hair and scratch at his scalp is something he never wants to forget until you start tugging on his hair and he starts moaning. He knew he was into it he just didn't think it was moaning worthy.

It's embarrassing.

"Kid—" He starts, getting interrupted by his own moans. You tug harder, and he lets out a whimper he hopes you don't catch. "What the hell are you doin'—?"

"You like this."

"No."

"You whimpered." Fuck.

"No, I didn't—"

You tug harder than the last, and his eyes roll back with a groan. "Hot."

He glares at you. "You're moaning because I'm pulling your hair, that's h—" He swiftly covers your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He can feel you smile against his palm. "Gonna ride you."

He blinks at you. "You don't want me to fuck you?"

"Changed my mind. Flip over." He does, and Jesus fucking Christ you're a sight on top of him. He tugs at your top, "Want this off." You tilt your head at him, "Beg." Is probably the most insane thing a girl has ever said to him, "I don't beg, kid." You raise an eyebrow at him. "Okay."

You don't take off your top. His eyebrows furrow. "Off." He repeats. "Beg."

He rolls his eyes. "I don't fuckin' beg." You huff. "Then it's not coming off." The glint in your eyes leads him to biting his lip to seal the words in his mouth. He just wants to see the bra you're wearing, wants to see your chest jiggle as you ride him. You cup his face with one hand and undo his pants with the other. "Say please, and I'll take it off."

"What?" You roll your eyes this time. "Chris, you were very obviously staring at my boobs and at this point, I don't even know if you want to fuck me anymore." Your smile is gone and replaced with a serious expression. He swallows, hard. He hates how you make him feel.

"Please."

You smirk. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" You pull off your top, saying please was worth it. Every part of you is gorgeous.

He groans when your hand finds its way into his boxers, pumping him. He didn't realize how hard he was until now. "D-dont— ah. Tease." He pants out, you spit into your hand and coat his length with it. "Just making sure you don't split me in half."

When you finally sink down on him, he almost screams. "Shit—" You let out a pained gasp, you're hunched over him, letting out soft pants. "Mh....m fine. You're just....give me a second." You don't tell him when you adjust to him. The only notion he gets is you slamming down your hips. "Holy shit!" His hands immediately fly to your hips, eyes fluttering open.

He bucks into you, chasing more of the toe curling pleasure you're giving him. He can't help it. The way you wrap around him is unreal. The way you're looking down at him isn't helping either, gaging his face for his pleasure filled reactions. It's all too much for him.

"Don't tell me you're already about to cum, Chris." You feel him twitching inside you. "Then stop fuckin'—" His eyes roll back as you slam down on him again. "Fuck you." He chokes out.

You giggle, leaning down to kiss at his neck. He lets out a sinful moan when you sink your teeth into him. "Chris." You attempt to slow your pace, but Chris doesn't let you. "Mh...not gonna cum before you. Keep goin'." He guides your hips as he thrusts up into your sweet spot, causing you to hide your face in his neck. "There ya go, kid— Yeah, let's drop that attitude—" He rolls his hips foward to hit that spot again and again. He groans, feeling your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably.

"Chri—chris—" You moan into his ear. "Iknow—" He slurs. "Feel so good, ma—" The noises you're making right now are the prettiest things he's ever heard. If only if he could see your face.

"Gonna let me— fucccck— cum inside?" He pants, you nod eagerly into his neck. "Ple- please— Can't— mso!" You let out one more loud moan before clenching around his cock, he lets out a whimper before he finally comes inside you.

His flutter shut until he feels you nibbling at his neck. "Mhn...?" You sit up and kiss him, pouring the last of your energy into it.

He pulls away. "Gonna crash here?"

"Maybe."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife @nateismybf

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Hii <3 what about camboy!Art realizing he developed feelings for shy!reader because for the first time in his life - he is feeling jealous

Jealous Camboy!Art x Shy!Reader

Art felt pathetic staring at you from across the room hanging around the sleazebag that’s been attached to your hip all night as if he hadn’t peraided a girl or two in front of you before. It’s not in his nature to care at all, his love life was equivalent  to a revolving door. He liked some women more than others, the ones that stuck around were nice but they never mattered. Sometimes he’d feel guilty about it especially when most of them were left crying on his doorstep deplorable explanations thrown their way ‘listen it was just for fun, I don’t see you like that’ rightfully faced with heated curses.

It was his idea to bring you to a house party Patrick was hosting, all of his get-togethers were raunchy he knew that but regretted stepping foot when everyone's eyes landed on you. You didn’t notice it of course, you were so sweet and happy you actually had something to do on a Friday night. Patrick bound over to the both of you draping an arm over your shoulder. “So you’re Art’s pretty girlfriend” He teases, completely wasted. The statement making butterflies rise in your chest, your eyes shimmering at the thought, “Ye-” 

“No” Art interrupts, you flinch at his callousness snapping you out of your giddy daze. Silence surrounds the three of you. Art evading your bewildered stare, “so you guys are fuck buddies?” He asked glancing between the both of you, failing to tamper down how awkward things had become. “Something like that” Art laughs patting Patricks back, his rejection making your insides crawl.

“Well actually” you began to explain yourself but shut up when you met his stony gaze that screamed ‘drop it’

“Have fun guys, alcohol is in the kitchen” he squeezes you tight against his side and pinches the nape of Art’s neck narrowing his eyes, a signal to not be a dick before walking off.

He swore to himself it would never come to this, developing an inkling of feelings towards you was impossible especially with his roster of never ending women that honestly he never fell for but Art Donaldson didn’t get jealous until now. He didn’t notice how bad it was until the asshole kissed you on the cheek but watching you laugh and fawn over him was the final straw. 

“Hey” he grimaced “we’re leaving.” He tugs on your arm before you can protest “but this guy he’s so sweet-” you stammer gazing back at the poor guy left alone in the kitchen. He seethes ‘sweet’ as fucking if “No he’s trying to fuck you and dump you” Art frowns angrily pulling you past the sea of people, what does that loser have that he doesn’t? He makes you happy, you love the cuddles and the orgasms are great Art spirals 

“you’re wrong, he was going to take me on a date, actually to a place I’ve been wanting to visit” He stiffens up, “date?” spinning back in disbelief “what do you mean?” He squints, yanking you close against his chest.

“I-” what does it matter to him, you shake your head confused “we were going to the arcade I’ve been talking to you about, I wanted to go with you but you’re never interested” his face drops at your saddened expression guilt quickly surging through him, the palpable distress made him uncomfortable. “Look I can take you” he shrugs away your complaints. 

“But you don’t mean it.”

“I’m just someone you make porn with.. I like it and it’s nice, it’s not the same.” you stutter and take a minute to think chest bubbling in anger when the wave of realization hits you. Art's the hypocrite using you for sex. He’d invite you over, get you off, post the clips and send you away. You were a whore, it was just glamorous because he had the following, gave you a share of whatever he made and pretended to desire you, if he did it was only for your body. What you gave him.

“you’re making this a big deal” he whined but he paused his patronizing when your eyes began to water, “hey” the man grabs your shoulders moving fallen strands of hair away from your face 

“stop” he winces as you shove him away, body trembling anxiously. This was bigger than just the two of you, everyone knew you were just a body to him, no one saw your face but it was obvious, “fuck you Art.”

a lump in his throat grew at the sight, understanding why you were so upset, you felt used. 

“I care..” he whispers cupping your face wishing he could take back the lies “I swear I do” the look of doubt on your features saying other wise, ”I’ll take you” he caves aware you’re unconvinced “fuck him we can go together” he pleaded 

“Fine.. but you have to actually try.” 

“I will” he promises, enveloping you in a tight hug nuzzling his face against your cheek

[amarriageoftrueminds]

ITA that Bucky was never intended to be a protagonist in this show!

On top of doing damage-control to mitigate the resented attention which SebStan's fan fave draws -- to what I suspect the creators think should only be a black story, and I agree... we should be getting characters in Sam's story because they make sense being there, not because Mackie and Stan get along IRL.

...I also think part of the reason why they wrote Bucky as an asshole butt-monkey is because they think it's the Worf Effect way to make Sam look good.

(You see the same idiotic writing in CATFA, where they introduce only one named, non-Designated Love Interest female character, and make them a generic, sexy-baby-voice dumb blonde slut, who sexually molests Steve and is never heard from again.

There are likewise 40+ chorus girls in Steve's USO show whose names we never learn -- because if they were named, and nice, and competent... well that would upstage the DLI. Same reason we never get to see Steve's mother, or Bucky's family, and why the fatws show shits on Bucky's time / close connections in Wakanda, just to copy them with a new set of black people swapped into T'Challa, Shuri-and-the-village-kid's places. As if black people are interchangeable or only 'count' if they're American!)

The problem with this Worf Effect approach is that 'better than a shitty clumsy ex-Hydra dudebro' would make Sam average, not great.

And this is transparently also why they nerf Bucky -- to make unenhanced Sam's skill level look better by comparison.

Then they reverse it by making their generic ex-Hydra dudebro suddenly kiss ass (as if that's a compliment) but only after he has been 'redeemed.'

Bucky is designated butt-monkey and Ignorant White Guy... until they need someone Good to compliment Sam, when suddenly Bucky is a 'hero for the first time.' 🙄 I wouldn't be shocked if certain bits in BNW followed the same pattern.

(Meanwhile, thinly-veiled-Nazi Zemo gets to mansplain supremacy and racism and how much he loves Marvin Gaye, to prove how cool he is… to a black man. My jaw dropped, my flabber was gasted..)

It also struck me that there was a kind of 'what happened to us isn't bad if it happens to a white guy, right?' power fantasy about the way Bucky is treated in tfatws. (Again, parallels with how the DLI is written in CATFA).

Think about how closely Bucky's life before & in tfatws mirrors a historically black experience:

his history, memory, ties to his family, even his very name, erased by those who abducted him into slavery;

(an experience for which he is punished and blamed in perpetuity, instead of the people who did that to him);

universally profiled as innately dangerous and violent (when he's innocent and has been living in blameless quiet for years);

monitored by the state / made to jump through hoops just to prove his right to exist in peace because of this (yet simultaneously told his desire for peace is bullshit);

arrested off the street by racist cops, when he hasn't done anything wrong except raise his voice;

'sold' into sexual slavery to a rich white woman in a foreign country

(followed up by other-race colleague bemoaning the suffering of... another rich white woman in that foreign country?? who has also been a twat to Bucky?)

stared at with bewildered suspicion when he shows up... to help;

'jokingly' warned off dating woman-of-other-race by her brother. 😬

In another 'verse, where it was Gabriel Jones who got serum, fell from the train, and was made into the WS, if you included all these beats in his story, people would be like 'wow, they're really driving home the black experience, huh?' They would read as the generic things that you'd almost expect to see in a historic black character's life story.

(And if Gabriel Jones was framed as having undergone all this willingly, and told he needs to make reparations to Hydra's victims... I mean, could you fucking believe that??)

So it feels like someone writing TFATWS subconsciously thought, 'I wish I could see a white character suffer the same shitty treatment black guys have had.'

And Bucky is the designated douchebag white guy because... him being too good would upstage Sam, and Walker can't be bad because he has a fridged black friend! (Bucky's black friends don't count because they're not American, not Sam, and/or because the writers couldn't be bothered to learn they existed). So this falls on Bucky.

And sadly, that approach to a token white guy in a black-centered story could potentially be super interesting in a Noughts & Crosses way, if the people writing it: a) were actually aware that that is what they were doing, b) had written the person it's happening to as a decent guy, to make their historically-black suffering sympathetic, and have the black characters recall when the same thing happened to them or their family because of their race, and the thus two characters be drawn closer together by their similar experiences.

(Rather than what we got, which is these eerily similar traumas happening to Bucky in front of black characters, who then either dismiss them or completely ignore them as if nothing bad or unfair has happened. It's downright bizarre!)

Just saw some people talking about how tfatws was crafted to make Bucky seem like more of a villain and unlikable for the fans and I think that another important factor of this is not only that it'll turn fans against his character, but it also means that these fans will go after other people who see through this bs and still like/defend Bucky's character. By convincing these fans that Bucky willingly worked for white supremacists and was culpable in the assassinations he carried out as WS, these fans now have a lot of ammunition to not only use against his character but any remaining fans of his. It sucks cause it's really gonna accomplish nothing except fracturing the fandom further (which let's face it, the mcu fandom is already one of the most fractured and toxic fandoms out there).

I see where you’re coming from but I’m going to counter with the fact that this is giving Spellman’s writing chops more credit than it deserves.

(Watch out, the salt is strong with this one, bring a glass of water)

I don’t think he set out intentionally to make Bucky fans into fandom outcasts. That requires a level of subtlety, guile and flair I just don’t see in the script - you only have to look to Sam’s two important speeches to know how grievously his writing falls short.

What I see is a very immature and (as others have pointed out) unprofessional approach to writing, where he has not watched the first 3 Cap movies - or if he has, not bothered to take notes. It’s clear he has no idea that Bucky was fighting against the Nazis before he became a POW. Sebastian had to remind the writers that Bucky was an assassin (did they think he was literally just a soldier?). It’s also poignant to note that his belief about Bucky needing to make amends partially hinges on the fact that Bucky killed the Starks - so we already have problem #1 here when a Team IM scriptwriter is signed on to write for the new Captain America. They are already biased against what Steve and Sam stood for.

So his planning process is really this:

1) Bucky was an assassin for Hydra. He must feel guilty, so let’s make him redeem himself by making amends. The reason I don’t think Spellman intentionally set out to make Bucky indefensible is his genuine pride when he proclaims Bucky redeemed himself at the end by saving a van and being “ironically” adopted by a Black family. Bucky the Howling Commando who died fighting Nazis adopted “ironically” by a Black family. Bucky the guy who’s been saving Steve’s ass since the playground “first time being a hero”.

Let me pause here and scream at the wall.

2) Bucky, as the character neither the director nor the writer likes, had to be the one to do all the shitty things.

I seriously mean it on this one, and I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.

Skogland said “everyone likes Walker”. This is why - incoherently - Bucky had to play the privileged white male trope, because Walker needed a redeeming quality and that was his relationship with Lemar.

Let me pause again to go scream at the wall.

Never mind that this story should be about Sam and Bucky, and that it really should have shown us the affection and kindness between our leads, they couldn’t bear to let Walker actually be a full villain so instead, they gave the privileged white male role to Bucky while Walker and Lemar actually have a functional friendship. ARGH.

Then we have the issue of needing to bring in Zemo, and redeem Zemo into an anti-villain. Zemo had to be likeable, more likeable than Bucky. So instead of allowing Zemo to just break out on his own (WHICH HE DID ANYWAY), they made Bucky go and get him out in order to break off his relationship with Wakanda.

And because they’ve given BUCKY the role of the ignorant white male within a story that addresses systemic racism, of course his actions become indefensible, never mind that all of this is completely inconsistent with his character.

Sorry this got long but the more I look at TFATWS from a writing standpoint, the more this series enrages me. It’s not even that they cared enough about Bucky to systemically ruin him - it’s because they really DGAF about Bucky so they just made him do all the wrong actions in the plot, in order to preserve their other precious characters.