Hate Fuckย { ๐ข.๐ก. }
Summary: Your relationship with Ethan is a little complicated โ after meeting him at a bar and fucking him in what was meant to be a one-night stand, you canโt seem to get rid of him. The cocky asshole wonโt leave you alone, and, if youโre being honest with yourself, you canโt leave him alone either. You hate him, detest him, canโt stand him โ but god does he know how to fuck you just right. You know this cycle canโt lead anywhere goodโฆ or, can it?
Warnings: lots of aggressive sex, lots of sex, sex, and some fluff to tie it all together
โSo, what do you like to do for fun?โ you asked, an optimistic smile upturned on your face, leaning in to force yourself to believe you were interested. Maybe if you acted out the body language, you could trick your brain into liking this guy.
Ricky, his name was. You repeated it in your head over and over, not wanting to awkwardly forget it. He looked sort of similar to his Tinder profile pictures, enough so that you couldnโt cry catfish. โI like hunting and fishing a lot,โ Ricky said, and you bristled.
You tried not to show it, tried to salvage whatever was left of your chances of getting a good fuck out of your third Tinder date of the week, but jesus did you hate guys who hunted and fished. Whether you ate animals or not, it was such a weird and fucked up hobby. The fact that people saw hunting and fishing โ killing animals โ as a means of fun rather than survival rubbed you all the wrong ways.
โWhat do you like about it?โ you tried, as you had been all night.
โWell, I used to do it with my dad,โ he said, a small smile coming across his features. For a second, you relaxed, thinking perhaps thereโd be a sentimental moment, and maybe you could look past his dirty habit because maybe it held nostalgic value. But then, he continued. โPlus, thereโs something real amazing about taking down an animal bigger than you. Kind of exhilarating, actually.โ
You let out a deflated sigh, all the hope for the evening rushing out of your body. You twirled your vodka cranberry around in its cup, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. You looked away from your โdateโ to glance at the television, briefly assessing the score plastered across the bottom of the screen to see what team was winning. When the hockey game on the screen didnโt pique your interest, you glanced around at the sticky bar top, little spills of water, soda, and juice that had yet to be taken care of because of the rush of customers, barely noticeable in the dingy, yellow light of the bar.
โIโm going to the bathroom,โ you told Ricky, with the bearded man barely looking up from his beer as he grunted a sound of acknowledgment, eyes glued to the TV. You were almost certain heโd wanted to take you there just to watch the game. He didnโt seem to notice you take your drink with ย you on your way to the โbathroom.โ
Really, you were just ready to give it up and call it quits. You were fully prepared to call a taxi to take you home, shower, and go to sleep. You even pulled out your phone to order a ride when you were knocked into, your drink spilling all over your white top.
