One Word.

I want percy to fuck these period cramps out of me pls and thank you

I got my stuff back

the furrys im cackling

texting bf!rafe…

𝜗𝜚 warnings: suggestive content ( more texts here )

It popped into my head, now you get it.

Man was DISGUSTED!

Great face acting on Milo’s part

Charley: I just want to say I’m part of the LGBTQ community and this is my best friend Wally. He’s an ally. Talk Wally!

Wally: Ally! ✊🥂

We all making grandpa cry btw

Me after reading anything to do with Wally Clark

reader is so me with flip?

"sobbing in my cup of coffee,

ㅤㅤㅤ'cause i fell for another loser."ᝰ r.c.

in my feelings. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: "just another one of those shitty pogues" he said...

⊹₊⋆ pairing: pogue!waitress!female!reader x toxic!rafe

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1.2k

⊹₊⋆ contents: slight "enemies to lovers" (ish), a few sexual themes, obvious tension, rafe being a potential sweetheart / hopeless romantic ( finally locked the fuck back in and started writing again! )

nervousness; the single emotion which had never graced the dynamic psyche of rafe cameron.

he often flipped through the long list in his mind during the long nights he’d lay sleepless in his bed.

anger? check. regret? absolutely. extreme and often irrational hatred toward pogues? without a doubt. 

it was no secret that if he viewed someone like scum, he would sure as hell treat them like it. it was safe to say that there probably wasn’t a single pogue left in the outer banks who hadn’t gotten shit from him in one way or another. however, you were the painfully obvious outlier…

you were never an unfamiliar subject for him. you’d gotten along well with his sister, been in his father’s good graces, and were just pretty enough to earn yourself an unofficial spot in the country club. to him, you were just about the furthest thing from a pogue he’d ever seen, but your clean white converse sneakers and designer denim shorts didn’t make you any more valid in his eyes.

he’d had it in him to give you a piece of his mind long ago. to tell you to go back to your side of the island, treat you like the dirt he thought your kind was, and maybe even give you a good beating once the sun had gone down. no matter how much that pretty face of yours sent his heart to cloud nine, he hated your guts more than any other pogue on the planet. or at least, he wanted to.

but you were the one girl on the planet who smoothed out his jagged edges.

as you swiftly travelled through the cafe, a tray in your hand as you dashed to deliver miscellaneous foods, drinks, and desserts to various tables, rafe’s eyes intently followed your every move, like a timid predator watching a particularly elusive prey.

this little routine of his went as follows: him and two of his hot-headed friends would just-so-happen to stumble into the exact cafe you worked at on the exact day at the exact time and take a seat at the concealed booth at the back, he’d feign oblivious offence when you begrudgingly took his order, and spectate you for the rest of the night, not even daring to blink in fear of missing the many times your skirt would ride up your exemplary figure, revealing just enough of your thighs to make his gut churn.

kelce whistles lowly as his eyes follow you from across the cafe, painfully less subtle than ideal. “man… that ass sure is somethin’ special, i’ll tell you that much.” he mutters under his breath with a laugh, elbowing rafe in the side.

however, the laugh quickly diminishes as rafe shoots a razor-sharp glare that could cut diamonds, his voice dropping an octave as he takes his friend’s shirt by the collar and whispers in his ear.

“listen to me, and listen good. i didn’t bring you over here to gawk at my woman, you hear? utter another word about her, and i’ll skin you.”

unlike most of his words, this threat was far from empty. the possessiveness in his voice was almost laughable, especially considering the fact that the only time you even looked in his direction was when you served him a drink. his obsession with you had started when you were both young, two kids who would stupidly practice kissing each other and share tight, fearful hugs in the darkness of his bedroom whenever a storm would break.

but like everything in life, it all had to go sour eventually. he began to care too much about his image and status in society while you still wanted to spend long nights with him surfing on the waves. the differences between you two only became more prominent from that point forward.

you were too emotional, he was too apathetic. he became an asshole, you became a bitch. you were saving yourself for marriage, and he considered a girl a prude if she denied him a blowjob on the first date. it was no wonder the hatred between the two of you was so strong. 

but despite this, business was business. and if you wanted to collect your paycheck at the end of the month, you’d have to serve the elephant in the corner of the room sooner or later.

“hot coffee, no cream, no sugar.” you mutter flatly, reciting the same item he’s ordered every night for the past 6 months. you take the hot mug off your tray and set it down in front of the blonde, his eyes locked on your unamused expression.

you were even prettier up close. 

the thought passed through his mind as his gaze travelled from your bright eyes to your perfect lips, going further until they reached the forbidden territory that hid under your skimpy apron.

“that’ll be $9.99.” you say sternly, snapping his gaze away from your chest, cursing yourself for not choosing less-revealing attire.

rafe’s eyes narrowed as they rose back to your eyes, his expression conforming to a scowl. “what? a black coffee is only five dollars!”

you rolled your eyes with a scoff. “being a perv costs extra. that’s the price of not having any goddamn decency.”

you knew how to rile him up, and that was by threatening his money. normally, he’d beat the tar out of any organism that even thought of squandering money from him, but you could barely fight the smirk that tugged at your lips as he attempted to sputter out a protestant response. naturally, he couldn’t say a word with you looking down at him like that, smiling ever so slightly at the conniption he began to have.

he tutted with disapproval, shaking his head as he dug into the pocket of his designer denim jeans, pulling out his leather wallet. he fished his fingers into the largest compartment, pulling out a fresh, uncreased twenty-dollar bill. he slammed it on the table, pushing it toward you and mumbling with defiant defeat. 

“...keep the fuckin’ change.”  

a smile lit up your face as you accepted the bill, stuffing it into your bra just so you could watch his cheeks flush once more. 

you smiled sweetly as you picked up your tray from the table, speaking to the boys in a faux-submissive tone.

“if anything is not to your liking, you know who to call.”

with that, you sauntered away, leaving rafe to stare at you from behind as he sulked, his elbow resting on the table as he stared into his reflection in the dark pool of liquid that sat in front of him. “...nothing but a shitty pogue, is what she is…”

he muttered to himself, hating how much he kind of liked it when you bitched at him. he wanted to shout at you and kiss you and shut you up as he drowned you in the love that he had concealed from you for all these years. if he truly wanted to, he could’ve even followed you behind the counter and finally recite the confessional speech he had been practicing for months.

but instead, he huffed quietly, looking back at the loser who stared right back at him in his cup of coffee.

something i can't get out of my mind is how Milo admitted he's like his mom ("I like to be in control"), but there are people in his life who call him baby girl. a lot.

a dichotomy i'm obsessed with now.