#Vicky is just Wes but gets paid for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysticmunson · 8 months

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date night: alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader

summary: finally scoring a date, things go smoothly until you present, and only one alpha knows.

word count: 2.8k

authors note: hii so i wrote this like two months ago and tried wrapping it up to have it posted, but i enjoy this au so please request some expansion requests :)

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, smut 18+

The pungent smell of fryer grease sifted through the air of Benny’s, a mountain of food divided into a few plates as you sat with Robin, who was in the midst of discussing her most recent ‘study date’ with Vickie.

“Get this! We’re sitting there, talking about chemistry, and bam!” Robin exaggerates, voice lowering in fear of someone overhearing, “She looked at me and kissed me!”

You gasp, smacking her shoulder with the back of your hand, a french fry between your thumb and index finger.

The couple had kissed a few times now, but the excitement remained as you knew how badly your friend pined over the redhead.

“We just need to find you someone now.” She teased, taking a bite of her grilled cheese as a string of orange came from between the bread.

“I’m determined to get laid by the end of this month,” You proclaimed, giving yourself around 30 days, “I want to experience it because when or if I present, I want to be somewhat prepared.”

Presenting was a concern for your age group, freshly out of high school, as everyone awaited to discover if they would become an alpha or omega. There had been a few start to show, including your best friend, Steve.

His presentation was expected, his father a well-known alpha in town, and the traits of one showed early. He was fiercely protective of those he cared about, known to be more than good in the sheets, and strong. Having grown up with him, you saw it happen in real time, making it even stranger when you realized how attractive he became.

Still, Robin supported you on your journey, but worried for your safety. Over analyzing any recollection you shared of a man flirting with you, deciding he was a murderer or ugly, or both.

In her bedroom, you stood in a loose blouse, tucked into a jean skirt and a matching jacket. Applying another layer of lipstick, you fretted over your appearance as you waited for the clock to strike 6:30, and for your date to pick you up here.

“Steve is coming over.” Robin mentioned, sipping on her water bottle, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“Okay,” You reply, “We just need him gone by the time Devin comes.”

Steve was a great best friend, but he could be a real pain in the ass. He had been scaring any potential boyfriend away since middle school, deeming them not good enough or them being too intimidated by him as he faked a macho persona.

For the plan to work, he couldn’t know. He would go on a tangent about how you didn’t have to have sex just to do it. That was true, but it was hard to listen to a guy who had numerous sexual partners preach it.

The front door swung open as if on cue as you and Robin went to the living room, Steve kicking off his shoes. He began his rant about work, Family Video making him lose hair from stress and children yanking on his hair.

You paid attention, but kept an extra eye on the clock, noticing the hands nearing 6:30. Cursing Steve’s tangent for not letting him leave sooner, you swallowed your anxieties, peaking to make sure a car wasn’t outside. As inconspicuously as possible, you stood and went to grab your heels from Robin’s room.

Toeing quietly, you were hoping to go unnoticed, but Steve decided to be aware for one of the first times tonight. “Where are you going? You’re dressed up.”

Shrugging, you leaned against the wooden door, “Just out for the night, a friend is picking me up.”

A terrible liar, you thought of something that wasn’t completely fictional, however, they both could tell. The sight of headlights caught your attention, standing straighter, “Okay, bye!”

Robin rushed to the front door to stick her head out as you walked away, “Wrap it before you tap it!”

Embarrassment crawling up your neck, you flicked her off behind your back, opened the car door, and stepped in.

“What!” Steve gasped, startling Robin as she shut the door and who hadn’t expected him to follow her or hear him. Thankfully, the car had pulled away, leaving a confused man with a bit too much heat in his cheeks at his best friend to get some.

“I’m just kidding, Harrington. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Robin snarled, shoulder-bumping him as she went back to her couch.

The date was fine, Devin was a kid you’d gone to school with since diapers. He had boyish features, cheeks a bit chubby with dimples, and was always polite. He had asked you to hang out a few days prior, agreeing on tonight.

Curls in your stomach that you attributed to nerves hadn’t vanished, even as you both mutually realized midway through your walk in the park that things were platonic.

Heat simmered within you, discarding your jacket and feeling beads of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. It wasn’t hot outside, even as you walked around and chatted.

“Are you okay? I don’t mean to sound rude, you don’t look well.” Devin questioned, a hand on your shoulder as your legs began to wobble.

Nausea flooded you before dissipating, wavering emotions as you tried to make sense of what was wrong.

Through the nerves, you kept thinking of Steve. How he would let his fingers trail against your lower back in hugs, kiss your head when leaving, and put his hand in front of your body when he hit the brakes too hard while driving.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling tears threaten through. As you made that statement, you felt the surge between your legs, knowing you had presented.

It couldn’t be happening now. Not with someone you didn’t know well. Not when you hadn’t been able to score a boyfriend first. Not now.

“I think I need to go home, I’m so sorry-” You began, huffing as streaks of mascara fell down your warm cheeks.

Assuring you it was okay, Devin drove you home, even stopping to get you a snack to make your stomach feel at ease. While it didn’t help, you appreciated the thoughtful gesture and thanked him as he waited for you to get securely in your apartment.

The space went from chilly to scorching, removing any amount of clothes you could besides a pair of boyshorts. Your mind raced with confusion as your nipples became hard, feeling a chill, but like a fire on ice.

Anxieties without category hit you, curling in a ball as you cried, sitting on your floor. It felt pathetic, but no stream of thought was strong enough to withstand the hormones.

Time slipped by as you tried regulating your breathing, applying slight pressure on your clothed core. A shrill ring came from your black phone, lifting the handle and pressing it to your ear.

“You were not supposed to answer!” Robin grumbled, already giving the heads up that she’d call to see if you were getting some, that no answer would be her answer. You had forgotten this rule, her tone making you bring in a fresh set of tears.

On the other end, Robin sat in her room with Steve walking in, not staying in the living room as she had asked. Her priorities were averted to the cry on the other side of the phone.

“Wait, what happened? Why are you crying? What happened with Devin?” Robin frantically questioned, Steve glancing over with furrowed brows as Robin had never stated who she was speaking with.

“Devin? From junior year math class? That was the friend?” Steve grimaced, toying with nicknacks in his friend’s bedroom, earning a finger on the lips to quiet him down.

“I presented,” You whispered, “I’m so scared and uncomfortable and overwhelmed! What alpha do you know, I don’t care who it is anymore.”

Though you would probably care later, the clouded judgment had you aching for any form of reprieve from the pain.

“Fuck, I don’t know!” Robin squeaked, not wanting to reveal your status to Steve for fear of your embarrassment, but she contemplated. The gears of her brain turned as she questioned his overprotectiveness, the way he was quick to frustration when discovering you were on a date.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, Y/N. I promise.” She concluded, hanging up and grabbing her yearbook.

The faces of former students made her ill, but word got around about presentations, and she hoped that seeing their faces would make her recollect.

“What the hell’s going on? Do I need to go fight Devin?” Steve eyed his friend, an unnerving worry in his stomach.

Biting her lip, she debated internally, “She needs help.”

“What is looking at that going to do?” Steve gawked, used to his friend’s antics, but still astounded when they acted erratically.

“I’m trying to remember who’s an alpha.”

“Why would you need to know who became an alpha-”

As the words left, his mouth ran dry, and he gulped while looking at Robin. She slowly looked up, watching the dark iris’ before her enlargen.

“Steve-” Robin began, the corner of a page between her two fingers.

The stern look on his face was withholding a multitude of emotions, ones she couldn’t quite make out. She made the judgment call that maybe Steve was your best bet.

“She’s at her place.”

That was all that needed to be said before Steve ran out her front door and into his car. He had driven your route a million times, but never this fast.

His blood pumped with nerves and excitement. He had spent his ruts alone, a fist full of himself with the occasional tears of frustration as he tried to alleviate his knot. But now you had presented as an omega.

Refraining from palming his crotch, he watched your streetlights come into view, throwing his car into park. The dark hallways were typically concerning, but your door was practically glowing within his mind.

He growled at the smell in the air, catching his attention more the closer he got. Gripping the door handle, it was unlocked, thankful no one else had noticed the compromising position.

Choking on his own breath, he fumbled with the lock behind him and trekked down the dim hallway. The protectiveness he already felt was consuming, his palms sweating as he made his way closer.

The door swung open too quickly as the handle slipped from his grasp, seeing you flinch from your curled position on the floor.

As if you were nothing, he lifted you from your armpits, making you stand in front of him. Eyes blazing, he looked pointedly as he undid his belt.

“Your door.” He stated, voice wavering with stability.

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at him, “What?”

His shirt was shrugged off, tossing it to the ground as your eyes drifted to his broad chest, whimpering at the sight to his delight.

“It was unlocked, don’t you ever fucking do that again.” He gritted pushing his jeans off, cupping your cheek with one hand and leaning forward so the back of your knees touched your bed.

His nose had skimmed against yours, breath fanning against your cheeks as you drank in every pheromone he perpetrated. Breath quickening, every thought coming to your head was vulgar, eyes softening in need.

“I won’t.” You whimpered, yelping as your back hit the wrinkled sheets, and his chest soon pressed against your bare one.

“I mean it, don’t ever do that again, you could’ve gotten hurt.” He gripped your chin in his grasp, looking down at you as your clothed centers touched.

The brief touch made you wail, your body suddenly aware of what was to come. Equally as impatient, he grabbed one side of your underwear and ripped it. Repeating the act on the opposing side, the shreds of fabric were now a relic of the you before this moment.

Palming himself, looking down at your frame as a predator and prey, he growled.

“How bad do you want it?” He egged on, ripping his own boxers off and onto the floor.

“Please, Steve, please.” You whined, watching as his cock bobbed. Blushing profusely pink, your mouth watered at it and your chest began to burn with greed.

He seemed far too composed, the performance of himself he was forced to obtain through most of his teen years floating to the top. However, his soft spot was you. It always had been and both of your fresh senses were sensing the discomfort in both of you.

“Alpha, please.”

That was all it took for his body to be pressed to yours and his lips to meet yours for the first time.

Grunts and gasps came from you both as the underside of his cock rubbed against your folds, too consumed with how he tasted and how you smelled.

“Keep that door locked, do you understand?” He gritted, fisting himself in his own grasp, his first thrust in synchronizing with your nod.

A pained cry rose from your lungs, tears already streaming down your cheeks, his lips kissing where the beads were.

Desperation reeked from you both as you grabbed at one another, needing any form of solidification that the other was there.

Steve found comfort in your warmth, trying his best to soothe your discomfort with affection. Kissing on your neck or rubbing your clit, the latter making you shriek from sensitivity.

“My omega now,” He sighed, balls reaching the curve of your ass as he settled against you, “my girl. Always have been.”

“Always yours, alpha, always Steve.” You trembled, the veins of his length stimulating every ridge within yourself. His brown hair crowned around his face, only able to see him in your state of need.

Though you were the one presenting, Steve felt the same wave of emotions he felt during his first rut, but now even more with another person. His person. The one who knew him since he had gaps in his front teeth, since he had graduated, and every minute moment before and after.

“Fuck, I love you.” He blurted out, feeling his own bashfulness creep up his neck.

To his relief, you began to be more overcome with emotion, agreeing. Each thrust hit your spongy spot inside you, convincing you more and more he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

“I love you too,” You revealed, locking his lips between yours briefly, “M’sorry I didn’t ask for you first, I was nervous.”

Your words were sweeter than honey, but the implication that someone else almost came to your aid burned him deeply. His hands pushed up your thighs, your knees coming up as he fucked you deeper than you could comprehend.

“Devin asked me out and I just wanted a boyfriend, but I didn’t want him, I swear-” You cried, unknowingly provoking more possessiveness.

“Honey, please, it’s okay.” He gritted, clenching sheets in his shaking hands, suppressing the urge to flick his hips quicker.

“I wanted you, alpha, please.” You sighed, stroking his cheek and hair, anywhere you could touch, “I’m so happy, I’m sorry, thank you-”

“Don’t worry, I would’ve found you anyway. You’re my girl, my omega.” He assured, gulping down the emotions he felt when you looked into his eyes.

His words appeared to have a larger effect than any physical reimbursement could do for you as your fingers clenched within his hair.

Your cry as you came made his hormones go into a flurry. He could feel your uneasiness being thrown into release. It was as if your chests opened in tandem, reaching out and moving in sync as he finished inside you.

White noise filled both of your ears as Steve’s body hovered over yours with much of his weight on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his chest, shoving your face against the crook of his neck.

Pumping himself within you until sensitivity took over, he gasped at how you clenched around him. His stature shook as he knotted, a hand going to your hip to keep in place, chest heaving to regain a steady tempo.

“Thank you.” You whimpered, hugging his chest closer to your front, an embrace he matched. Pressing a kiss on the side of your forehead, he trailed down to your ear with pecks and bites.

Rolling to his back, he pulled you to his chest, rubbing your back after you tried sitting up.

“Just relax, honey.” He cooed, the exhaustion already hitting you both, stilling your hips from causing you both more frustration in the compromising position.

“I want to make you knot again.” You whine beneath your breath, trying to sit up again, ignoring the pain shooting through your body at his swelling.

“Easy tiger,” He chuckles, biting his lip to stop his own need, “we’ve got time.”

tagging mutuals :)

@andvys @lilacletter @corrodedcorpses @munsonsreputation @berryfairy444 @poppy-metal @lesservillain @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint

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madelynraemunson · 7 months

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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book 1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove! reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MINORS DNI

006: The Eddie Special

Rent is paid, food is on the table, and Max finally has a YMCA membership! All because of you. But just when you think you've got your two lives under control, Robin and Vicky show up to Hellfire for date night — and see you dancing center stage.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 5.2k words

warnings — eddie being an asshole again but also very sweet, mutual pining, angst, yearning, profanities, power imbalance, double standards, smoking, alcohol, sexual harassment, health issues/disparities, trauma, pedophilia, incest, name-calling

“A compromise would surely help the situation.”

♡

“Hey, stranger.”

Robin flashes you a “good morning” smile as you’re washing the dishes. Scooting to the side, you continue to scrub as she leans against the sink with her back, munching away at her breakfast sandwich that Vicky had prepped for her the night before.

“Morning,” you grin in return.

“Funny,” she says. “We live under the same roof now but our friendship still feels long distance.”

“Sorry… ” you frown. “Work’s just been a lot.”

So is living a double life. To shake off the guilt that constantly gnawed at you, you dry your hands and proceed to make yourself some coffee. When you scan the fridge, the only creamer you can get your hands on is...

Hazelnut. Just your luck.

There’s a tinge in your chest as you dunk it into your mug. You stir aggressively. Robin notices how tense you are and walks over to you.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, my guy,” she says as she pats you on the back. “Healthcare is tough. I dated a travel nurse once and that poor woman had back problems for days.”

“Such a physically and emotionally taxing job,” Vicky adds as she emerges from their room. “I don’t know how you do it, Hargrove.”

“Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Smooch.

You chuckle to yourself as you sip your Eddie-coded coffee.

“Yeah. I don't know how I do it either…”

The wooden stairs creek and crack as a pair of Vans stomp against them. Max is awake. This morning is an exciting one. After many, many overtime shifts at Hellfire, you've accumulated enough tip money to pay for Max's membership for 12 months. On top of that, rent had already been paid so you had a hefty cushion leftover for leisurely expenses.

You can hardly contain yourself. Seeing the surprised look on your sister's face is sure to be the highlight of your morning.

Max stares at you in shock when she sees you in the kitchen.

“Whoa,” she says. “She’s awake.”

You only ever see Max in passing when she comes home from the skate park. And that's right when you leave for work. From what she tells you she hasn't made many friends, but her main priorities right now are her hobbies and preparing herself for college classes in the Fall. Sometimes Max will tag along with Robin and Vicky to run errands, but you can tell she misses spending time with, and seeing, her sister.

“Shocker, right?” you sigh. “Thought I'd catch you before you head out.”

With your hands behind your back, you stride over to Max to give her her well-earned gift.

“What’s this?” she wonders.

“Your ticket to the Y,” you explain. “A band and a quarter, should last you a year.”

"Whoa!" Vicky exclaims.

"Holy shit! Look at that!" Robin cheers.

Max's eyes widen as she takes the money from you. “ $1200?! What bank did you have to rob to get $1200?”

“No bank,” you shake your head as Max counts all of the Benjamins. “Just the pockets of old, retired folk.”

You grin from ear to ear as you watch Max get bombarded with hugs that she is reluctant to accept, but does regardless. Vicky and Robin hoot and holler and squeal and cheer, reaffirming to Max that she deserves it the most.

“You’re really giving the elderly a run for their money,” Max says as the celebration comes to an end.

You watch in amusement as Vicky and Robin take turns counting Max's money.

“Yeah well it’s the least they can do for me,” you sigh. “My body feels like it’s aged 10 years.”

Max excuses herself from your roommates and throws herself onto you this time. You do your best not to cry. You've really missed her hugs.

“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Seeing how happy your sister is makes all your struggles worth it. Anything for Maxine.

———— 🔥 ————

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t really give a damn right now.”

The past couple of weeks at Hellfire have been nothing short of awkward.

Eddie only really comes to you when he needs something, which — now that you've taken off those rose-tinted glasses — pretty much fits the bill of who he is as a person.

But he still lingers. For example, when you and Chrissy go on breaks together, there is always something for Eddie to do in close proximity. Table needs wiping? Eddie is there. Aisle needs sweeping? Mike, go help in the back. When you're dancing on customers, Eddie comes out from doing paperwork in his den to greet the regulars. And whenever you would turn to look at what Eddie’s doing, his gaze is already fixed on you and what you’re doing.

Like cat and mouse. But of course, he does it with all his dancers. Right?

A part of you wants to confront Eddie and his behavior, but before you even can he's out the back door to go on a "smoke break" with Argyle after closing, which usually is a short jump to him leaving. So you try to act unbothered by it by staying just a while longer with Henry… just in case he does come back.

But Henry puts you to work when you stay. He typically has you make sure all doors are locked, all chairs are stacked, and that any stray garbage is thrown away. You two play music while you work alongside one another, talking shit about customers and about how every day is starting to look the same.

You’re aware of how you openly contradict yourself, saying the days all bleed into one another and how you miss your bed. Yet you’re still at Hellfire. Way past closing time. Henry for sure has caught on to your odd behavior, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he enjoys your company.

It’s like clockwork now, this ritual-slash-routine.

Today is different for some reason.

"Hey!" Eddie calls out. “Shy Girl!”

You’re alone eating in an isolated part of VECNA’S LAIR when Boss Man makes his way over to you.

You’re frozen in your spot as he approaches you…willingly. Although you could care a lot less about his presence, the gesture still causes you to sit up a little straighter and blot-dry any remnants of your food with your napkin.

Eddie sets down new laminated prints of his menu in front of you. Plop.

"New item on the menu,” he gloats, very amused with himself. “Waffle fries. What do you think?"

Annoyed, you huff.

"Sure."

Two weeks of barely uttering a sentence to one another. Two weeks of avoiding eye contact and possibly one ‘excuse me’. Two weeks of being a background character in Eddie’s life and his icy shoulder making sure you knew it.

Now you’re more than an extra today. Because today Eddie decides you’re something of value, and that just for today your input actually matters. It's pathetic. It all makes Steve and Nancy look like best friends.

Your eyes travel to his firm hands. His silver rings. You hate to admit that you miss how they felt against your skin, especially since your skin seemingly isn't the only one he grazes. I do this with all my dancers. Your hands ball into fists. How can someone be so okay with using someone the way Eddie did with you?

"So we'll do regular waffle fries and the crinkle cuts will be our sweet potato fries from now on,” he explains.

“Mhm.”

“And eventually,” Eddie booms dramatically. “We’ll introduce the concept of different types of fries. Cajun fries, cheese fries, chili cheese fries. Then we'll introduce new cuts like curly fries... wedges..."

Not a word from you.

"Then we’ll do animal style fries like how you Californians do it at In-N-Out. I’ll call it ‘The Eddie Special’. It’ll be amazing!”

"You call the shots, Eddie."

Like he always does.

Eddie finally gets the message. You watch as his shoulders droop as he surrenders.

"Are you okay?" he dares to ask perplexedly.

"Never better!" you exclaim.

You grab your finished meal and dart past him, not even bothering to pardon yourself when your shoulders brush his slightly. You hear Eddie exhale, super displeased as the taps he makes on the table with his fingers render themselves fast and impatient.

“You don’t wanna stay and chat?” your superior demands sharply.

“I have to clock back in,” you answer coldly. “Sorry.”

“K then,” Eddie quietly mutters, returning the energy.

You try to look busy, so you pull out your phone and pretend to check something. Luckily, a text message from Robin pops up for you to reply to.

ROBIN BUCKLEY ☀️🤍

Date night with Vicky tonight. Breakfast/lunch/dinner waiting for you in the fridge when you get home 😁

You smile.

You da bestest 🩷 thank u

Buzz.

ROBIN BUCKLEY ☀️🤍 loved “You da bestest 🩷 thank u”

“Hey, Hargrove?” Eddie calls out to you.

His voice sounds a lot softer and apologetic. With the optimism that your tactic worked, you spin around to face Eddie with eager eyes. Maybe today is the day things go back to normal again.

“Hm?”

“No going on your phone when you’re clocked in, k?”

A blow to the chest. Bitter and agitated, you shove your phone into the back pocket of your booty shorts. Yes sir, you mutter to yourself mentally.

After thanking you, Eddie struts to the kitchen, using his own phone to pull up Dio on Spotify. He and Argyle like to head-bang and fuck around in the kitchen when they’re together. Messing around is only okay if Eddie does it, you assume.

To make matters worse, Eddie then proceeds to use his stupid phone to send someone a text. You scoff at the irony. Fucking prick.

Another trigger of yours? Power imbalance and double standards.

Attempting to be drama-free, you ironically make your way over to Steve and Jonathan, who are posted up at POTIONS.

“Hey Shy Girl,” Jonathan nods.

"Hey Johnny," you greet him.

You turn to the literal love of your life.

“Sup, Steve.”

"Hey, Hargrove," Steve nods. "How'd you do on tips last night?"

"Stellar," you answer. "Fucking love Fridays."

You and Steve are still casually hooking up. But just as you predicted, things aren’t quite the same. The problem this week is that Steve is struggling to finish, and you start to feel discouraged and insecure when he softens up inside of you.

Steve always used to finish. Now when you look up at him his gaze is fixed on something else, his strokes are less enthusiastic, and he mistaked one of your kinks for someone else’s once. But you pretend not to notice. A part of you even feels like you deserve it.

Steve is struggling with the eye contact today. You kick at the floor, trying to find a way to make your presence relevant in this corner of Hellfire. Knowing very well what you’re doing, Steve holds up a French fry from his red picnic tray as a supportive gesture.

"Would you like some?"

You beam at him and open your mouth so he can feed you. Steve obliges.

“Thanks boo,” you say to him as you chew.

He blushes. “Welcome.”

“You guys are cute,” Jonathan smiles as he wipes his hands with a hand towel. “I gotta run to the restroom, you mind watching the bar for a bit, Hargrove?”

“Not at all,” you oblige. “I’ll be here. Eating Steve’s fries.”

“Great,” Jonathan says, excusing himself. Then he halts. “Oh! If you open the register, Eddie has something for you underneath. Code is 0-1-1.”

Eddie has something…for you?

You turn to Steve and he just shrugs. As if it weren’t already obvious, you and Eddie weren’t exactly on friendly terms. What could that man possibly have for you?

It’s a termination notice, you can feel it. Bracing yourself for the absolute worst, you punch the code in.

0 - 1 - 1.

CHA-CHING! The register pops open. You lift the till that housed the cash and coins to unveil a pile of cash joined together by a small paper clip. There is a tiny note that was written onto a ripped piece of paper.

You pick it up. This couldn’t be for you, you think. But the sloppy handwriting with a partially bleeding pen says otherwise.

‘Hargrove: $600 — YMCA MONEY’

----- ❤️‍🩹 -----

“She the devil, she a bad lil bitch, she a rebel.”

Tonight you’re doing private dances with customers and also doing tip rail. But you wish you were just doing tip rail 'cause tonight’s clients were ballsy.

One patron said you look like his daughter. But it’s okay because ‘she’s married and out of the house’. Another said you look like one of his students. But it's totally okay because he teaches at the community college, therefore almost every pupil there is ‘at least 18’. It still doesn’t make it any better. All you could think about is your 18 year old baby sister — someone’s daughter and someone’s someone — someone who will also be walking the halls of Hawkins Community College later this month.

This customer, however, takes the cake. After guiding his hand away multiple times during the lap dance, he always manages to find the straps of your bra again. Upon strike three, you lose all patience.

“Yo, can you not do that?” you hiss, your inner Cali dude coming out to play. “I moved your hand away many times.”

The man is almost appalled. “It’s a strip club, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I strip on my terms.”

"I paid for your services," he spat. "So I'm sure I get to do what I want, hoe."

“Don’t call me that!”

“I'll call you what I want,” the customer insists. “It’s what you are anyways if you’re in this job right?”

He takes out another dollar and tucks it into one of your cups. You could only stare in shock. The audacity of this guy.

“Here,” he says degradingly. “Looks like you really need it. Now let me see those tits. Please.”

Anger consumes you. Whatever amount of the Neutral Wolf you had left in you has now melted away. The Big Bad Wolf is taking over now. You give the man a shove, hoisting yourself off his disgusting body.

"What the FUCK is your deal, bruh?" you bark, a piece of Billy coming out of you more than you intended. "You want a piece of me that badly, don't you?"

Your words cause a scene in the surrounding area. Not even phased by it, the patron decides to push you further.

“Easy, easy,” he rolls his eyes. “If it’s that much of an issue I’ll just take my money back.”

He yanks the dollar back from out of your bra. His knuckles just grazed your tits.

“What kinda strip club is this anyways? Theme is janky as fuck. The STRIPPERS don’t even strip. They’re RUDE, and they’re butt ugly. The owner should be ashamed. Oh and by the looks of it, you don’t have much tits to work with after all.”

“Pull up your shirt,” you quip. “I think I found ‘em.”

This poor man. He didn't know you're a Hargrove.

And soon you’re throwing shit. His money. Your shoes. Every curse word in the dictionary, both traditional and urban with the exception of a few. You’re seeing all red now, and you’re pretty sure if no one stopped you, you’d have ripped the guy’s head off.

“If I don’t have tits, why you trying to get at me?” you roar. “You like little boys or something, bitch?!”

“HENRY!” Eddie shouts.

You turn in the direction of Eddie’s voice. He had been watching. Through your furious, free-falling tears, you can see in his dark eyes, closed fists, and flared nostrils that he is angry as well.

“On it, boss!” Henry shouts as he scampers on over. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?”

The friendly bouncer swoops you off to the side and asserts himself between you both. Lucky for the guy, no dislocated limbs were in the cards today. All it took was another person with a penis to get this fool to back down. He tries to reason with Henry but it’s far too late. Henry’s already pushing him towards the door.

“I’ll be coming BACK to have my way with you,” the beast growls and spits. “Fucking SKANK!”

“I HOPE THE FUCK YOU DO, MOTHERFUCKER!” you challenge him. "I'll be right here waiting!”

A calloused hand lands on your lower back. Thinking it’s another customer, you turn aggressively, fist winded up. As quickly as you lunge, a large palm catches it mid-air.

It’s Eddie.

Worry washes over your boss’s face when you two lock eyes for the first time. After what seemed like an eternity. He looks at you with the utmost concern. You almost see a tear glistening in his eye. A portion of his hair falls over his face in attempts to conceal it.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks again, genuinely.

You nod, gulping.

You aren't okay, that's the thing. Not when Eddie looks like that. And not when he's looking at you, like that. Suddenly, Hellfire melts away and you're back in his van, fighting back every urge to fall into him and his musky, pine aroma infused with nicotine, weed, and beer. Just like home. Eddie feels like home.

Papers beat rock. Slowly, Eddie lowers your fist with the palm he had draped over you. The pulsing music and blinding strobe lights trickle back into your system.

"It's okay if you aren't..." Eddie starts. “You know... alright.”

"Eddie," you stop him. "Please. I'm alright."

“That was a lot.”

“But it's nothing new to me.”

He studies you. Doesn’t speak for a while.

“It's true!” you insist, attempting to diffuse Eddie's concern. “It kinda reminded me of the frat parties in San Diego I used to go to. You know what I’m saying?”

You try to laugh. But Eddie doesn’t. Henry and some dancers come to check up on you, especially Chrissy, to ask if you're okay. They even try to start a petition to jump the guy. You repeat the very thing you've been saying since it happened — yes, you are okay — and thank them for their concern. Then it's back to you and Eddie the moment they all disperse.

"Want a break?" he offers.

You shake your head. Dancing it off would help more, actually. And besides, if his offer is just another attempt to get you alone in his car and fire you up only to extinguish it all again in one sitting, you'll pass.

"Wanna go on stage now then? Get a break from individual dances?"

You smile and nod. "I'd love that."

The night can only get better from here. Eddie offers you his hand and helps to hoist you onto the stage. The DJ announces your name, and you’re back in business, putting on your million dollar smile and batting your seductive, little lashes.

Your song comes on and you start to shake your ass. Lost in the trance of the song, you become one with the pole, climbing it and gliding along it, twirling from it, and hovering with it, twerking and spreading your legs whenever you saw fit. The audience revels in it.

It all feels so good. Yes you are being provocative, everybody and your brother's worst nightmare -- but you're the one in control. No one can ever take your body autonomy away from you. Never again. Not anymore.

You do a death drop to the floor and quickly ease into your splits. The crowd goes wild as you roll your hips to the song, allowing yourself to get showered by the dollar bills that were raining down on you like a storm.

To thank everyone for their overwhelming support, you spin yourself around to face the crowd. But your heart nearly stops.

“Oh my god,” you gasp aloud.

Nothing could ever prepare you for what... or who rather... you see in front of you.

“Oh…my god,” Robin repeats, face sheet-white like a ghost.

Vicky is right beside her with the same shock on her face. Of course, your roommates have acknowledged this place before, so it wouldn't be a surprise that they eventually made this place their date night.

Your mind short-fuses and all you can do is crawl away backwards. Luckily, no one in the crowd seems to suspect how thrown off you just became. Your body quickly calls on another dancer as your mind races. And soon Emmy is taking your spot at the tip rail.

You look over at Eddie, who was in the corner leaning against the wall, but now he is standing upright and confused. Throwing on your cloak, you thank everyone for coming out and run out to the back alley.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," you mutter to yourself, as your heels click against the cold floor. Your cover is blown. What do you do now? "That's what you get for working local, Hargrove."

You find an area in the alley to rest and hit your dab pen ferociously. As you pace back and forth, you start to develop your exit plan. Nothing new, you develop these plans all the time.

Eventually Robin and Vicky find you. Clumsily spilling out the back door comes Thing 1 and Thing 2, assessing your body language and emotional well-being before finding the right words to say. It’s uncomfortable for everybody.

“Well this is quite the nursing home,” Robin remarks.

“Babe!”

“What?!” Robin exclaims. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“Yeah but that can kinda come off as witty and sarcastic.”

“Well I don’t mean for it to.”

“Just because you don’t mean for it to, doesn’t mean it won’t come across that way.”

“Well knowing Hargrove I would hope she knows it’s not meant to come across that way.”

“GUYS!” your overstimulated self shouts.

All is quiet on midwestern front. Vicky and Robin switch between looking at you and back down at the ground while you resume your stress-filled nic break.

Finally, you speak after exhaling.

“So how’s everyone’s niiight?”

Robin gets straight to the point. “Why didn’t you tell us you work here?”

“I was protecting Max.”

“From what?” Robin wonders. “Ass and boobies? Extensions and falsies and freakishly high, high heels?”

“Doesn’t sound like nightmare fuel to us,” Vicky shrugs.

“It is when you consider the women Billy’s brought home.”

“What does Billy have to do with any of this?” asks Vicky.

“A lot, actually,” you answer.

You shove your pen back into your cloak pocket.

“Look,” you say. “I really needed the money. And I needed it fast. With my server and dancing background, I figured being a stripper was the best way to make it. And I was right. It’s quick money, but it’s sure as hell not easy. It’s draining for the most part, but—”

You stomp at the ground in frustration.

“My sister is fed and she can go to the Y and go to school and she’s away from Billy anditsallthatI’veeverwantedokay? That’s why I did it.”

“Okay, but I don’t see the point in coming up with this elaborate story that you work nights at a nursing home,” Vicky squints in thought. “Come on Hargrove, we are the least judgmental house in the boonies. I mean look at us.”

“Art Hoe Lesbians in a red state,” Robin points out. “I’m sure exotic dancer is a very mild offense.”

They did have a point. And it's not like Max is the type to slut-shame either. But you wanted Max to live as normal of a life as possible. Having a stripper sister also didn’t seem like the best conversation starter in Hawkins.

"I guess I'm just used to living a lie," you admit exhaustedly. "And running away... I also know Max would be worried sick for me."

"You only live lies if you tell 'em," Robin points out. "But as long as you're here with us, you're free to be your true and authentic self."

"Your job right now is to provide," Vicky adds. "And you're doing a wonderful job."

You beam. "Yeah?"

They both nod, yes. Sometimes you forgot what a support system is like. It always used to be everyone for themselves.

"Thanks guys."

"You're welcome," Vicky grins. "For now we'll keep our lips locked. We did not see anything."

"But you are going to have to tell Max eventually," Robin scorns.

"I know," you sigh. "I appreciate the stall."

The three of you hug. That's another thing you've been needing these past few weeks. A warm, authentic hug.

"Nice ass by the way," Robin compliments you.

"And tits," Vicky adds.

"Thanks."

———- ❤️ ———-

“I’ll kindly take you up on that Eddie Special, please,” you mumble.

Eddie had last-called everyone 15 minutes ago, but deep down you hope he had enough room in his heart for you. It’s been a dumpster fire of a shift.

Sure enough Eddie caves, judging by the way he starts up the fryer again after having shut it down right before you got to him.

He grins warmly. “Coming right up.”

As the fryer starts to bubble, Eddie loads in the last of the crinkle cuts. He waits close by with crossed arms.

Eddie’s first to break the silence.

“You seemed to know those customers,” he comments, referring to Vicky and Robin. “Judging by how fast you ran from them. In pumps too.”

“They’re my roommates,” you reply. “My best friend and her partner. They didn’t know I work here.”

He raises the eyebrow at ‘best friend’. “Even they didn’t know you work here?”

“I don’t know what they’d do with this information,” you utter defensively. “I guess it’s just hard for me to trust people.”

“Is it really, Miss Flight Risk?”

He’s referring to moving in with a girl you met online. You shoot him a look. The “I-didn’t-really-have-any-other-choice” look. He quickly digresses.

“I’m kidding,” he surrenders. “Okay? I understand that there are some things you gotta keep secret.” Eddie wriggles the basket full of fries around in the fryer. “…Even from your loved ones.”

Something tells you he speaks from experience. You shrug it off, ensuring he’d elaborate if he wanted to eventually.

Meanwhile you just decide to hit him with some small talk.

"How’s Chef Lucas been doing back here?"

"Fine and dandy," Eddie breathes. "For the most part. He burnt some things a couple of days ago, but that's part of being an apprentice, right?"

"Totally,” you nod. “Mistakes are bound to happen."

"Ohhh yeah," Eddie mutters, almost to himself. "Lots and lots…of mistakes."

"Trial and error, if you will,” you pitch in.

"Yup,” he draws on. “Seeing what works and what doesn’t. Testing the waters..."

Your eyes meet again. Briefly at least.

Eddie struggles to hold his gaze and instead resorts to clumsily playing around with a cloth nearby while whistling a tune. You can feel it getting awkward again so you find a way to keep the conversation going.

“Thank you for being there,” you attempt. “And helping out with my sister’s membership. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Eddie insists. His back is towards you so you can't read his expression. “You’ve been working very hard.”

“That’s why you don’t have to,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly. “It’s already paid off.”

Eddie chuckles. “Okay, then use it to buy yourself something nice. You deserve it.”

A hoot sounds from the opposite end of the hall. It’s Henry making his way over with some keys.

“Alright Babyboy, I’m out,” he announces. “I can lock up if you’d like? Not like I have anything to do.”

“I can take it from here,” Eddie insists. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Creel.”

Henry makes his way over, narrowing his eyes.

“Thought you normally go see Wayne after this.”

“I do,” Eddie replies. “But he had company earlier and I’m sure he already put himself to bed by now. I’ll stop by for breakfast.”

Henry’s eyes shift between you and Eddie. There’s a small smirk but he tries to conceal it. You’re staying late again, huh?

“Your words not mine,” Henry says. “Goodnight you two.”

You both bid Henry goodbye and he sees himself out. Eddie proceeds his periodic check-ins with your taters.

"You've uh, been appointing Henry a lot," you point out.

"Hell yeah, like clockwork," Eddie shrugs. "This industry is predator central. Just hate when dickheads think they can disrespect my girls. I don’t play that way.”

My girls.

“Not his first time doing shit like that,” Eddie adds, referring to the customer. “I regret giving him another chance. I should just get Henry or Jim to print a picture of his face and plaster it all over the walls. DON'T LET THIS ASSHOLE IN.”

You laugh. Eddie laughs at your laugh and then goes to melt the cheese for your dish.

“Yeah,” you say. “You give a man another chance and all he does disappoint you.”

Eddie sighs and nods timidly. “Yeah… Men ain’t shit huh?”

It falls silent for a bit. Eddie slowly stirs the melted cheese concoction he had going on in his pot while eyeing the time. You fiddle around with your cloak out of habit. Eddie speaks first again.

“You know what Shy Girl, I’m gonna do it,” he says. “Gonna broadcast his face and I’ll have you sign off on it.”

“Really?” you say.

“Of course,” Eddie shrugs. “You know how I am. I don’t play when it comes to you.”

The rasp in his voice sounds like melted butter. For a fraction of a second, you start to wonder what you were even mad about earlier.

You really missed talking and bantering with Eddie. Aside from whatever the hell was going on between you both, his companionship was not something you felt was fake.

Eddie begins mixing some sauces, and when he's done he hands you what you assume is your tips that you forgot to collect. You know, when you bolted off the stage.

"Already tipped everyone else out," he explains. "Rest is yours to keep."

You thank him and count all your bills. Now you have $600 of reallocated YMCA money and tips from tonight to pay off your bills and splurge.

You haven't had this much money since your waitressing job. You are forever grateful.

“Is there...anything I owe you Eddie?” you question. “Like at all? You’ve done a lot for me lately.”

“Ehhh you’re in the clear, I guess,” Eddie sheepishly smirks. “Lucky for you I’m a sucker for flattery.”

The fries are now cooked to a golden crisp and Eddie adds the components needed for The Eddie Special. He spends a decent amount of time to perfect the presentation before sitting down in front of you. In true Eddie fashion, he takes a bite of his own creation.

"HOT," he comments, trying to blow on the fry that's already in his mouth. "Hot, hot, hot. Fresh out the fryer."

Judging by his face, however, he approves. You can’t help but giggle over and over again. He gestures for you to try some.

It’s love at first bite.

"Mhm," you coo. "Thank you, Eddie."

"You're welcome," Eddie says. He grabs a washcloth to clean up the area. “Now… when you’re finished, how about I treat you to a real dinner?”

-------

author’s note: school has been taking over my life but i’m so glad i got to crank out this chapter for you guys 🖤 i’m excited to see how y’all are gonna react to shy girl’s orientation dinner…. 👀

tag list: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23 , @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @holabeans00

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #joe quinn #stranger things 5 #Eddie #Eddie x reader #reader x Eddie #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #hellfire club

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genericpuff · 5 months

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The Kiss Bet Episode 172 - Hot Pot and Venting About How I Want My 70 Cents Back

Okay, look, this isn't a post I was expecting to make today but it's something that just happened and I have to fucking talk about, so let me preface this with some context.

I had to buy coins recently and because I switched to using my iPad for reading comics on, I got a "new reader" type deal from Webtoons for a coin bundle that got me like 100 coins for $5; because technically it was a 'new account' as Webtoons operates their in-game currency model on apps, not on actual emails (meaning if you use the app on an Android phone and then switch to an Apple iOS device, they're technically two separate accounts which you sync the reading data between via the account info linked via the email, therefore they have two separate coin wallets).

So with more coins than I knew what to do with, I decided to start FastPassing The Kiss Bet again, which I had recently stopped FP'ing around the S3 mark, as it's recently devolved back into the "will they won't they" trope, but instead of between Sara-Lin and Joe, it's between Sara-Lin and Joe's younger brother (the "true endgame") Oliver.

Now I don't mind the ship in essence. Joe was definitely not gonna be endgame, it was always gonna be Oliver, anyone who's read any amount of romance before - especially high school romances - knows how this shit tends to go, and The Kiss Bet isn't exactly trying to be groundbreaking or subversive in any way, it knows exactly what it's about and what it's trying to accomplish.

But it's almost become a little too good at this. Because in playing the "will they won't they" game for so long with a character that we know is endgame, it's basically been weeks and weeks and weeks of-

youtube

That said, after I caught up on the recent FP episodes, it seemed like stuff was finally moving a little bit. We were finally meeting Oliver's mom and his stepdad who he has a fractured relationship with, Joe was finally getting with his true endgame girl, Vicky (who's totally not an exact genderbent version of Joe lmao) and Sara-Lin was finally realizing she had feelings for Oliver.

And then the newest episode came out, Episode 172 - Hot Pot and Venting.

CAUTION: FASTPASS SPOILERS FOR THE KISS BET OFFICIALLY BEGIN HERE!

Already I was a little petty over the title like "lmao ok clunky title but whatever". I swept it off as not a genuine criticism, just me being a nitpicking asshole over what's essentially Fluff: The Comic.

The episode cost 7 coins, which is about roughly 70 cents, albeit closer to a dollar for Canadian readers (here's something they don't tell you about Canada - our Monopoly game currency is just as fucked as it looks) and that's where I'm gonna get into my second disclaimer that I need to be perfectly clear about (and it'll be what we get more into later on in this post).

I understand the principle of paying for art. I understand fully that many of these webtoons are being produced on tight deadlines by creators who often can only afford 1-2 assistants, if any at all. I understand and fully agree that creators deserve to be paid for their skills, time, and efforts, not just as creators working on the hellsite that is Webtoons, but as artists in general who deserve to make a living the same as anyone else. Anyone who follows my stuff here knows I'm an artist myself so I would never debate the ethical necessity of paying artists for their work.

However.

I can say that, and also agree with the people who have stated in discussion circles such as on /r/webtoons that a lot of the comics that have started charging 7 coins have been suspiciously delivering less comic since. And it's not even so much in the literal panel count, the liquid volume of these comics have remained the same, but the calorie count has dropped significantly. Food metaphors aside, what I mean is that despite many of these comics maintaining their 40-60 minimum panel count requirement, they have in fact reduced the actual amount of content that happens in them, and The Kiss Bet's newest episode is a stark example of what I mean.

I am going to start by posting only post three panels - three panels that literally sum up the entirety of Episode 172 and what it chooses to spend its time on.

That is it. That is literally all that's established in this episode. I'd tell you to go read it yourself, but honestly, this is genuinely one of those rare times I can honestly say that a 40+ panel episode is not worth 70 cents and you'd be better off, and that's saying a LOT when these episodes are only priced at the cost of a gumball. At least Lore Olympus has entertainment in how bad it is most of the time, Episode 172 of The Kiss Bet is just nothing. You will literally get more substance and flavor from an actual gumball.

Literally every other panel in this episode is either repeating the same dialogue (Sara-Lin saying the same thing multiple different times to express how Oliver is holding her hand or how his stepdad is a dick) and then Sara-Lin and Oliver staring at each other. Over. And over. Again.

I am not joking. I did not cut anything out in that sequence. That is where the episode ends. Complete nothingburger, seemingly cut off right as it was just getting started like Cait Corrain's career.

Out of the entire episode, there were 45 panels. So I can safely assume Ingrid's minimum panel requirement is at least 40 per episode, that's me assuming the best that she didn't exactly meet her panel minimum at 45 panels on the dot.

Out of those 45 panels, there were:

Two actual unique backgrounds that weren't gradients or just a single piece of furniture

4 separate panels of Sara-Lin freaking out over Oliver holding her hand and wondering if he even noticed

10 panels of Sara-Lin staring at Oliver either dumbfounded or asking him to repeat himself (or apologizing over nothing)

5 panels of the characters saying nothing

11 panels of Sara-Lin repeating information in different ways that could have been accomplished in half that time

Two separate occasions of Oliver getting Sara's attention from off-panel, literally formatted the exact same way both times (and both followed by reaction panels of Sara-Lin staring at him dumbfounded)

Way too many panels of Sara-Lin blushing in response to Oliver being an asshole tbh like literally this guy's a douchebag, Joe may have been the "out of her league" love interest but at least he was nice and didn't treat Sara-Lin like someone who just bought a Husky as a "starter pet" ???

Again, I don't usually like being a dick about the coin costs, and I definitely don't like being a hypocrite in telling people they should pay artists for their work while simultaneously posting their paywalled content like this, but I think there does come a point where it feels more irresponsible for people to not be aware of what they're about to pay for and how little they're going to be getting. This episode is literally one of the best - and worst - examples of how far the romance genre has fallen on the platform - when it's not being overtaken and oversaturated by problematic series that romanticize abuse and sexual assault, it's being dragged to death with the most boring executions of tropes that everyone has seen before and is only exciting for anyone who's never read a book or watched a romance movie, period.

And here's the thing where I do approach a bit more "hot take" territory, but every time I see this argument come up about episodes not being worth the coin cost, I see others who rightfully argue that 70 cents isn't that much to pay for what you're getting - weekly episodes of work that are usually always delivered on time, with more panels than you would ever typically see in a free to read comic.

But here's where I take issue with that argument, as much as the principle of it is sound, it misses the overall point: readers are paying for entertainment first and foremost, so can anyone who's actually paying for regular refills on their app currency step away from this and truly call it "entertainment"? Nothing was gained. The comic had 45 panels to say something, anything, and managed to not even squeak out so much of a word. Even the silent moments have no substance, they just reiterate information that we already know.

Do we really need another panel of Sara-Lin blushing at Oliver? We've known for weeks now that she has a crush on him. Do we really need another panel of Oliver getting Sara-Lin's attention? What is this actually showing of their chemistry? What is being shown here that hasn't been shown numerous times - with and without dialogue - for weeks now? What does the comic have to show for itself after four seasons?

Another point of the "it's just 70 cents, don't be an asshole" argument that people seem to miss is it's not 70 cents. It's $1. Because if you want to buy a single episode of the Kiss Bet, you can't just pay for the individual episode in isolation, you have to pay for the coins first, and $1 is the absolute bare minimum you have to pay to get 10 coins, which will only pay for one episode of a 7 coin series - of which there are many now, basically any series that's 40 panels or more will cost 7 coins and, shocker, those are the series that WT will tend to promote most, you'll rarely see the 5 coins series in the banner ads, and that's not even getting into how there are more and more series cropping up that have 5+ episodes behind FP rather than the traditional three.

So if you're someone who's (almost definitely) keeping up with more than one series? You can't just pay the $1, you have to pay at least $5 for 50 coins, and that will NOT go far anymore or cut as evenly as it used to when just about every series is now 7 coins. Webtoons knows fully well what kind of game they're playing by making the new coin cost an uneven number while still offering increments of 5/10 in their coin bundles. They undoubtedly want you to be left with an uneven number so that you'll be easily lured into buying more coins so you don't 'waste' the uneven amount you have left that isn't enough to buy the episodes for the series you want to read. Obviously this is more speculation and not fact, but it's a common business model and with the series that have adopted the 7 coin count model (rather than starting off with 7 coins outright) such as The Kiss Bet and Lore Olympus, it's becoming abundantly clear that either the creators or the platform itself is encouraging these series to meet their panel minimums with as little content as possible in order to get more money out of readers who are barely even being drip fed actual entertainment and narrative progression, let alone spoon fed.

And then there's the waiting. The goddamn waiting. So many of these series guilty of siphoning their content off through a hose that they're deliberately standing on are designed intentionally with the most egregious cliffhangers in mind to keep their audience hooked so they'll undoubtedly FP next week. Do you know what that amount of waiting does to a comic? To its readers? First off, it artificially extends the actual pacing of the comic to make it feel longer than it is, when in reality, many of these plotlines are happening in a vacuum of very short bursts of time. Case in point, Lore Olympus is commonly confused for having a plotline that takes place over the course of months, when actually when laid end to end in order of cause and effect, many of its subplots - including the romance of Hades and Persephone - takes place over the course of days. This over-inflates the plotline's actual depth and, even worse so, it makes it harder for readers to keep up with information that's being delivered, as it often takes weeks for that information to actually go anywhere - so by the time it does, many readers have straight up forgotten about it.

It's absolutely not okay that so many of these kinds of series are normalizing literal slow burning for an audience who's paying to be entertained. It's not a "slow burn". It's just slow, and deliberately so. It's absolutely NOT FUN to follow a comic that does not go anywhere week after week. It's frustrating. And before long, it starts to feel like gambler's fallacy, where readers have to essentially gaslight themselves into paying into it more and more convinced that it has to pay off eventually, based on a promise that was never actually made, only assumed in good faith. And readers should not have to fill in the bulk of the content that isn't happening with their own imaginations, which is something that happens a LOT in these series that spend so much time on the characters just staring at each other and saying nothing. It's not 'plot' to just draw characters blushing and have your audience fill in the rest of it entirely on their own. This is certainly a technique in writing, but in the case of The Kiss Bet and other comics like it, it's much less of a valid technique and more just flat out manipulating your audience into falling so hard into the sunk cost fallacy trap that they don't notice they're being robbed blind by the plot that hasn't actually happened - and they've been paying for that financial and emotional robbery out of their own pockets and brains every step of the way.

Again, I do not care about the coin cost in and of itself, seventy cents IS still an incredibly cheap price for weekly updates of a series that has to put out so many panels each week. But as a reader and a customer, I should not be leaving these updates with less information than what I started with. And I'm someone who's incredibly old school by webcomic standards, there are comics that I follow that have updated 1-2 pages a week for over a decade that manage to do more with their limited pages than Lore Olympus and The Kiss Bet manage to do after entire hiatuses filled with pre-production time.

Why does this page of Alfie manage to move both the intrinsic plot of the titular character as well as the external plot that's going on around her in one page made up of 5 panels better than what The Kiss Bet can do in 45?

Why does this page of Tamberlane manage to convey more information about the world's lore and the people in it in a way that's emotionally driven and clearly affecting the characters without outright info-dumping than what Lore Olympus has managed to spit out onto its plate since S3 started over a year ago?

How does Tales from Alderwood manage to be more entertaining and convey more meaningful storytelling through its characters in a single page consisting of zero dialogue than what The Kiss Bet can convey in its silent panels of staring, blushing, and repetitive stuttering?

Why are the creators who are relying entirely on their own efforts, resources, and ability to generate income through community interaction and support putting out better work with less panels and on slower schedules for FREE than what we're seeing from professional creators on a professional publishing platform who are being paid to do this as their job?

There's this saying in the tattooing industry: good work isn't cheap and cheap work isn't good.

At this point, 70 cents is not a 'bargain' as many people like to argue in defense of the creators. And while I do want to have good faith in the creators who don't pull this shit, the creators who clearly go above and beyond to do what they do in the pursuit of storytelling and polishing their craft to be the best piece of work that it can be - the comics that are worth paying 70 cents and beyond for - are not the comics that Webtoons is promoting to people. The creators of the works that genuinely deserve more than 70 cents per update are being left to fend for themselves without support from the platform, while those that aren't worth the price of even a flavorless gumball are consistently winning the Wonka Golden Ticket lottery.

The cost of 70 cents is relative. For some works it's a genuine bargain. For others like the The Kiss Bet and Lore Olympus, 70 cents is not a "bargain", it's not a "good deal", it's exactly the value of what you're paying for - cheap work that isn't good.

#so yeah i'm done reading the kiss bet fr now #i figured if i had 100 more coins than i needed i may as well use them for something that i didn't need to start from scratch on #but i literally feel ripped off LMAO #webtoon critical #the kiss bet #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #Youtube

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tickle-bugs · 10 months

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Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough.

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms.

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat?

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles.

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce.

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting.

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne.

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort.

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite.

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin.

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch.

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry.

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne.

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce.

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room.

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense.

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature.

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought.

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?”

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it.

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne.

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face.

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him.

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow.

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing.

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs.

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this.

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath.

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat.

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance.

“Well, staring isn’t—“

Clark kisses him breathless.

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers.

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be.

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there.

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half.

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away.

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table.

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish.

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile.

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up.

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it.

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs.

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’.

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands.

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real.

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart.

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh.

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves.

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash.

“Why do it then? Why pretend?”

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce.

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder.

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns.

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe.

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.”

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts.

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little.

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it.

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun.

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass.

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks.

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night.

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper.

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress.

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part.

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny.

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare.

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage.

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space.

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode.

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor.

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down.

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing.

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes.

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back.

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway.

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso.

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it.

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms.

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver.

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.”

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close.

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face.

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.”

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?”

Clark tries to summon ‘that’, whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway.

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears.

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets.

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs.

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up.

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths.

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up.

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that.

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs.

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache.

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura.

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him.

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket.

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle.

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free.

“No way.” Clark beams.

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight.

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort.

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons.

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers.

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms.

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear.

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana.

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune.

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires.

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further.

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it.

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move.

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair.

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp.

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin.

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it.

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right.

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment.

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button.

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat.

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target.

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point.

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair.

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious.

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls.

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror.

“What?” No going back now.

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy.

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done?

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable.

“Maybe?” Clark swallows.

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory.

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders.

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists.

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl.

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips.

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide.

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist.

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen.

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself.

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently.

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue.

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own.

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line.

#my fics #dc #superbat #bruce wayne #ticklish!bruce wayne #clark kent #diana is here im not tagging her #SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD #ask to tag

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 9 months

Text

Can we just enjoy people writing fanfiction? Can we enjoy the fanart? Instead of complaining about every little thing? Look, with the way these executives have this set up with these mini writing rooms and the way they treat the writers. . .well, we have it good. They really didn't give us a lot with these characters, so it was up to us to try and fill in some of the blanks, so of course, we feel protective over them. They aren't our characters. It isn't our work. Let's enjoy the fact that we can create works of art on other people's works.

Who cares if people want to write smut? Who cares if people want to feminize Steve? Who cares if they want to carry on the Mom joke? Who cares if people want to write Nancy as aromantic who wants to focus on her career? Who cares if Steve and Eddie enjoy each other's interests? If you don't like it, don't read it. If people want to headcanon Eddie as bisexual they can because as far as we know, Eddie's sexuality doesn't exist. . .it's a blank canvas, and we can paint it however we want to. Joseph Quinn put so much time and effort into that character. It belongs to him, really. If he wants to play the character ambiguously bisexual, it's up to him. And if people want to headcanon him as gay or pansexual, that's fine too. We're all projecting ourselves onto him, anyway. Most of the time, it's our own sexuality. Whatever we do, it's all headcanons, and we should respect the fact. (And I'm not talking about Robin, Will, and Vickie. I know those are canon!) This is why we're allowed to have fanfiction so we can do whatever we want to with it individually. We can change whatever we want to right now. The point is to let go of that anger and support each other.

That can all be taken away. I think some of us, I've included myself in this too, have forgotten that Stranger Things is someone else's work that we're creating stuff off of. They have to right to sue us if they want to, but the fanfiction and the art benefit them. One day, it might stop benefiting them, and then what? It's all small potatoes compared to the writers who weren't getting paid enough to even pay their rent. Let's stop sweating the small stuff and enjoy the fact that we're writing, drawing off other people's works. So, if you don't like someone else's fanfiction, don't bitch about it, just move on and find something else. And don't make up terrible shit to make their headcanon look bad, so yours will look better. It makes you look petty and childish. If you don't have proper constructive criticism for them, move on. It's fiction. They're not real. Let's just enjoy fanfiction, respect the fact that we each have our own different headcanons, and just have fun. Let's try to stop taking it so seriously. I know, I've had trouble letting go, but we all kind of need to. As artists, we need to support each other.

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #i noticed some people complaining in the tag #i headcanon that steve and eddie are both bisexual #please respect it #respect other people's headcanons even if you don't like them #its what i'm trying to do

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taivansupremacy · 2 years

Note

Prompt 3 - 14 and 19 with Robbbiiinn

the mixture of the two situation has potential and could be really cute—full creativity left to you💗💗 mwah I love your fanfics sm

replaced

Summary: When Robin starts bringing Vickie to your group hangouts, you can't help but feel threatened.

Word count: 1,567

A/N: this was written very quickly lol i had this idea when i was in class today and i thought the prompts from this request fit so well so i've p much been working on this since i got home from class today lol

CW: mention of drugs (weed) and alcohol, swearing, jealousy

Prompts:

We’re arguing because of something stupid, and every single time I think it’s finally over, you scream, “But why do you care?!” And I respond with the only thing I can think of, “Because I love you!” and What the hell are we doing in this closet? Why did you drag me in here? Why are you so close? Why do I want you to be closer?

You had come to really hate Robin’s friend, Vickie. You, Robin, Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie were a group. You hung out after school every day, ate lunch together at school, had weekly movie nights on Fridays, and went to Steve’s for parties that only included the 6 of you, some music, alcohol, and a little bit of weed, occasionally. No one else has ever come to eat lunch with your group, to movie night, or to your parties, until a few weeks ago, when Robin started bringing Vickie to hang out with you at lunch and all your normal get-togethers.

It started with lunch. Robin brought Vickie to sit at your table on a random Tuesday and she took your normal seat next to the blonde, so you had to sit next to Nancy instead. Little did you know, she’d take your seat week after week, and sitting next to Nancy was your new normal. After that, the redhead would slowly start showing up whenever you would hang out as a group and now, she was at every party, movie night, hang out, and lunch and you couldn’t stand it.

The rest of the group, however, seemed to welcome her with open arms. You avoided her at all costs, which meant that you saw less and less of Robin. You hated that she was getting under your skin, but ever since she started hanging out with your group, Robin barely paid attention to you anymore. She used to sit next to you at lunch, share a joint and dance with you at parties, and share candy with you at movie night but now, she did all of that with Vickie and it made your blood boil.

“I heard Vickie won’t be able to make it to Steve’s tonight,” Nancy said, coming to sit beside you on your bed, “Are you going to ditch me for Robin?” She asked playfully as she nudged your arm.

The two of you had been hanging out more and more since Vickie started coming around. You always stuck by Robin when you hung out with the group, and when Vickie started hanging all over her, you looked like a lost puppy and the only one to notice was Nancy. She started inviting you over to hang out and have sleepovers, just you and her. Today, she had come over to get ready for Steve’s party with you, but so far, all you’ve done is sneak your parents’ alcohol from the kitchen downstairs into your bag for the party later.

“No,” You let out a humorless laugh, “She probably won’t even want to hang out with me, or anyone for that matter. She’ll be too busy sulking over the fact that her little friend isn’t there.”

Your words came out a little harsher than you intended, but they usually did when you spoke of the redhead.

Nancy gave you an apologetic look and put a hand on your knee, “Just give her some time, y/n. She’s only fixated on Vickie because she’s a new friend. The thrill will wear off and you’ll be back to being her favorite.”

“It's been weeks and the only thing she talks to me about anymore is homework answers! We’ve been best friends since middle school and she’s never been like that! Not even when she met Steve! ” You groaned, “What do I do if things never go back to the way they were?” You whispered, willing the lump in your throat to go away before the tears started welling up in your eyes.

“You’ll have me,” Nancy gave you a warm smile, “But dont think like that. She loves you, y/n. You have years of history. One new friend doesn't erase that.”

You nodded, though you had trouble believing it. Suddenly, you didn't want to talk about Robin anymore. Nancy must have sensed your discomfort, because she hopped off your bed, grabbed your hand, and led you to your closet, an excited smile was painted on her lips as she turned to you.

“Come on, let's forget about her and pick you out something to wear for tonight!”

****

You and Nancy were the last to arrive at Steve’s house. You walked in with your arm linked to her’s and immediately scanned the room for your friends. Steve, Eddie, and Jonathan were doing shots in the kitchen while Robin and Vickie drank from red solo cups on the couch, sitting much too close for your liking and giggling together.

“What the hell is she doing here? I thought you said she wasn't going to be here!” You whispered as you made a beeline for the kitchen, pulling Nancy along with you.

“That’s what Robin said! I swear I had no idea she’d be here!” She whispered as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, almost immediately snatching a bottle of vodka on the counter to pour two shots.

“Hey! I dont get a ‘Hello, Steve, it’s so good to see you! Thank you for having us!’ before you start grabbing for my alcohol?” Steve joked, walking over and leaning against the counter beside the two of you.

“Fuck off, Steve.” You sighed, taking a shot from the counter and downing it just as Robin strolled into the kitchen with Vickie in tow.

“Don’t feel bad, Stevie. Vickie and I didn't get a hello either.” You sensed annoyance in her tone, as she stared you down, but you couldn't care less.

Nancy smiled sheepishly, “We just had a long day and wanted a drink. We were going to come to find everyone afterward.”

Robin nodded, still not taking her eyes off of you, “It’s alright, Nance. I forgive you.”

When you didn’t say anything, she scoffed and stormed out of the kitchen, making her way upstairs. You follow suit, angrily taking the stairs two at a time to keep up with her.

“Why the hell are you mad at me right now?” You spat as she threw open the door to Steve’s bedroom.

She whipped around to look at you. You could see the anger in her eyes.

“Why am I angry?” She yelled, “Maybe because my best friend has barely spoken two words to me all week and I didn’t even get a hello tonight. You and your new best friend just walked right past me, in your own little world!“

“Are you serious right now? What about your new best friend, huh? The one that crashes our lunches and our parties. Things that are just supposed to be for our group! She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight!”

“Robin?” You heard Vickie call out, “Robin are you okay?”

Hell no. You aren’t about to let Vickie rescue Robin from this one. You’re hashing this out now. You grab her arm and pull her into Steve’s closet in one swift movement. You were standing almost chest to chest in the cramped space. Your cheeks heated up at your close proximity. Somehow, you ached to be even closer to the blonde, but you pushed that thought aside. You couldn’t get distracted. You still had a lot to get off your chest.

“Why do you even care that Vickie’s here, y/n?”

“Because I love you!” You shouted without a second thought. You could feel your face getting hot and your stomach tying itself in knots because of your own words, “I love you and I’m used to having all of your attention and having you be the person that I sit next to at lunch and share candy with when we watch movies, and dance with at parties, but ever since she’s come along, she’s taken my place as your best friend and it hurts, Robin. And you pulled away from me, so I pulled away from you to minimize the hurt.”

“You-you love me?” She stuttered softly.

You nodded shyly, and she stepped even closer to you, taking both of your hands in her’s.

“I love you too,” She admitted, “I tried to like Vickie so I could forget about you because I thought there was no way that you would ever love me back… but when you started to pull away, it hurt more than hopelessly pining for you.”

“Can I tell you something?” You asked timidly, and Robin nodded, “I really want to kiss you right now,” You whispered.

You felt her hands pull out of yours and land on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer before her lips collided with yours. You brought a hand up to her cheek as you sunk into the kiss, only pulling away when you hear a knock on the door.

“Guys,” Steve started, “Just want to make sure that you didn’t kill each other in there… I really would hate to have to report one of you to Hopper for first degree murder.”

The two of you chuckled, your head falling forward onto her chest.

“We’ll be out in a sec!” Robin yelled in response.

“We weren't fighting that bad, were we?” You asked as you push the closet door open and take the blonde’s hand in yours.

“Surely not, but only we could walk in here arguing and end up kissing by the end of it.” She laughed as you exited the bedroom hand in hand and make your way back down to your friends. You were going to have some explaining to do.

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madwomansapologist · 8 months

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Can we have a dominant Michael scenario, please? ヘ⁠（⁠。u°⁠）⁠ヘ

keep it quiet | michael

synopsis: Meetings with the crew were always hell. So much bureaucracy, ideas being discarded without further explanation, endless discussions. A perfect mindset preparation for the torture sessions! Turns out it's hard to concentrate when you have a vibrator inside of you.

warnings: smut. public sex. voyeurism? sex toy. vibrator. sadism. masochism. suggestive dialogue. d/s. dom!michael. gn!reader. demon!reader.

ps: yes, you can! baby, i gotta say, i'm kinda proud of this. i hope you enjoy it!

Everything was normal.

A meet filled with endless discussions that didn't help anyone, screams without purposes, protocols that contradict one another. Shawn took big pleasure on making others uncomfortable, Vicky had more ideas than anyone could count, Trevor was flirting with anything that could move.

And Michael... Michael contributed to discussions, elaborate new ideas, made useful questions. Michael was just being himself, effortless, without even noticing how he was so different from anyone else.

There was something on him. Something that shone among the other. Something on the way Michael cared. Truly, deeply, wholeheartedly. A spark impossible to ignore.

A spark that alone could mess with your mind. A spark that attracted your gaze, your attention, your interest. A spark that burned you, deep in your soul — if you even have one —, and stained it forever.

Everything was normal, but only because no one paid attention to you.

Because if things were really normal, you would've be the one leading today's agenda. If things were normal, you would've convinced Shawn that it was time to stop playing with Glenn's feelings and focus on something important. If things were normal, you wouldn't be acting like Michael wasn't beside you. You wouldn't use all your strength to ignore him. To pretend he isn't right here, just at reach of your touch, so close that you could feel his heat. His perfume.

You would eat him whole if you had the chance. Just devour Michael, until your body couldn't take it anymore. You don't think you would ever feel whole. No. You always want more of him.

Michael, right beside you, was nothing but a ghost. You could feel his touch lingering your skin. His words against your ear. His teeth marking your skin. Michael touching you on the right place, at the right time, just like he know you want. Michael, Michael, Michael.

You spend the last forty minutes — no meeting down there end before that, even if the agenda was already completed —, imagining all the things he would do to you. Now it just feel like everything is happening, all at once.

Michael haunt you. Does he even know he have that effect on him? Can he tell your mind has already shaped itself to his form? Would he like it? Would he haunt you forever and evermore if you asked? Would he need you to say please?

You would say pretty, please if he wanted to.

You stayed quiet, forty minutes without saying a damn thing, huddled in your armchair. In an attempt to force yourself to be quiet, you covered your mouth with your hand. No one could see your teeths marking into your skin, or your toes curling inside your shoes, or the sweat forming on your back.

No one, except for Michael.

And when you were almost getting comfortable with the sensation inside you, when you were almost getting used with the incessant vibrations twisting your body and mind, that fucker turned it to eleven.

Like if you could take even more.

You twisted in the armchair, your head falling into your hands, your lips almost bleeding with the strength you put into being quiet. But it was a failed attempted this time. You knew that when the room went silent. What was that that went out of your mouth? A groan? A full moan? Maybe a grunt?

"Are you alright?" Someone asked you. When you look up, it took you sometime to understand who he was. What was his name? Have your ever saw him before? With some effort, you found the answer. Glenn.

"Fuck off," you murmured to him, so low no one could hear. You don't think you remember your own name. Do you?

"What did you say?" Michael put his hand on your thigh. No tissue could stop his warmth from reaching you. From getting you even closer to pure madness. That man will be your death. Or maybe you will be his.

"I said it was nothing," you forced a smile to Glenn. When you looked at Michael, your eyes burned his face. "I am just tired after a double shift. That's all."

You grabbed his hand. Your nails — or would it be claws? — got deeper into his skin. Michael smirked, unshakable. Maybe even a little bit satisfied. Maybe, after all, he too wanted your touch so bad that anything could kill his hunger. Even if it was pain. Especially if it was.

With their attentions turned back at the subject, you leaned into Michael. You suspire against his ear, appreciating all the pleasure he was giving you. "I gonna kill you."

"Oh, dear", Michael breath in your scent. "I'm counting on it."

THE GOOD PLACE TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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rinbowaman · 1 year

Text

My Roommates Ex - Chapter 4

Hiiii peeps! So sorry for the delay, but finally got around to finishing the last bit of this chapter for MRE. There are still more to come, I think there's either one or two more chapters left. But if you've been reading the series, this chapter is where it starts to get good.

Pairings: Heeseung and you

Warnings: Yup here we go, drug/steroid usage, bullying, harassment, sexual harassment, threats, use of intimidation, physical assault, physical altercations, sexists remarks, sexists attitude, emotional instability, and implied stalking. I think thats it.

Summary: Trust me, read this chapter because it's getting good and next chapter is fire. Enjoy!

-Begin Read-

As you remained pensive on the stimulating thoughts of your moments with Heeseung, you hear a knock at your door. Thinking that it might be him, you made your way over to open it. Normally he would always send you a text, or phone call even, letting you know he was on his way over to pick you up or to come see you, but you paid no mind as you were about to greet a smile, and mention that he no longer had to knock since he has Vicky’s old key.

The smile never appeared, and the greeting never came. All your movements came to a sudden stop after seeing who was at the door.

Samuel.

Your eyes stung from the intense look you expelled as you saw your ex-boyfriend standing right outside your room.

“Hey kiddo!”

Hey kiddo?...

You remained speechless, firmly tightening your grasp on the knob. A plethora of questions were running through your head, you didn’t know which one to ask first. You weren’t sure if you were confused, shocked, or feeling slightly offended that he was here, casually greeting you as if he didn’t cease the growth of the relationship that no longer existed.

“You not gonna say anything? Ouch. Burn.”

He spoke his words playfully, like he always used to. Yet, this wasn’t a moment where it called for playful and friendly notions of familiarity, he shouldn’t be here, but he was. After hearing him chuckle from his last sarcasm, you finally calmed your nerves enough to speak.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t we agree that I would come visit when we last face timed?”

You furrowed your brows and glared at him, the audacity he had in referencing a moment that you both shared before he crushed you, all the while being completely dismissive about it. Not willing to entertain the thought in figuring out why he was here, you shut the door in his face, rather harshly, as you locked it and took steps back, glaring at the wooden frame. Not knowing the reason behind his unannounced visit, nor did you care. You didn’t truly care.

He knocked, yet again. Finding the confusion of what was happening overwhelming, you walked over to the bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the floor with your back against the wall. After a minute or two, the knocking had stopped.

Feeling apprehensive, you remained seated in place. Finding the thought of standing in a wide-open space, such as the main area of your room, to be displeasing and uncomfortable, you stayed put and tried to find some level of comfort and wholesomeness in the enclosed space. Not able to put your finger on it, you had an instinctive reaction to remain hidden away for just a bit.

Unsure of how much time had passed, since your phone was left on your desk, your panic to rush in the bathroom enabled you to think of nothing else but to hide. Up until you started to feel less uneasy, you stayed put, unable to think rationally as the level of uneasiness was at its peak. Once you had felt your breathing was back at normal pace, you slowly opened the bathroom door and peeked out, remaining overly cautious despite knowing you were the only one in the room.

Wearily, you walked over to the door, your hand shook uncontrollably as you reached for the knob, your heart was pounding painful beats, as you subtly cracked an opening, being as quiet as you could.

Peeking through the crack, you didn’t see him, only the blank wall. You widened the opening as you slightly poked your head out and looked both ways to see if he was around. He wasn’t, he was gone.

You hurriedly closed the door and locked it; developing unsecured thoughts that increased your levels of concern. Grabbing your phone, you saw the notification of unread messages from Heeseung, all received when you had locked yourself in the bathroom. Asking if you were awake and if you wanted to try out the new café they built on 4th street, you felt a thread of relief and comfort weaving you back together.

Responding back, you gave him an affirmative answer. The thought of being anywhere, with Heeseung and away from this dorm is what you wanted, more so now than normal. As you were drafting a separate message to Heeseung, your phone notifies you of a text from an unknown number. The soreness in your chest shutters from within, you felt confident in figuring who it was from.

Of course, he would message you from an unknown number. He must have gotten a new phone, or a spare, after seeing that you had blocked his original number. It was done on the same night he sent you his email, although, it wasn’t initiated from the email itself that enabled your decision to block him. It was the wholesome act of rediscovering yourself, in the healed version that Heeseung presented. That became the only factor that haled yourself free from the past.

Opening the message, you read the contents of Samuel’s text.

“Y/N, I didn’t want to bug you, so I left. But I would really like to talk to you. Please?”

The confusion grew more intense as you stared at his request. You couldn’t help but feel hostile towards him, but it wasn’t merely because of the email he sent, although it did break your heart. Yet, after Heeseung shined you with a method of love and understanding, to bless you with the mind to rationalize the situation, you looked passed the context of the email and Samuel’s newfound desires in life.

The hostility was emerging from him showing up unannounced and expressing a request to gain some sort of closure.

Questioning whether you should honor his request, you try to level yourself to make an effective decision that was worth your time. Calming your thoughts, you labored every thought process but found yourself growing heavily confused, causing a headache.

Wondering what Heeseung would do in this situation. The man knew of pain and betrayal, he experienced it with Vicky, yet he handled himself rather well and even expressed his understanding of her perspective. Which leads to the other reason on why everyone, not just you, but all his friends and peers, they all would come to him to gain his insight.

The workings of Heeseungs mind are well before his time, it truly was. Friends of his, such as Jake, would always call upon him whenever they needed the rightful guidance. He was very considerate and could point out factors in any situation that was exposed to him, leading people to re-evaluate and develop a better understand and solution to their issues.

Your mind was put at ease the moment you stopped thinking about Samuel and thought about Heeseung’s positive traits. Figuring it would be best, you decided that it may be a good idea to not bring up Samuel right away, and give your mind some clarity as you gradually think about the factors while enjoying the day with Heeseung.

You felt nervous when Heeseung came up to your room, afraid that Samuel was lurking around, unsure how severe the reaction between the two meeting would be, assuming it wasn’t going to be a positive one.

The early spring air started out refreshingly cool and warmed up as the day grew. After the café, Heeseung took you to an old town, it was very vintage and had all sorts of boutiques and shops, it was peaceful and lacked the over crowdedness that was present everywhere else. The stone walkways resembled the mid-western European architectural roads. He told you how it reminded him of his time in Europe, pleasantly surprising you since it was the first you’ve heard of mentioning this. He explained how he lived there for one year while participating in a student language and culture exchange program, where he lived in a host home.

“I was taking French studies at the time, so I went to Canada for one month, then to Paris, France.”

“Did you like it over there?”

“Not so much Paris. I liked the countryside better. You ever been?”

“No, not yet. I will someday, it’s on my bucket list.” You both chuckled at the mentioning of bucket list, walking side by side.

“Yeah, you should go one of these days.”

“Did you get to site see a bit?”

“Oh yeah. All the museums and cathedrals.”

“What was your favorite site?”

“I liked all of them. But honestly, my favorite moments were at the host house. The window in my room had a good view of the Eiffel Tower, and every night, starting at 9pm, the tower lights up every hour until midnight.”

“It lights up?”

“Yeah.

You enjoyed hearing Heeseung talk about his experience in France. It made you wonder if his significant level of maturity was attributed due to his experience in living overseas. Thinking about it made you feel comfortable in bringing up Samuel, feeling confident that Heeseung would console you on the matter.

The paved walkway surrounded a large lake, coming across an empty bench that faced the water, you both sat and took a break from your walk to enjoy the expanding view of the water, and the trees that framed around it. You didn’t bring up the topic immediately, mainly because you wanted a few moments to appreciate the beauty of the setting with Heeseung. After feeling calm enough to word out the situation, you began to explain everything to him.

Heeseung, as you correctly guessed, remained calm and poised. His face expression didn’t even change, he was intensively listening as he observed the lake, sitting with his arms crossed and his legs spread, with his knee touching yours.

While he had his methods that he used whenever he was helping other people work out their issues, with you, he had a different approach. His communicative methods in helping you figuring out the solution was entirely different. It was mainly due to whenever something was on your mind, you had already developed an approach to ease the situation, which would enable him to support you and trust your judgement, versus trying to help figure out a solution. Something he wasn’t used to but found refreshing.

“What do you want to do?”

“I think I should talk to him and establish closure, so he and I are in full understanding. I don’t want there to be any assumptions.”

You never responded back to Samuel’s email, at the time, you didn’t think it was necessary. You had developed an emotional response but never followed through in reaching out, seeing as how Samuel had, according to his email, clearly moved on. After this morning, however, you felt differently regarding your decision. Considering things can change, to include people’s minds, he needed to know that whatever guilt or regret that had surfaced on his conscious, he needed to figure out a way to ease his own pain, without you.

Heeseung continued to watch the lake, he nodded at your proposed resolve, but didn’t have any reaction to it, other than a small smirk and a simple nod as he remained seated with his arms crossed.

You found it peculiar that he remained oddly calm and relaxed towards the event, but then again, maybe he felt that there wasn’t anything to be worried about, and this may be a hint that his trust in you is beyond reproach.

Still, the pensive look he had as he admired the lake and the small smirk on his lips made you feel a bit strange, but you couldn’t narrow down as to why.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him softly, smiling at him but he doesn’t look to see it. Instead, he shook his head subtly, breathed deep in through his nose, and shifted his shoulders never, breaking his gaze on the lake.

“Nothing.”

You weren’t fond of his short answer, or the fact that he didn’t look at you. Even though he was calm and relaxed and didn’t come off as annoyed or angry, it didn’t sit right with you on how he was being so focused in thought as soon as you brought up the situation with Samuel. Was he mad?

You caught yourself in mid thought and stopped. Trying to avoid the habit of overthinking it, you kept reminding yourself of Heeseung’s habit for being in touch with his mind, but it still was unsetting that he was coming off as a little distant.

You both decided to sleep in Heeseung’s room for the night, in the case Samuel tried revisiting your dorm. The frat homes contained private, and single rooms, unlike the shared space inside the dormitory. With Vicky being at a different college, and Heeseung having his own room, you both had two convenient options to choose from when it came to privacy and sleeping arrangements. Normally, the selection in regards to choosing which room to stay in, heavily depended on various factors that made sense of the current standing, one such as tonight.

Heading back to his room, the drive to his frat house was quiet, as Heeseung continued to look like he was deep in thought. You did some light reading on your phone, trying to avoid any awkwardness.

Normally you both would fall asleep while binge watching a new series or lay and talk at random, laughing, joking, and flirting with each other, but tonight was different and you began to regret bringing up the topic of Samuel.

Laying on his bed, you continued to read on your phone, occasionally glancing to see if was still deep in his train of thought, and he was.

He laid in his usual fashion, elbows bent, hands behind his head, while still wearing his cap. He continued to stare at the ceiling for hours, as you laid next to him and read chapters of a reading assignment.

It was only 8pm, yet you were ready to put this evening to an end. Locking your phone screen and setting it on the shelf attached to the headboard, you nuzzled yourself against him, and placed your head on his chest as your hair trails behind and drapes over the empty spacing behind you.

Resting your arm around his waistline, you closed your eyes and began to focus on falling asleep, when you heard the whispering sound that indicated he was smirking. A moment of relief swells within you but became even stronger when you felt him move his hands from under his head and wrap it around you.

Feeling reassured, and overjoyed at his display of affection, you continued to lay in his embrace and fell asleep shortly afterwards.

The next morning, you had Heeseung drop you back off to your dorm so you could take care of the remaining homework assignments, wanting to get everything done so you could leave yourself free for the entire afternoon to spend with him. There was also the talk with Samuel, which was more of a priority merely because you wanted to get it done and over with, refusing to have it sit on your shoulders much longer.

You opened his last message, wondering if he was even still around since you didn’t respond immediately. Asking him if he was available to talk this morning, hoping that you could get this situation out of the way before you start working on your assignments, you sent him your response.

Samuel responded within seconds. You agreed to meet up within the hour to talk, informing him that you would like to carry the conversation in his rental in the dorm’s parking lot, trying to avoid him coming back up to your room.

You couldn’t help but feel strange that this was the first time you didn’t appreciate Samuel’s presence. In high school, there was never a time where you felt uncomfortable with him, which is why it was shocking for you to feel that way now. However, thinking about it allowed you to point out that while Samuel had come off in a typically familiar manner, there was something about him that changed, but couldn’t narrow down as to what.

When Samuel texted you that he was in the lot, you walked down to meet him at the car. Sitting in the passenger seat, you looked over to see him smiling, looking concerningly too happy to see you. He was the first to speak, much to your dismay.

“So how you’ve been?”

You didn’t answer immediately, you raised an eyebrow and nodded your head with a simple response in telling him you’ve been good, never bothering to asking him the same in return, you really didn’t feel like opening that door.

There was a minute of awkward silence as you tried to figure out how to start the conversation and pilot it to how you wanted it to go. Just as you were about to speak, Samuel, once again was the first to get out his words.

“So…have you thought about me since we last spoke?”

“Last spoke? You mean when you sent the email?”

“Yeah.” - “No.”

It wasn’t your intention to come out with your answer so quickly, however, it was the truth. He looked at you shocked and let out a nervous laugh.

“I can understand. I was a jerk.”

“Sam…why are you here?”

He stayed silent for a few moments, his posture was shifted towards you, leaning his side against the seat.

“I missed you.”

Wincing your eyes shut out of annoyance, and slightly shaking your head, you couldn’t help but feel offended towards his response. He was giving off a sense that he expected you to react a certain way upon hearing that he missed you. Absurd, considering that five months ago, he sent the email explaining he was lonely, lacking comfort and love, despite you being there to answer every one of his calls and messages and making yourself available to speak with him every single day.

“Don’t you miss me?”

“What happened with your fiancé?”

The question caught him off-guard. He shifts his body to face the windshield and places a hand on the steering wheel, and while avoiding eye contact, he tells you of what had happened shortly after breaking it off with you. Mind you, he had ended the relationship on his own accord much earlier on before he sent you the email. That made the experience much worse, considering while he was with someone else, unbeknownst to you, you were dedicating your time sending him messages, and calling in to check on him.

“She and I just…you know. It didn’t work out.”

“What about your baby?” He scoffs as soon as you inquired about his unborn child.

“What about it? Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

“So, you came here because you guys didn’t work out?” You snapped back, not appreciating the look on his face as he squinted his eyes and formed a subtle smirk grazing the corner of his lip.

“Is that a bad thing, y/n?”

What was with his attitude? He was being overly too ignorant with everything, you were starting to feel more annoyed than you intended.

“You shouldn’t have come here Sam. It’s been five months and I never reached out or responded to your email. What made you think that I was going to just receive you with open arms?”

His expression looked appalled at the harshness of your tone as he tells you that he flew all the way over to come see you, and that your behavior was rude.

“Look I messed up, and I’m sorry. But I’m back now. Remember all the times we spent with each other?”

Shutting his trip down to memory lane, you found yourself getting fed up with his dismissive attitude began explaining that you were no longer an a pursuable option for him, nor would you want to be even if you didn’t have Heeseung.

“Sam, I have a boyfriend, and it’s rude for you to come to my dorm so freely like this. Did you not consider that?” The smile he had as he was about to bring up memories from high school faded quick, and his eyes stared at the steering wheel. He looked mad. Really mad. There was also a hint of disappointment in his expression as he became suddenly quiet and shifted his eyes between the steering wheel and a random spot on the windshield.

You didn’t want to create tension, especially after seeing the look of anger, it was strange, you’ve never seen him have a look like that while you two were dating. Trying to keep things from getting out of hand, you explain and appeal to his senses as the boy you knew as a teenager.

“I’m not trying to be harsh. I just think you need to find a different way to figure out your issues, I can’t be reachable for you, I don’t want to be.” He merely listened and looked at you before nodding.

“Can we at least be friends?”

You were slightly taken aback by his question, wondering why he was having such a hard time letting things go and moving on. You didn’t like the concept of remaining as friends after everything, perhaps if it had gone down differently, maybe. Overall, you felt it was best that the connection and history you both had, end here, just like your relationship with him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His expression didn’t change, he continued to remain calm, and his tone was mellow. “Why not?”

“Because I just don’t. I don’t want to revisit the past. It was good while it lasted but there is no reason for us to remain in contact. Let’s just wish each other well.”

He stayed quiet and pondered for a moment. “So, you really don’t want to try and get back together?”

By this point, you were starting to get angry. The vibe of his presumptuous attitude in thinking you were going to get back with him, all because he flew over to meet with you, was perplexing your mind.

“No, and I think you already knew the answer to that.” You leveled your tone to be lower and firmer, to put your foot down and letting him know that this conversation was over. You reached for the handle of the door and pulled the lever, but kept the door shut for a moment.

“Good luck with everything.” Before you pushed the door open, he spoke out “Wait.” Turning your head, you watch as he said his piece.

“I’m sorry. I really am and I never meant to hurt you, I was just being stupid. I just…I don’t want us to never speak to each other ever again, ya know? I thought about it, and I didn’t realize that you were my biggest support system. I was just lonely and going through some shit. But we should be good now, right?”

You didn’t exactly know what to make out of his piece, you merely nodded before saying yours.

“I’m sorry you went through a hard time, if I would have known I would have tried to make it better. But it’s done and in the past. I think that whatever had happened, you should take it as a lesson learned, and focus on yourself. I’m happy and I have someone that really cares about me-“

Unable to finish the last bit of your sentence as Samuel cuts you off, you noticed he grew slightly teary eyed. It was making you uncomfortable.

“But that someone is me, y/n! I care about you, I love you.”

The uneasy feeling ignited in your chest once more, just when you thought the conversation was coming to a smooth end, he takes it 10 steps back.

“Sam…just drop it. You need to stop.”

“But what if I can’t? What if I don’t?”

You looked at him with a perplex look, taking his question more as a threat than him inquiring his vulnerability.

“You need to. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, I have a lot of things to do so please just…you need to move on. Don’t call me or come see me anymore. Do you understand?”

Your harshness came back, you were beginning to lose your composure and lean towards anger as you watched him curse under his breath and speak with great annoyance.

“Whatever y/n. Whatever, if you don’t want to be friends then fine, go be that way. You know, you changed, you were a lot nicer before, but now you’re jus-“

You cut him off. You weren’t even going to provide an argument against his misguided statement, knowing full well that he knew what he was saying highly fabricated.

“Stop. No more Sam. Just…you need to leave.” He slammed both hands on the steering wheel as he made his remark. “Fine! I’m going and I’m never coming back.”

You were puzzled at his change of behavior; he was carrying traits that almost seemed borderline deranged. People do change, but he seemed entirely different, and his attitude was uncalled for. Avoiding any chance to entertain his tantrum, you simply got out of the car and went back to your dorm. You heard the roaring engine as he angrily backed the car out the parking space and drove off. Good riddance.

Or so you thought.

Later that afternoon, on the peak of evening time, Samuel had messaged you several times. Initially you didn’t respond and ignored the constant display of texts boxes coming in reflecting an apologetic and seemingly grieving Samuel.

“I’m sorry. Can we talk again?”

“I just am going through some stuff.”

“Please don’t ignore me.”

“You there?”

“Helloooooooo???”

Fed up, you responded just once, telling him to leave you alone and that you were blocking his new number, to which he responded rather quickly.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore. Gnite.”

You froze, you did feel relieved that he said he was going to leave you alone but the annoyance and frustration you felt lingered, between the conversation from earlier in the day and all his messages, today became a drag. Tossing your phone carelessly on your bed, you rubbed the temples of your forehead as you get back to your assignments.

it’s over now, finally.

The next few days you had completely forgotten about that whole piece with Samuel. You truly meant it when you told him that you wished him well, even more so now. You didn’t care for his attitude, but you figured that he had a lot of stress and wasn’t handling it well. Regardless, you hoped strongly that he would be able to figure things out and moved on.

Heeseung never asked you how your conversation went with Samuel, nor did he make any remark or inquiry about it. Considering how his demeanor was when you spoke to him about it at the lake, you didn’t bring it up at all, not that there was any reason to do so anyhow. You took care of it, and you felt relieved that Heeseung didn’t display anymore of those pondering moments where he became abnormally quiet, more so than he already was.

A week had passed since your talk with Samuel and you didn’t revisit the thought of him, the conversation, or his text messages since. Life was back to normal.

Today was Emily’s birthday, and Jake coordinated a surprised party for her at a private setting, organizing events and performances to take place in the evening. You and the girls all helped and participated in the set-up, speaking joyfully on the news of Vicky and her nuptials.

With so much time to spare before the festivities begin, everyone decides to split up and meet up at the venue later in the evening.

Jake offers you a ride back since Heeseung agreed to play a basketball game with a collected group of peers that share the same class as him.

The entire dorm was nearly empty, there may have been a couple of students on the first floor with no weekend plans, but apart from that, the dorm reflected a typical Friday evening.

Jake pulls up next to the building, he remarks at how creepy the dormitory and parking lot looked whenever the students abandoned it for the weekend, followed by him being grateful for living in a frat house, the same one as Heeseung.

He wasn’t wrong. It did look unsettling, especially at night.

With all the students staying with friends and family who lived out in town, and all the spring and summer events taking place this weekend, the campus was left in a deserted state by the time you got back to your dorm.

The first time you witnessed the tradition of seeing the mass migration of students pairing up, and carpooling out of the lot, leaving the dorm hollow, it was your first weekend after moving in. Initially, you would take the girls and Vicky’s offer to go out with them for the night, avoiding being alone inside the vacant building, but eventually you found it peaceful and the prime time to work undisturbed.

Taking advantage of the silence and the last bit of daylight streaming in through the window, you didn’t waste any time and began working. Due to the extensive silence and hollowness in the building, the ringing of your phone sounded much louder than normal. The sceen displays Heeseungs name, you answer happily as you note the slight heavy breathing on the other line, indicating that he and his friends were still going at it on the court.

“Hey baby, you guys finished decorating?”

“Yeah, we finished about 20 min ago. How’s your basketball game?”

“Good, we won. What time does he want us to be there?”

“Eight. We got lots of time.”

“Ah, good. I’m going to go clean up and finish some work, you want to come back with me?”

“It’s okay, I’m already halfway through my work. You go ahead and do your thing; I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

“Okay, call me if you change your mind, I’ll come over.”

“Hahaha sounds good. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, you will *chuckles*.”

Nearly an hour and half later, you wrap up what was remaining of this week’s syllabus, before taking a break as you stretch your arms. Noting that there was still nearly three hours to spare before the party, and that you were already dressed, you started to look over your to-do list and work on some tasks until Heeseung calls you.

Assuming he was heavily enveloped in his work, you didn’t want to disturb him. Dragging your finger down your list, you come across your reminder to send your dad an email, a weekly occurrence along with a phone call to talk with him and your mom and catching up.

You began drafting your email to your dad, talking about your friend’s birthday party and your roommate’s trip to Africa. They were already aware of the breakup with Samuel and that you had a boyfriend that attends the same school.

Your mother tends to show more excitement when it comes to the topic of boys, your father, while more reserved, does show some interest in his own way, such as asking questions and getting a full report. In the end, your father’s love and desire for your happiness was always his top priority, the moment he noticed your voice remaining calm and pleasant, even after the mentioning of the breakup, he knew that the man you were with was taking care of you in the way that you needed him to.

As you continued writing, you hear a knock at your door. It was soft and light, you looked down and noted that you had brought back the spare decorations with you, instead of leaving it unattended at the venue. You figured Jake came back to pick them up. You got up and walked over, without giving a second thought, you opened the door to see Samuel standing in front of you.

Ironically, you didn’t feel shocked to see him. What you did feel, was a whole twist of other emotions that made shock, more desirable. You stood there, unsure of what to say or what to think. He was just standing there, looking at you in the dark hallway, with a mellow facial expression.

“Hey.”

His voice made your chest sore. You didn’t respond, all you could focus on was trying to figure why he was standing there, it had been a little over a week since he supposedly left. You didn’t ask him, instead, you kept asking yourself on whether he had left at all, if he was here the whole time, wondering what has he been doing, why he was here, and why he didn’t leave.

“Can you let me in?” Again, you didn’t respond, nor did you move, until he took it up himself to start walking towards you and through the entrance, you took a series of steps back, more than just a few so you could keep a full distance between you two.

He walked in and scanned around the room, remarking the empty half that was Vicky’s side.

“No roommate huh?”

You head for the door, but with him being closer to it, shutting, and locking it, your senses grew to a level of discomfort that you hadn’t felt before. It felt completely unsafe, threatening, and dangerous.

“Why are you here?” You felt yourself getting teary eyed, you were having a hard time keeping your breathing steady and calm, you had to keep your mouth open to access better air flow, and to ease the sharp sensation you were feeling in your chest.

“I couldn’t leave. What? You don’t care to see me?...You used to care.”

By now, even though you don’t know the entire story of what happened with him, it became obvious that something had transpired during his time in college that changed him, enabling him to conduct this current behavior.

After locking you both in the dorm, he walks closer towards your direction, taking a moment to look around, he sees off to the side and notices the corkboard with all the photos pinned on. He squints his eyes and approaches it, taking one of the photos of you and Heeseung, he removes it from the board. You reacted by reaching out and yelping a “Don’t!” only for him to slap your hand away and look at you offensively with bulging eyes.

“Don’t touch me. Do not touch me y/n.”

You stood away from him and started moving your sights to various parts of the floor trying to figure out what to do, how to calm the situation and resolve all of this.

“This the new guy? What is he like Chinese or something?”

You winced in anger at his remark at Heeseung, but didn’t say anything, knowing that it would only escalate the situation now that he seems triggered.

“You have a thing for Asian guys now, y/n?”

You stared at the wall, refusing to look at him. You wanted to scream, but that wouldn’t take you away from your environment. The crunching sound of your photo being balled up and tossed to the floor causes you to snap your head towards him. He walks over and closes the distance where he nearly is touching you.

“Why do women like to play games, y/n?” You didn’t think it was possible, but you felt your eyes grew even wider as you looked over to the wrinkled photo of you and Heeseung.

“You��always smiling and laughing over the phone, like you weren’t even bothered that we couldn’t see each other.”

Listening to him rebounding the same complaint he addressed in his email; you recall that the experience resulted in him harboring a hatred for you even though you were unaware of how he was feeling. He obviously took it as you intentionally dismissing it, offending him as a result.

“That bitch Julia…going to tell me I can’t see my kid.”

Judging by those words, it became apparent that Samuel had developed an attitude and misconception on women based off his experience with you and this other girl, Julia.

“I just wanna talk! Ya know?” He says with a smile and shrugged his shoulders, although it did not make the setting any lighter.

“We…already talked Sammy. I already told yo-“ you were cut off as he yelled, something you never heard him do. In fact, the way he’s been lately was nothing like how you knew him.

“We did not! Don’t give me that bullshit y/n!” You started take more steps back towards Vicky’s side of the room, which made him laugh as he sneaked in a comment of the fear he was sensing within you.

“What? You scared of me now? You too?”

“What do you mean, you too?”

A theory is becoming easier to develop regarding Samuel, the more he was going on, the easier it became to understand that this newfound attitude and personality was something that he had developed while he was away.

He laughed at your question, it was a cynical laugh, as if he was just mocking every word that you spilled out.

“Oh man y/n…you have no idea. God…you really are just so….so fucking ignorant, you know?”

He walks over to you and begins to divulge everything that had caused him to go downhill.

“Like, did you even know that I didn’t get picked for the draft?” A confused look grew on your face, you wanted to remind him that he had informed you, because of his busy schedules, that he wanted to be left unbothered so he could focus on the audition and his exams to maintain his scholarship.

Not to mention, after receiving the email a couple weeks after, he disclosed that he had been seeing someone else. He was being completely one sided, yet you refrained, fearing that since he was a hair away from snapping, or maybe he already has.

“Yeah…you had no idea. You had no idea; you didn’t even ask me how I was doing. Not you, Julia, those cunts at GPT. None of you bitches did!”

You tried to use a psychological tactic in softening his anger by expressing sympathy for him. You felt you had no other option as you felt yourself backed into the wall.

“I’m sorry…Sammy. I’m very sorry. I should have been more attentive. Do…do you want to talk about the next audition or plans going forward?”

He stopped and looked for a moment before he smiled and chuckled laconically.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m taking care of that.” He rolls up the sleeve of his arm and you’re shocked to find evidence of what looked to be punctures from drugs or steroid injections.

You suddenly realized; Samuel’s built was bigger than when he left for college. You were so shocked at him being here in the first place, that you didn’t even realize the difference in size. Frozen and unable to comprehend what he just showed you, never in a hundred years would have never considered that he resorted to drugs to gain muscle mass.

You looked at him with a shockingly disgusted look on your face, as he stayed smiling and laughing. His comment earlier, in mentioning Julia not letting him see their child, you wonder if he had committed certain atrocities towards her, because of the effects in steroids.

“See next time, I’m going to get it. I’ve been working on it.” His comment was followed by him taking a second to show you his arms as he flexes, all in a taunting manner to scare you, not to impress. As much as you hated to admit it, it did in fact, scare you. You watched as several large, and protruding veins all over his arm, while the skin stretched tightly around the bulge of each muscle.

You wondered if there was a reasonable object nearby that you could utilize as a weapon of opportunity, considering that Samuel is acting in a manner that calls for it. Even though he did put on more muscle, he wasn’t intimidatingly large, and he wasn’t much taller than average height either. You don’t know if you were just being desperate or anticipating to really follow through the act of self-defense by studying his behavior.

“So y/n, tell me about this guy. What’s he like? Does he play football as well? I bet I can take him out.”

You didn’t entertain any responses to his taunts. You remained standing at a distance and took the verbal abuse, knowing full well he wasn’t going to change his attitude. How could he? Research and studies have all shown that steroid and drug use alike all led to violent and sudden bursts of irrational and violent behavior. You felt it best to stay calm and silent.

“Did you guys fuck? I bet you have. Remember how we used to go at it, y/n? Remember? Man, I used to get at you every night in my car. That was fun.”

You kept wincing at his recollection of the moments when you and Sam had sex, they used to be a sweet memory for you but now, you find yourself ridden with disgust as he kept talking about it. You started to turn your face away, almost feeling shameful that the man before you was the one that you gave your virginity to.

“Yeah, you and me, those were the days, y/n. We had fun.” His voice trailed off as his smile slowly fades as he eyeballs your hips.

“I bet I can tear it up better than him. Especially now.” His words cut you deep, literally stabbing you in the heart as he slaps his palm on the flexed muscle group on his arm, making a loud slap.

“You don’t want to miss out on this y/n, just ask the girls at GPT.” His last statement clearly indicated that he had been flourishing the campus grounds at his school with a selectable group of girls, you wonder if he had developed his distasteful attitude towards women from them as well.

“So? How about it? Do I get a little something for flying over here to come see you?”

You looked at him and felt yourself panicking but could not move. You shook your head, rejecting him as your eyes began to tear up more.

It happened so fast, and it took you a second to process what had just transpired as the sting on you cheek informs you, after you find yourself collapsed on the floor. You placed your hand on your face to apply a little pressure on the sting, hissing as you make contact on the skin with your hand trying to relieve the pain.

You look up to see his face as you scoot back to create some distance.

“I didn’t say you could move.” Feeling angered by you moving away, he launches over, picking you up by your shoulders and enforcing you to stand as he pushes you up against the wall once more, pinning you there. You tried to shift around to see if you could slip out of the grip in his hands as they press your arms against the wall. It only angered him. Watching as he lifts his hand, you try to avoid being hit directly this time as you tuck your head in, lifting your hands to try and shield it from sustaining any serious damage.

Amidst the shuffle of you moving and him trying to hold you still to get his point across, in a physically abusive manner, he curses your name, a list of names, a list of girls that you assume he had relations with since he arrived at his school.

You did your best to shield yourself against his hits, yet he still managed to get a couple in on the same cheek he hit the first time.

“Who you gonna hurt huh? You who gonna hurt?” He commits to another slap in between his words of tantrum.

“Tell me y/n, are you going to keep hurting me? Or are you done playing games?”

Your cheek felt like it was on fire. Your eyes were dreadfully teary, and you felt like a mess. His eyes were bulging once more, reflecting the deep discontent for all the girls he had felt done him dirty, though judging by the way things have been going, it’s very likely that he developed the discontent all on his own and became overexaggerated with his emotional anger.

The mirror that hung on the wall on the other side of the room pitifully displayed your reflection. A smear of your lipstick dragged on the corner of your mouth, and faded into your slightly swollen cheek that beamed red. Your delicate application of eyeliner and shadow for tonight’s event, left streaks as the tears streamed each time your face received impact from his hand. Your hair that was draped over your shoulders became messy, with pieces stuck to your face from the struggle and the hits you received. Red speckles were splattered on your collarbones and chest, applied by the busted lip that displayed a bright, popping red, that contrasted against the rouge you had on. One of the spaghetti straps to your dress was torn, hanging loosely, and entangled within your hair. Even though the dress was on the form fitting side, you could see the little bit of excess material along the sides, stretched and wrinkled as a result from the scuffle.

His voice snaps you out from zoning out as you found it hopeless to do anything but wish for Heeseung, Jake, or anybody to come through and start banging on the locked door, hoping that it would distract and scare Samuel.

“Answer me, y/n. I’m getting really pissed off.”

You taste the continuous flow of blood inside your mouth, at first you thought it was from the open wound heavily present on your bottom lip, then you realized it was from the cuts on your gums and the inside of your cheek that took all the hits. No doubt the combination of the impact and harsh contact with your teeth caused the skin inside to split open.

Feeling hopeless, you don’t know what he intends to do next, but you already knew what he planned on doing at some point within the night. You hanged your head low, shook it, and looked up at him with tears building up in your eyes, a slight smirk in defiance as you spoke.

“I’ll hurt you, and I’ll hurt me, but I won’t hurt him.” You gave a saddened smile before hanging your head back low. You felt his grip loosened before he releases your arms, which displayed finger marks. He turned around for a moment to walked towards the center of the room, where he yelled out curses as he punched the flat surface of your bookcase, before walking hastily back to you and reaffirming his grip on your arms once more.

It wasn’t a slam, but it was far from gentle, as his forehead makes a sudden impact against yours. The soaring pain above your brow line made you wince, resulting in the lids squeezing out the collection of tears that were building up over your iris’. With his forehead remaining in contact with yours, he shoves your head up against the wall.

“I fucking hate you. All of you!”

You closed your eyes as you heard the harsh whisper of his words smack your skin as his face remained plastered on yours. Unable to label what it is that you were feeling, it was just a state of total acceptance and hopelessness, and you stood maintaining your stance that whatever transpires in the night, whether it was physical abuse, bullying, hazing, sexual harassment, or worse…

Whatever it is that he was planning, you made it known that while he had the capabilities to do it, everything he does is all against your consent as you remained unwilling, not just for the sake of maintaining your virtues, but to make it known that the reason behind your willpower against Samuel, is all for the sake of Heeseung. So everyone would know that you weren’t the one that hurt him.

Opening your eyes slightly, they become reacquainted with the familiar blurred vision caused by the tears grouping over them, recreating those same diamond eyes that you had five months ago.

They remain open, just a sliver, as you see Samuel's incoherent silhouette through the overflow of moisture. You didn’t immediately process it at first, it felt like déjà vu, when you suddenly heard and recognize the pleasantly deep and calm tone that speaks from somewhere in the room.

“Yo.”

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tortoisesshells · 27 days

Note

Writing ask: 4, 7, 11, 16 & 18

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

I've yet to find a character whose dialogue I've enjoyed writing quite as much as Jed Foster's. From the Mercy Street (but with vampires!) extended universe/pastiche/whatever -

“Are you this surprised when the rains arrive in April, Nurse Mary? Or, if I may dabble in plain Yankee with you, when the sap begins to run in March? We are in an army hospital. They send us, among other things, their dying.” “These men were not dying,” Mary insisted. “The difference between ailing and dying is a very thin one, then.”

7. ... that I nursed in a daydream before finally writing:

Ch. 21 of Customs and Duties was a weird one - I had it in mind for over two years before I got to it, but because it was, at heart, a chapter about imperfectly understood illness and quarantine I ... sort of lost heart for it, by the summer of 2022. Still, it's a turning point for Customs, and I had been looking forward to writing it.

Would she pick a fight with him, next? He supposed she might, though he was not inclined to give it to her. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Norrington took a risk and held out his hand for the pry-bar, and Elinor Treat reluctantly handed it to him. Without the tool she had been half-brandishing as a weapon, she seemed – exanimate. A puppet with its strings cut. The pry-bar felt damp in his hand, and he was unpleasantly surprised to find it had left red marks where he had taken hold of it: blood. Not his. “Mrs. Treat,” he said, very quietly and slowly, “Mrs. Treat, are you hurt?” “What? – oh. That.” Elinor Treat seized a kerchief from her pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. “I thought it had stopped bleeding days ago.”

11. ... with characters I want to write more in the future:

I miss Them (the cast of characters of potc). Here's from the last non-drabble I wrote for them.

Here, Elizabeth began to sift through her assets. It was a quick endeavor: a few dozen palm trees, a few dozen casks of rum, the damned pistol that Jack was guarding as though it were a token of a lover, the fire which was too small to even be seen clearly from the other end of her new home. In her great-grandmother’s time, when London burned nearly to the ground, the smoke could be seen from the surrounding counties as though it were a tower to the heavens – but she had not London to burn. That made lumber precious, didn’t it? Elizabeth had a brief, frustrated sense that she might have a better idea of how long she could keep the island ablaze if she had paid more attention to the consumption of fire-wood in her father’s household, but of late she’d shied away from the house’s accounts as though she could keep her future away likewise. She sized up the palm trees she did have, and, careful to be quiet, padded through the darkness to get a sense of how great around the trunks were – how long they might burn. If she were to set the island alight –

16. ... from a recent piece I want to brag about:

This is clever only to me, but, from nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace

"Her fingers were numb – centuries had changed many things about Collinsport, but the wind at Widows’ Hill was ever the same – bone-cracking, blood-chilling, cold. She struggled with the knot at her neck."

I cannot resist some foreshadowing - Vicki, the narrator, eventually is hanged (she gets better. mostly.) - hence the attention paid to the struggle with the knot at her neck. No one said anything about it when I posted, so I'm being annoying about it now. (there's also a point where Jeremiah quotes one of the first things his doppelganger in the 1960s said to Vicki, which clearly a man in the 1790s couldn't know anything about. surely.)

18. ... from that one WIP everyone has that has no plot, just vibes:

From my "Will Turner finds promotion to authority vastly overrated" post-AWE fic:

“The only deal I am prepared to offer you, Mister Beckett,” said Captain Turner, wearily, feeling as impatient as he ever had alive, “Is that which is available to all deceased souls. If that is of interest to you – see Mister Maccus, there. If not, get out my way.” Will didn’t look to see what choice Beckett made, and either his half-hour’s practice of the posture of authority or the dreadfully carved doors dissuaded any further complaints. The pipe-organ of the cabin seemed to be laughing at him.

send me a number and I'll send you an excerpt of my writing!

#thank you for the ask kind friend!#ask meme #polkaknox talks

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wroteitbutneverwatchedit · 2 years

Text

Could we work? Pt.2

»»————- 🪢 ————-««

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x F!reader

Summary: When billy rolls into town and all the girls are falling at his feet…… why won’t she?

Warning: Cussing, sexual comments, harassment, billy being well billy.

A/n: I will be posting a part three to this, Please be sure to leave me some feedback, a follow and a reblog. But please enjoy. Please be sure to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part! ALSO THIS IS NOT NO FREE USE YOU CANNOT PLAGIARIZE OR REPOST MY WORK ON THIRD PARTY SITES

Pt. 1 | Pt.3

Word count: 657

»»————-　⚜　————-««

School had finally let out but, that only meant that I would have to go home to help my sister prepare for the party that she had been wanting to throw. Though I didn’t want her to throw this party I couldn’t deny her the party life she wanted to live. We have had the same compromise since she started high school, she could throw a party for every major holiday along as she kept her grades up, she didn’t cause trouble, and she threw the party at the lake house. She always kept up her end of the bargain and never faltered, these parties were usually just people sucking face and getting wasted. I usually came down got a couple drinks from time to time, maybe some snacks then headed right back up to my room. Our parents didn’t have too much of a problem with it as long as we were never the drunk kids and we kept it all in good taste, other kids could make a fool out of themselves but we barely ever got truly tipsy in front of others. As I walked out to my car with Amara telling me all her theme plans, we were met with a pissed-off-looking Billy leaning against his car with Vicki, parked right next to me. He watched as I walked over to the driver's side door, he looked impressed, my car wasn’t some family car like everyone else’s. I drove the nicest red Audi, I kept it nice and shiny not a speck of dirt could be found on my car. I didn’t stay long enough for Billy to say anything I quickly pulled out of that school parking lot and peeled off.

“That guy is so weird, who comes and disturbs someone's lunch by stealing their food. He didn’t even ask and all he says is I’m not arrogant. Like that is such an arrogant asshole move.” Amara complained, I laughed as I drove with all the windows down relaxing in the wind.

“He seems interesting, he tried talking to me in science class. But I told him off in a note, seemed to rattle his nerve.” I confessed, she looked as if asking for more details.

“Calm down, he didn’t say anything rude but his type and his crowd aren’t anything new. I’d rather deal with him early on than have him constantly trying to get in my pants, so I told him that I don’t want anything to do with arrogant and cocky guys. “ I explained

“But he still came to bother you at lunch, so I don’t think your tactics are working” she remarked

“Well he didn’t bother me exactly however, he did seem quite rattled at how I handled our introduction. It seems he’s taken it to heart, if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have said anything about him being arrogant.” I concluded, I pulled into our driveway and turned off the car. Amara however didn’t want me to get out, she held onto my arm and whined.

“Let's go to the store, I want a slushy” she practically begged, I looked at her as she gave me her best puppy dog eyes and I sighed.

“Fine but just because I love you turd.” I said, I started up my car again and pulled back out of the driveway. Our neighbors didn’t really care for the amount of noise my car made but they weren’t the ones who paid for it. If I wanted to take a nice late-night ride, they sure as hell couldn’t tell me not to.

“I think he’s into you but he seems like a gigolo so he could just want to get in your pants. But I’ve seen him with Tommy and that can’t mean anything good.” She critiqued, I let her make her assumptions because I can’t tell what he wants, but he definitely seemed like a player.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list:

@destielshipper88

@wittleespur

#billy hargrove x black reader #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery #stranger things

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enchantinglyjade · 2 years

Text

Milk & Honey - Ch. 9 (Part 1)

Elvis (Movie) x Black!OC

Masterlist

Previous | Next

Summary: Michael gets Honey a chance at a real performance, but now she has a big choice to make.

Warning: NSFW 18+(Just a dash), swearing, racial issues, alcohol, self deprecation, anxiety

Note: I have been SO EXCITED to write this chapter! Also, for those that didn’t see, I made a playlist to go along with the story! Listen here! Lastly, this takes place the same night as the last chapter.

Song: I Got a Woman by Ray Charles

Trouble by Elvis Presley

“AHHH!!”

Vickie and I scream at the radio which is currently blasting my voice through the hotel hallway that we were supposed to be cleaning.

She squeals, gripping my hands tightly. “Michael did it! You’re gon be famous!”

We scream once more, hugging each other in excitement.

My heart pounds in my chest. I’m on the radio. What does this mean for me? What’s next? For the first time in a while, I feel hopeful for what the future has in store for me. Would I be performing in front of a live audience again? Would I ever be put on TV?

“How much are you getting paid now that you’re on the radio and everything? Ooo, you could get us a car to drive finally, and a diamond necklace for me…or your Mama, whichever is fine.”

I pause to think. Hmm, never really got to that part. “Um… are you supposed to get paid right away?”

“Hey! I thought I heard screaming.” Michael calls from the end of the hall.

“You got me on the radio!” I run to him, giving him a big hug. He lifts me up, letting my feet dangle in the air. He sets me down with a soft look, staring into my eyes. I clear my throat awkwardly, taking a step back, “Thank you.”

He chuckles. “You think getting on the radio’s great, I got a call from WDIA this morning. They asked if you wanted to perform at the revue tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” I cry out.

He guilty smiles. “I know it’s last minute, but I already told them yes, and I think it’ll be great for you.” He pulls me in for another hug, leaving a kiss on my cheek as he always does. “I gotta go get the band back home now, they’re downstairs doing God knows what, but I thought it’d say goodnight before I left. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night okay?”

“Okay!”

AHHH!! I’m gonna perform tomorrow!!

Oh my God, I’m gonna perform tomorrow.

“Did michael ever say anything to you after the party?” Vickie whispers over my shoulder.

I screech, not realizing she had traveled all the way over to me in such a short amount of time. I pause. I had also figured the band told him once we left, but surprisingly things just continued as normal. Maybe they didn’t care enough. Maybe they already told him… “No, actually.”

She shrugs, going back to folding a towel, before stopping immediately after to gasp. “We are absolutely going shopping together tomorrow! I gotta help you get a real dress. I don’t trust you after seeing a closet like that.”

That night I could barely sleep. My head raced with so many thoughts and doubts. I could never safely be on stage or TV. I can barely walk down the street. I saw how difficult it was for King to get his foot in the door, I can’t imagine the things they’d allow on TV before they’d ever consider giving someone like me a chance. What would people say after seeing me? Better yet, what would they do? Maybe I should have given up music all those years ago like Ma wanted. Would I be putting her in danger? What if they riot my house? What if I get arrested?

I tossed and turned all night, trying to shake anxiety from my mind, but nothing worked. I woke up that morning shaky and dreadful.

After an evening with Vickie, it was finally time to get ready. Night fell all too quickly upon me and before I knew it, I was backstage with Michael and at the largest concert I had ever seen in my life.

Well, I got a woman, way over town

She’s good to me

I felt so unbearably small, being surrounded by some of the biggest names in music right now. They had King, Ray Charles, big and small artists from across the South, one of them being me…And another one of them being Elvis, whom I was not at all warned about, though I don’t know why I’m so surprised.

Backstage is busy. People are running all over the place, bands are getting in their last practice before showtime, and singing bounces off the walls. Michael and I stand amidst all the chaos.

She gives me money when I’m in need

Yeah, she’s a kind of friend indeed

“How are you feeling?” Michael questions.

I bounce in my spot, unsure whether it was from pure terror or overjoy, regardless the energy needed a way to come out. “Could be better. Got a pain in my neck. Done spent all morning under Vickie’s hot comb.”

It’s my first time straightening my hair and my first time letting my hair out in public, especially in front of white people, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about already. Hopefully they just assume I dyed it or something like Vickie told me girls was doing now.

He smiles, “Well, I hope the sacrifice was worth it, cause you look beautiful.” He tucks one side of my hair behind my ear, then I watch as his face turns more serious. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

I gulp, staring up at him while my heart picked up in my chest. “What?” I ask tentatively.

“Michael, we’re up next!” One of his friends interrupts, peeking his head around the corner, before disappearing again.

He nods to them, before looking back down at me. “I’ll ask you later. I’ll see you in a few minutes, beautiful.”

I got a woman, way over town

She’s good to me, oh yeah

I bounce in my spot once more, anxiety growing knowing I was after Michael. Had I practiced enough? What if the audience booed me? What if I trip on the microphone wire, then forget the lyrics?

I admit, I’m also still very much on edge knowing that his friends are out there just waiting to tell him my secrets. My career could be at stake at any given moment and I just have to wait for it to happen. Then what would happen? What would I do? I’ve already ruined my relationship with Elvis. Why am I so stupid for doing all those things to him? Now I’m gonna lose two of my greatest friends and I’ll be left all poor and alone here.

I let myself get so overwhelmed for a second time today that I hadn’t noticed my breathing had quickened and my eyes stung with tears. I also hadn’t noticed someone sneaking into the room with me. I try taking deep breaths to calm myself, but it does little to help.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps rapidly approaching me. I open my eyes to see Elvis jogging over to me. He quickly grabs my hands, holding them tight in his own. I don’t even need to tell him what’s going through my mind, he already knows. “Hey, Darlin, it’s alright. You’ll do fine out there. Everything will be okay.”

I try to hold back tears, while I lean my head towards the ground so he can’t see my struggling. “Everything’s just happening so fast. I don't know what I’m doing anymore.”

He pulls me into a hug, rocking me back and forth. “Hey, show em how we used to do, just like when we was kids.”

I press my head against the shoulder of his black suit jacket. “Elvis, I ain’t never sang in front of this many people.”

He takes my head in his hands, making me look up at him. “Hey, look, I’m right here. You have yourself a fine set of lungs and a fiery personality to go with it. Show em what you can do.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb, looking down at me with such kind eyes.

Looking at him right then filled me with a sense of peace I had long forgotten about. I felt like I was back home, sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea with my childhood sweetheart and watching birds fly by on a breezy Mississippi day, but that is in fact not the case with us. Not anymore. And just like that, I remembered everything that happened between us. He may be a forgiving man, but not to this extent.

My tears dried and suddenly I find myself filled with distrust. “Why are you talking to me?”

He furrows his eyebrows at my change of tone. “What do you mean?”

I step back and out of his arms. “I thought you hated me after everything. What happened? Are you trying to play with me or get pay back or something?”

His face contorts into that of insult. “Honey, what the hell are you talkin about? Can’t I just be there for a friend?”

It’s too good to be true. He should be mad at me for everything I did at the party. What if he’s setting me up to embarrass me in front of Michael? That’d be good revenge. But how would he do it? Would he go as far as telling Michael we danced together? Why was he even at that party anyways? Who invited him? Wait…

“Did you know that was Michael’s band…?” I ask slowly, really not wanting to hear the answer. His face drops. He looks between me and the floor and right there I already have my answer. My face contorts in disappointment. “I can’t believe you.”

“I ain’t know you were gonna do all that!” He shouts in defense, throwing a hand up to reference to my body.

“You didn’t exactly try and stop me either!” I run my hands through my hair, groaning while I throw my head back. “What if they tell him tonight?” Everything’s already hard enough as it is and having this drama on top of it was all too much. Sometimes I wish I could just run away from all of this and start a new life.

He walks up to me putting both his hands on my shoulder to keep me put. “Honey, why you spendin all this time carin about what he thinks? He’s lyin to ya! I didn’t know how I was gonna tell ya, but I saw him kissin other women last night. He said to my face that he never cared about you. He’s using you!”

I shake my head, trying not to let the information get to me. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t, Honey. Now, quit talkin like that.” Now his eyes are starting to gloss and his voice becomes softer.

I shake my head more vigorously, shutting my eyes trying to concentrate on the task at hand. “I have bigger things to worry about.” I bite my bottom lip to keep my composure.

He shakes my shoulders hoping to knock some sense into me. “Honey, do you hear yourself? He’s usin you!”

“It’s not about Michael!” I shout, finally letting those built up tears fall from my eyes. “I know I’ve done you wrong one too many times recently, but at the very least I expected you to be happy for me. You know how much it means to me to even be invited to something like this? But you’re still so caught up on Michael. It’s not just about Michael! I wanna be a singer, I have bills I need to be paying, and for the first time, the world is starting to accept me for who I am. It’s not about love, Elvis, cause if it was I would already be with you!” I try catching my breath while tears rolled down my face.

He stands speechless, hands dropping to his sides while he searches for the meaning of my words in my eyes. I shake my head, turning to walk away from him. I couldn’t stand looking at him any longer, it only made it hurt more. Not to mention the greatest moment of my life is about to start any second.

As much as the idea of Michael seeing other women behind my back doesn’t feel great, I tell myself to suck it up cause it was exactly what I was doing to him. I can’t be mad for getting a taste of my own medicine. It really is what I deserve. Maybe we’ll just come to terms and move on from it together.

I wipe the tears for my eyes, smudging my makeup back into place, while I walk through the mayhem of the theater. Right as I arrive at the stage, Michael’s band finishes the last note of their song and the crowd roars.

I peek past the curtains to find an integrated audience, separated by a mere rope. Both sides cheer for him, much to my surprise. I had never seen so many people in one room in my life, and especially not integrated. Even when there was a divider, I had never seen them more…united. All of them were here for the same reason, to enjoy the music, and through getting lost in rhythm they had unknowingly joined as one. An audience. It was kinda…pretty.

“Making her professional debut with her hit ‘Rock Me Baby’, Ms. Honey James!” My name echoes and booms throughout the building from the loud speakers, causing my stomach to feel as if it dropped to my feet.

I look to Michael with wide eyes. He waves me over to him on the stage. The pressure was paralyzing, but somehow my body seemed to float over to the microphone, center stage. My golden dress shines almost as bright as my now glossy eyes under the stage light.

The crowd claps, rather unenthusiastically, not knowing what to expect from me.

The band begins playing the intro before I even really had time to prepare myself.

Rock Me Baby. I’ve practiced this all week AND we’re doing it with a full band this time. It’ll be great. Right?

The first line comes out wobbly, but I’m determined to not embarrass myself tonight. Everything I worked for is on the line right now and as nervous as I am, I’m not giving up this easy.

Second line is better, but it needs more. It’s fine, just sing with emotion. That’s what Elvis always told me… That’s it! I can just channel him into my singing. All the stress, and heartbreak, and dare I add, lust, I can just put it into the song.

The next line comes out noticeably stronger, the anger and need in my voice only gives my voice a louder and raspy sound. The crowd whoops, clapping to the beat, and that’s all I need to hear in order to let go of my fears and let out what I felt deep in my soul.

My voice comes out more robust than I had ever heard it, nearly matching in power to the church choirs we would listen to growing up. But unlike the church, I add in a few rather provocative moves hoping Jesus wouldn’t mind. I close my eyes, taking myself back to the party, rolling my hips like I did with Elvis to match the energy of the song.

And just like that, the song is over and the crowd shouts and claps in admiration. I had never felt more proud of myself in my life than in this moment, all the hard work and dedication paying off.

Suddenly, I feel a hand gently touch my waist. I look behind me to see Michael ushering me off stage. He looks down at me with a big smile.

Once backstage again, I finally let out my enthusiasm, jumping up to hug him. “Ah! I can’t believe I just did that!”

He squeezes me tight with a laugh. “You were great! I told you you had nothing to worry about.” I pull away with a beaming smile, still trying to tame all of my intense emotions. I have so much energy still coursing through my body, I needed to sit down or something, anything to calm myself.

“Can I ask you something, Honey?” Or that’ll work too.

My smile drops and I raise my eyebrows questioningly.

“Come to Chicago with me.”

My body goes completely numb. “What?”

“You can be our lead singer. We leave tomorrow on the Chitlin Circuit and when we get back to Chicago, I can sign you at Vee-Jay. They’re open to so much more up there then they’ll ever be down here. You’ll make it big in Chicago, I know it.” He grabs my hands, giving me a soft look. “I wanna take care of you, Honey, and your Mama. I can get both of you a nice house, nice clothes. She’ll love it. Come with me.”

I had heard of the Chitlin Circuit before, heard King talking about it once. It’s a bunch of venues across the U.S. that allows colored people to perform. It sounded like such a fun little adventure to go on and it made my heart skip a beat just thinking about finally seeing what the world had to offer outside of Memphis.

But what if Elvis was telling the truth? What if he doesn’t care about me or finds some other pretty singer and leaves me behind in a motel in the middle of nowhere? Would the risk be worth getting a taste of my dreams?

“Michael, I can’t just up and leave like that?” I say, feeling hopeless that I might have to give up one of my greatest goals.

He shrugs, “Why not? What’s keeping you here? We can explain everything to your Mama tonight. I’ll tell her about all the backup singers you’ll have and the cadillacs you’ll be driving. I’ll get her to give in.”

I giggle at his last sentence, still unsure if I should do it or not. Of course I had ties here. I love it here in Memphis, all the energy and talent. It was inspiring and I’d hate to leave it. Not to mention, a few special people I’d miss. But maybe it was time for me to finally get out of my comfort zone and explore new possibilities.

He notes my hesitancy. “Tell you what. I’ll give you some time to think about it. I gotta help the band get packed up, then once this is all over we’re heading down to Handy for the after party. After that, I can bring you back home, get your stuff all packed up, then we can hit the road before the possums start comin out. Alright?”

I nod with a light smile, looking down to the ground heavy in thought as he walks away. It all seems too good to be true. Opportunities don’t come that easy to people. Not for free anyway.

“Are you actually considering going with him?” Elvis’ voice breaks me from my mind. I snap up, finding him standing in the middle of the hallway, disappointed and rejected. Had he heard everything? “After everything I told you about? After you told me you loved me?”

I feel mortified and downright embarrassed I’m even in this situation. “Elvis, it’s not that easy.” I say barely louder than a whisper, tears stinging my eyes once more.

“Yes it is! So, are you gonna decide on what you want yet? Cause I’m sick of bein toyed with by you!” He steps closer to me, tears of anger threatening to spill from his eyes.

My breath hitches in my chest. He had never raised his voice at me before and it left me feeling like a shameful child getting scolded by their parents.

“I have proven to you over and over how much I love you. You think I’m not scared either? Cause I am, but you will always mean more to me than what everybody else gotta say about us.” He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, holding back more words.

Did he- He loves me? “Elvis, I-”

He throws his hands in the air, turning away. “I don’t wanna hear nothin. I gotta be on stage.”

I feel all hope in me die the second he leaves my sight. I am acting just like a selfish child, aren’t I? I really don’t deserve someone as good as him in my life.

I lifelessly pace the hallways of the theater. Maybe I should just go to Chicago. I can’t stand the thought of causing Elvis any more damage than what’s already been done. Maybe Ma will have a better life there too and she won’t have to worry about us running into trouble again.

Vickie abruptly stumbles around the corner, heels clacking against the hard floor. “There you are, girl! I been lookin for you. Your man’s about to take the stage, everybody’s goin crazy. Come on!” She grabs my hand, yanking me down the hallway faster than my mind could keep up with.

“Now I was told not to sing, or make jokes, or do any of that here wigglin out on this stage tonight.”

Elvis’ voice echoes through the venue, sounding oddly lively and playful compared to a few minutes ago.

“That was impressive what you did up there, by the way. I heard some guys talkin about how sexy you looked. Better tell Michael and Elvis to watch out, they got more competition comin to em.” She laughs, bursting open the main doors to reveal the crowd, the atmosphere instantly feeling uncomfortably tense.

An officer glares down at us in annoyance, pointing us in the direction of the colored section in a threatening way. I gulp away any anxieties that tried to rise up. Somehow, it felt less safe out here than it did on stage.

“But that ain’t no fun. And I ‘specially don’t like people tellin me what to do or who to be.”

There’s so many people, I couldn’t even see the stage. Vickie scootches us past some men in nice suits to get us closer to center, but she’s met with the rope before she can go any further. She mutters out a ‘damn’, playing with the rope while she figures out a new plan. A white woman on the other side notices her hand get a little too close to Vickies and retracts it in disgust. Vickie simply rolls her eyes, and grabs my hand once more leading me to God knows where.

“So, how bout we break a few rules tonight? Cause all these here coppers ain’t gon scare me none! Ya hear that, Honey!?”

My body tenses at the sound. Any one of his fans would have mistaken his last word as a cute little nickname for them, but I knew better.

He cackles through the venue and with a loud boom, the song starts, vibrating through the venue and into my feet.

“If you’re lookin for trouble.”

The crowd screams, waving their arms in the air. Women were all but piling on top of each other in hopes of getting as close to the stage as physically possible. Vickie and I try balancing ourselves while we get thrown every which way by the audience. It’s like this for the remaining duration of the song, until last minute he finally comes into my view.

Unhinged, animalistic, sweating, throwing himself around the stage with a bottle of champagne in his hands. He pops open the bottle with a ‘Woo!’, spraying the bubbles onto the girls in the front row, while they let out feverish screams.

“I’m Evil!”

I let go of Vickie to push past the crowd, enraged. I try to not let jealousy overcome my emotions and focus on coaxing him off stage. This man is either drunk or out his damn mind, cause he’s committing at least 3 crimes as we speak.

After pushing and shoving, and damn near starting a riot, I finally make it to the front, resting my hands on the platform beneath him.

He watches me emerge from the crowd with an evil darkness in his eyes. He stills his movements. “Now what’s all this?” He grabs the microphone, dragging the stand across the stage. “Little missy ain’t havin too much fun.”

He drops to his knees only inches in front of me. The girls scream once more, reaching for a taste of him while he’s this close. I get shoved from every angle, drowning in the sea of people. He puts a finger to his lips, signaling to the girls in the front row. They eventually get the idea, quieting down, but their breathing and small squeals still fill the air.

He glances back down at me, his eyeliner only giving him a more sinister look. He chuckles at my upset expression, before turning serious again. “We can’t have that.” He grabs my chin with the same hand that holds his champagne bottle, gently pushing my head up to face him. The wet rim of the bottle brushes against my cheek, leaving a sticky residue behind, though I barely notice it, getting so caught up trying to compose myself under his intense gaze. “No, not here.”

He gently rests the tip of the campaign bottle against my lips, the base between his legs. “I think you need a drink, lil darlin.” I look up at him in disbelief, but can’t stop myself from obeying his silent command and opening my mouth.

Steadily, he pushes his hips forward causing the bottle to pour liquid down my throat. The bubbles tickle against my tongue while I try to keep up with the amount he’s pouring. Once he sees I have a mouthful, he tips the bottle past my chin and downward towards my chest, dumping a good amount down my body. I would have gasped had I not had to swallow the drink.

He watches with blown pupils as the alcohol runs down my breasts making them glisten in the stage lights. He grips the bottle, knuckles white, watching the fabric of my dress turn a shade darker and cling tight against my body.

The girls surrounding me gasp in a mix of jealousy, horror, and astonishment.

To make matters worse, he looks me right in the eye and slowly licks the rim of the bottle, before throwing his head back to take the very last sip.

There goes another crime added to the list.

This causes the white side of the audience to nearly gag at the thought of him drinking off the same bottle as a colored woman like myself. Most restaurants would smash their finest china had they found I had breathed near it, but now their biggest icon is licking the glass from which I drink from. I can’t even begin to comprehend the amount of power this action alone fills me with. It might even be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen him do.

Once he swallows, he brings the mic back up to his lips and with a deep, raspy voice he says, “Now, that’s more like it, baby.”

Subconsciously, my thigh muscles tighten, causing me to have to catch myself against the stage from all the tingles traveling throughout my body. He sees this, chuckling darkly and pridefully into the mic knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.

He backs up, looking over to his side noticing a large number of police officers ready to grab him. They rush him, grabbing a hold of him before he can do anymore harm. He thrashes around while they drag him off stage. The front row continues to cheer for him even as he’s about to probably be arrested.

In a panic, I push back through the crowd, hoping to find where they’re about to bring him.

A good amount of people I push past are either disgusted by me or laughing at how humiliated they thought I should be from having a drink dumped on me. Unfortunately for them, I’m too high off adrenaline to give a damn.

Vickie finds me through the audience, fighting her way over to me.

“Did you see what he did out there, Vickie?” I ask her unbelievably, trying to ring out my dress.

What the hell just happened? I can't decide on being pissed and embarrassed or turned on and ready to jump him. Damn, this is what I get for teasing him all those times. Well played, Mr. Presley.

She laughs in her usual hot and bothered way, fanning herself off, “Yeah and Ooo he a bad boy. That was sexy. I’m jealous. But, uh, you best get out of here while you can. My guess is they comin for you next.” She pushes me closer to the door, but doesn’t follow. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everything’s alright. Just go find Michael and get.”

I flow through the main doors, sneaking past security, hiding within the crowd until I’m outside. Police cars surround the area, red and blue lights dancing in the night sky, but no sign of Elvis. I hold up my dress to run through the damp alleyway to the back of the building where Michael’s car is. Luckily, He’s just getting done putting the instruments in the backseat.

He greets me happily, completely oblivious to what happened inside.

“Hey, we should start heading out to the afterparty.” I jog up to his car, letting myself in.

He looks confused between me and the backstage door. “Oh, I didn’t know they wrapped up in there. What happened to your dress?”

“Long story, let's go. Wouldn’t wanna waste any time we could be on the road.”

This catches his attention and he immediately hops into his seat. “So you’re coming with?”

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triplesilverstar · 3 months

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A Birthday with a show, and you're dinner

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Knives X F!Reader

CW: Dom/Sub undertones, strip show, sex toys, vibrator, P in V Sex

Word count: Roughly 2.7K

A/N: Chapter fourteen of the series, this time it’s Knives birthday and you’ve been found on the menu.

If working at Flux had taught you one thing, underworld influence or not, the ultra rich like to celebrate like it’s the last party they’ll ever have. You’ve seen enough of the rich waltzing into Flux when celebrating their birthdays like it is their last one, throwing more money around then you’d seen in your life and you had never gone without anything in the time you’d been alive.

While he isn’t at the club tonight you know it’s Nai’s birthday, having heard some of the plans discussed when coming down from your highs after him having fucked your brains out. A rather larger fancy party from what you had overheard, and were teased over from Legato. The blue haired bastard had been more than happy to point out how you weren’t important enough to have been invited. “Just a wet hole my master is currently interested in using.”

His words had and still burn. The fact his birthday fell on a Saturday meant even if you had been invited by the stern man, you wouldn’t have been able to attend. Calla required you those nights no matter what other plans came up, your nights at Flux far too important for such dalliances. At least according to Calla and seeing as she was the employer that paid well over half your yearly income, you weren’t going to argue with her.

Closer to ten, your delivery for the night made but still swamped behind the bar and late for your break you groan internally. Three of the waitresses gossiping in front of you at the bar while you mix and pour drinks, gossiping about Nai. “Looks like Mr. Millions isn’t here tonight, that seems strange.” The waitress Michelle that normally covered Nai’s table frowned. No doubt missing the tips that often came with making sure the nosey girl disappeared quickly after delivering their drinks.

“You’re right. The other regulars are here though, I wonder what’s going on?” Anya, another of the waitresses whispers, one you know has tried hitting on the blond businessman only to fail at every attempt. Maybe if she didn’t gossip so much about everyone she might have stood a chance. “I checked his social media earlier. He didn’t post anything but it’s his birthday, but there’s like a hundred posts wishing him a happy birthday.” Popping one of the cocktail cherries her mouth you snap at Vickie. “Don’t eat the garnishes!” You have enough work to do without throwing out some of the cherries, and opening a new bottle. “Wow. Don’t need to bite my head off!” Vickie grabs her now drink filled tray, rolling her eyes at you as she saunters off but not without throwing a parting shot at you. “You really need to get laid.”

Taking a deep breath you count to ten in your head and keep mixing drinks, Franie sliding up beside you his voice low. “You alright?” “Yea.” Whispered back as you fill Anya’s tray and send her on her way. “Just tired of Vickie eating the cherries and olives. She doesn’t wash her hands as often as we do, or use spoons or tongs to grab them.” Back to finishing the drinks you finally get your break, heading for the back room and grabbing your phone to check it. Two text messages, both from Nai. 2115: I would have preferred your company to the fawning those invited have provided2155: Are you able to see me tomorrow evening?Without any hesitation you type out a response, knowing you have nothing planned and asking him if he wants to come to your place or go to his. You don’t expect the answer to come before the end of your break but you’re pleasantly surprised. 2211: Mine. 7 PM. Sharp.

You grin, aware of the fact you’re going to spend most of tomorrow on your back or stomach one way or another while Knives uses you like he owns you. He’s yet to disappoint you in bed and you don’t expect him to tomorrow either. Back at the bar you grumble internally, drinks have slowed down while on break and Anya is on her phone giggling about something. That something turns out to be a tweet with an image of Knives attached, while you try to look at it discreetly and keep your face bland internally you’re screaming.

It’s Knives looking at his phone, one side of his lips lifted in a grin and based on the time stamp you see of the image, it would have been after you sent your reply and before he texted you back. Part of you hoping that grin was because of you, but you’re smart enough to temper your heart. Knives could tell you your agreement is done tomorrow if he wants, and you’d just have to walk away.

The next day, dressed in a cute sundress with heels to put you just under Knives height, a recommended bottle of red wine in a bag for him you make your way to his apartment. Meeting the doorman and advising him you’re there to see Mr. Saverem and give your own name, knowing his building is far more exclusive than your own.

Once inside you take the elevator, knocking on his door at 6:55 a little early but you know it’s within Knives margin of error and you aren’t late. Being late even by a minute is not acceptable to the stern man.

Opening the door you smile up at him. “Good evening Nai.” Voice whisper soft as you quickly run your eyes over him, dressed in a pair of cream slacks and a dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up revealing his built forearms. “Happy Birthday” his sharp eyes watching you as he steps inside, holding the door open for you to slip inside.

The door closing with a click and his hand is on your throat, forcing your chin up so he can press his lips against yours, tongue running along your lower lips you open your mouth to let him have what he wants. Smashing his mouth against yours as he takes his fill of your moans and whimpers while he kisses you fiercely enough to steal your breath. Your lungs are burning when he pulls away, just enough that your lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “Good evening Pet.” Chest heaving and your breathless “I have something for you” barely lifting the bag which Knives looks at, raising an eyebrow at you for. “Just a little something to say. I appreciate our time together.” That seems to appease him, stepping away from you and running his fingers up the side of your neck before taking the handle of the bag from you.

Opening the bag and removing the bottle he looks at the label before back to you. “I know it’s not your usual brand, but I picked something with a similar flavor profile.” A brief nod as he heads for the kitchen, you stop to undo your heels.

“Leave them.” Licking his lips while taking in your figure “I’ve had a change of heart for what the events of this evening will be.” Standing back up again, watching as he effortlessly opens the bottle and pouring himself a glass. Motioning for you to follow him into the living room, placing the bottle and glass on the side table before approaching you.

Tilting your jaw upwards once more far more gentle than when you first stepped into his apartment, gliding his lips across yours. “Tonight. I want you to follow my directions, can you do that Pet? The usual rules apply.”

“Am I allowed to talk? Ask for clarification?” Whispering back before you start, wanting to know your limits for tonight before agreeing.

“You may.” Turning his head and running his nose along the shell of your ear before blowing into it, and nipping the skin while waiting for your answer.

“Yes.” Nodding at you give him your answer, his hands on your hips as he moves you where he wants you. With a whisper to remain there while he moves the light switches, dimming everything around you and an overhead pot light coming on to illuminate you.

Taking his seat on the couch and taking a sip of the wine you brought him, feeling nervous since Knives is far more into wine then you are. A hum of satisfaction and you watch him look at you like he’s a predator eyeing his prey, pressing a button and the low tones of a recording of his favorite orchestra starts to play.

“You’re” his voice having dropped an octave as he addresses you “going to put on a show for me Pet. Now” one more licking his lips, eyes narrowing as he leaning back with his glass of wine taking a sip. “Remove your dress. Slowly.” Licking your lips you turn slow, making a show of lifting your arms over your head as you do, bending one over and pushing your hair to the side be dragging your fingers through the loose locks.

A low growl reaching your ears, running those same fingers down your neck sensually before undoing the fastener with a quick snap, turning your head at an angle and slowly pulling the zipper down as slowly as you can while watching him. Even if you’re the one doing the work, the way his sharp eyes follow your movement makes your core throb. Once your hand is as far down as you can push it from above you slide the other hand down your neck, turning your body so he can watch as you drag your palm against your covered breast giving it a squeeze just hard enough to make you gasp before moving along. Returning to unzipping your dress slowly, letting a low whine pass your lips, the fire in your lower belly starting to build, Knives taking another sip from his wine glass watching you through the clear bowl.

Once you know the zipper is low enough you turn to face him, giving the fabric a light pull and letting it slide down your body to pool around your feet. Left in your undergarments and thigh high stockings held up by your garter belt. Sliding one hand along the skin of your stomach upwards towards your breasts waiting for his next command.

“Undo the straps keeping your stockings up.” Running your hands back down your stomach, letting one of them trail over your covered pussy. Moaning and pressing the fabric against yourself before moving on to the straps. “Naughty thing you are” a soft growl echoing around the room, even in the dim lighting you can’t miss the bulge in his pants as he leans back against the couch. “Of course I am. Otherwise how are you going to teach me to be a good girl?” Teasing as you finish undoing the strap, staying bent over and pushing your breasts together. “Plus, you did say to give you a show~”

Laughing darkly as he licks his lips once more before taking another drink “I did. Now let me see those breasts of yours.” Standing up you arch your back using both hands to undo the clasp so your chest is sticking out into the air, once done moving one hand to the center of the fabric to keep it in place. The other hand moving to slowly lower the straps down your shoulder, letting it fall away all at once. Cupping them in your hands and pushing them together, playing with your nipples as he watched you, his teal eyes swimming with desire. “Now you’re underwear.” Bending forward you slowly remove the fabric from your hips letting them fall to the floor as well before rubbing your thighs together, the lips of your pussy coated in your juices. “Now” another quick swallow of wine “redo the straps of your garter belt.” Raising your eyebrow at him, but you do as he’s said. Standing straight once more as you finish, Knives taking his attention off you to refill his wine glass before approaching you the glass left on the counter.

Dragging his knuckle from your hip bone up to the center of your chest and then to your chin, moving closer to you and you remain still as his mouth presses against your ear. “I was going to ram my thick cock into that pretty pussy of yours. But after that little display, you need to be teased yourself. Stay right here and don’t touch yourself.”

Watching him walk to his bedroom, returning in the span of a few minutes with a box tucked under his arm. Seeing you standing there he nods once. “Sit on the floor and spread those legs, Pet.” Once more you do as he says, Sitting down and spreading your legs so if he stays standing he’ll be able to see everything he wants too. “What a nice, slick, little pussy waiting for me. If only you hadn’t been greedy I would have filled you up already. I’m going to fill you with something else, and” lowering down to one knee over you and running his fingers between your folds making you moan, core clenching around nothing as he pulls them away and licks at his fingers. “You’re not allowed to cum” hissing into your skin as he powers up the vibrating dildo and pushes it into your pussy, gasping at being filled even if the toy is nowhere as large as Knives.

Knives stood, moving back to the couch and showing you a remote as he sat down and picked up his wine glass. “Now remember. No cuming my Pet. Now play with yourself and make sure I can see those pretty lips.” Feeling a blush across your cheeks you lean back on your arm, using your free hand to play with your clit. Moaning as you finger yourself, panting and watching Knives.

Moaning as you keep going, watching his eyes intently feeling your heart rate rising, gasping when the toy inside you suddenly comes to life making you throw your head back. Biting your lip and thinking of some of the ugly men that had hit on you last night to try and hold your orgasm off. “Look at me Pet” growling once more as you look at him, the toys intensity being upped again. Taking a sip of his wine and you feel the sweat starting to form on your forehead in your hairline, fingers still working your clit. The vibrations of the toy stimulating the nerves just behind your clit as well, making you pant loudly, mouth parted wide open. The fire in your belly growing to the point when you feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes knowing you have to hold off your orgasm.

The toy is turned up once more and you almost scream at how intense it is, core clenching hard around it, you’re so close to cumming and it is making your sweat like Knives has been pounding into your core for hours instead of a few minutes the toy hitting all the right places inside of you and making the nerves pulse. “Nai!” Screaming as you stare into his eyes, blinking as the sweat drips down into your eyes, and the town suddenly turning off.

Knives drinks the rest of the wine down, standing and moving towards you. “Undo my pants Pet. I’m tired of waiting to enjoy my preferred gift.” Sitting up your hands are scrambling for his belt and pants quickly undoing them, and feeling him lower his body down, his hand pulling the toy from you before lining his cock up with your slit. “I’m going to enjoy this birthday present Pet.”

His pants are just low enough to let his cock hang out, and he’s pushing into you, making you almost cream around him right away. Adjusting your hips and pushing the rest of your body to the floor, Knives sets a brutal place, slamming more and more into your core. You scream his name as you cum, clenching around him hard as your walls try to milk him with their spasms. A hand coming to wipe the sweat from your forehead as your heart pounds in your chest, watching Knives looking down at your body before chuckling darkly. Head lowering and biting harshly around your nipple making your spasm around him even harder, neck arching backwards from the duel pleasure and pain. “Oh my sweet Pet. I didn’t tell you, you could cum yet.”

Eyes popping open as you look at him with a hint of fear and licking your lips, “you’re not leaving my bed until the morning after that little show of disobedience.” Well. You’re fucked, in every sense of the word.

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