𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒*

wesley castro | @salemroleplayhq

[wslycastro-archive]

kenzie-peters​:

-

Kenzie noticed his cheeks, a habit. She wonder if everyone found him transparent or she simply knew every inch of him by now. Her fingers urged to reach out to run over the soft skin, but she resisted. The diner seemed to fall quiet behind them, or maybe she ceased to notice it now with him in front of her.  Her brows furrow at the title, his inflection raising at the end. “Aren’t guys with sugar babies suppose to be like.. old?” Over the years, she learned the best way to deceive involved false ignorance. “You like pay her to suck your dick? Gross.” Kenzie’s words dug into her own skin, but she was willing to be a casualty in her own game if it meant wounding him the way seeing him with someone else did to her. “Can’t you just have casual sex like the rest of us?” Her eyes rolled. 

“Don’t do that.” Her lip pouted. Sometimes the hardest parts were when he was nice to her. “She looks liked an instagram model.”

--

Somehow Wes makes it a habit to make mistake after mistake when it comes to Kenzie. It hasn’t stopped then and he’s sure it won’t stop any time soon. The fact that she still pops into his life out of nowhere should be an indicator that it’s an eternal loop he’s put himself in from the moment he said I love you. 

He bristles at her comment, already feeling the same flare of irritation which usually fires up their arguments. Just like the old days. “No. Guys with sugar babies are ones that need a favor,” he tries to make his explanation sound simple enough. “Like when that guys’ parents are asking for a girlfriend and he doesn’t want one.” He huffs out that last part; relationships have never been good for him. “Nah, she just sucks my dick because she wants to,” he throws back, about to relish in what would be his win until she brings up casual sex. The image of her with someone else sits heavy in his stomach, but not as how it was before. “I’m getting enough sex. Don’t you worry about me.”

His expression softens a little at her pout; it’s like this with Kenzie: a roller-coaster of emotions. “She does,” he agrees. “She’s amazing.” She’s just a friend, he wants to reassure the woman, but what would that do? “Wait. Where did you see her?” 

[wslycastro-archive]

phoebe-winter​:

**

It was true, they spent just about as much time at his place as they did at their own. And sure, that was mainly because he owned a TV and his furniture was not ‘twice re-sold at Goodwill’ quality, but… yeah, okay, Wesley wasn’t too bad either. “Don’t tell Lainey how often I’m over here, yeah? I’m trying to construct this narrative where I’m, like, infiltrating this criminal clown gang. I haven’t figured out the ending yet, but it’s going to be epic…” There was only a roughly 50% chance her sister actually believed the rouse Phoebe was trying to put on, but Phoebe appreciated them playing along none the less. 

They smiled sheepishly when Wes suggested ordering in, shyly pulling his phone out of their back pocket. Kleptomania strikes again, but this time for good. “I maaaay have already swiped your phone and ordered Pad Thai. It’ll be here in 15 minutes.” They didn’t want to say they didn’t believe in Wes’ ‘genius,’ as he said, but… they didn’t believe in Wes’ genius. 

--

Wes feigns insult at their words, clutching his heart with features morphing of one that could only be categorized as comedic sadness. His parents would be so proud. “Am I your dirty little secret,” he whispers the last bit as if the very notion of it hurts his ego. “Because I’m pretty sure that telling Lainey you’re hanging out with someone as safe and responsible as moi would do you a whole lot better than going with a criminal clown gang. What does that even mean? Stealing kids for the circu -- oh shit wait. This could be a thing. Yeah. ‘Pennywise is at it again’. Right? Is this doing anything for you? Stop me before I start sounding stupid again.”

Hands pat at his now absent pocket, not at all surprised that they’re able to pull his phone  without his knowledge. Can he be faulted for being distracted? Yes. Will he ever answer the reason as to how? Never.

Wes is about to thank them when he realizes --. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. Pump the brakes. Are you telling me that while I was over here, pouring my heart and soul onto this --” He doesn’t even remember what he’s cooking anymore. “--perfectly good meal, you go and betray me like this? This hurts, Phoebe,” Wes tries to pull a more wounded expression but the smirk probably gives it away. “This is why I won’t cook for you anymore. You’ve done it this time.”

[wslycastro-archive]

opalzamora​:

.

It was too bothersome for Opal to try and sort out when their game started and when they were just two people who had entered a mutually beneficial partnership, so she elected to simply never stop playing. Wes was cute and he spoiled her with his words and his money, and there was no fairer trade as far as she was concerned. There were no strings here, no feelings to worry about, no machinations to weave within her words or actions. It was freeing in the way that none of her other relationships had been or ever could be. 

“Maybe,” she cooed, making her way back towards him with the new shirt in hand. “If you’re good.” Her eyes sparkled in a way that promised the exact opposite and her lips turned down as she pondered his question. “Blue,” she decided with a nod. “But feel free to buy them both and put on a little show for me later.”

-

Lord help Wes if his mother ever catches wind of this little ruse he has going on. She’s started talking more about social media presence and his excuses are starting to run thin. Still, he’s enjoying these moments with Opal because there’s no better way to let out frustrations of both overbearing and absent parents than by paying a woman to trick them. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have a pretty girl by his side; it helps push away whatever cloud of feelings that seem to bubble him whenever Phoebe’s around -- not that Opal’s a deterrent for those. They’re just easier to ignore. 

Maybe. Wes resists the urge of the pout from forming on his lips. A maybe seeing Opal naked is better than definitely not. “Good? I thought all the ladies wanted a bad boy.” He matches his words with a couple of finger guns. Nice. “Ah so you’re expecting a magic Mike night,” he purses his lips, as if deliberating on it. “But then you’d have to pay me, wouldn’t ya?”

[kenzie-peters]

who : @wslycastor​

where : the diner

The brown sandy hair bounced as he plopped into a seat at the counter. She’d recognize the locks anywhere, her eyes memorized how they curled on hot days as her fingers savored the smooth touch. The last time she saw Wesley her hands clung to that very hair as their bodies pressed together, not in romance per se, but extreme passion - a result of one of their many quarrels. As she thought, she remembered seeing him more recently, out shopping the past week. Kenzie stood from her table without a word to her friends where she was off too. Her feet move without permission from her brain. She slide into the space beside him, standing with her back pressed against the bar as her blue eyes found hi. “Who was that girl I saw you shopping with the other day?” Her brows furrowed as she asked him the question. He owed her nothing, but this was what they did. The back and forth never seemed to cease, constantly fighting for a reason to speak, even if it meant fighting. “She was pretty.” 

[wslycastro-archive]

The song that plays through his earbuds are left in the back burner with the young Castor zoning out as his eyes focuses on nothing through the windows of the diner he sits in. There’s a cold cup of coffee within reach but caffeine does nothing to quiet the words that bounce against the walls of his mind. The ever present urge for something stronger than a cigarette is ignored but even that vice is slowly being cut off from his life. Wesley is about to go call for a waitress when, without warning, a familiar face finds him by his side and there’s that thud against his chest at the sight of Kenzie. His last memories of her are brought to the forefront of his brain and the pinks that tint his cheeks are an indicator of just which memories. Her question is left unanswered but after a beat, he decides to do so anyway. “She’s my —.” Girlfriend is only meant for his mother’s ears. Friend seems a much more intimate response than the dynamic the two have. And so he settles on — “Sugar baby?” The last word tilts as if a question, as if he’s not sure if that’s a right answer — or if there even is one. “She’s beautiful, yeah,” he murmurs, unable to resist, “But she’s not you.”

[wslycastro-archive]

ofeliaortegaa​:

– 

“Oh you’re oh so confident today, who gave you a big boys cup to drink from.” She taunted, whilst he was actually bigger than her, he was still cursed with a baby face and she was never one to let him forget it. That would have just been too kind and when it was so easy to wind him up? Well why wouldn’t se take the fun option “Baby, three’s a crowd and what makes you think I’m willing to share anyone’s attention, anywhere.” That would just be boring and she much prefered to be the star of the show. “What, you’re telling me you’ve never found a woman that can take care of both at the same time? That’s why you need two?” 

--

“Confidence is only ninety-five percent audacity and five percent winging it and we both know I always have the audacity,” Wes points out, laughing at his own insult to himself. Ofelia is like his source of confidence; the energy she exudes gives him enough to feel like the glitch of his brain-to-mouth filter is nothing to be ashamed of. In any other case, he would choose his words carefully, but with her, it’s almost natural — idiotic in a way that he may look the fool, but he feels genuine and that’s all that counts. “Would you be willing to share it for an orgasm? I’m sure that’s a pretty even trade.” Wes has had his share of group-loving and so he’s always down for a good time. “I just like sharing the love around,” he exclaims. “But if you’re volunteering, I’m not opposing.”

[wslycastro-archive]

opalzamora​:

.

Opal had known he wouldn’t deny her the red dress, but the confirmation made her smile grow wider. In the beginning, she’d resented him, had wanted to bleed him dry and make it hurt for no other reason than he was born with the kind of privilege she had never known. Instead, he said things like that and the flattery alone had been worth seeing this through as the deal they made. 

She let him draw her in closer, blinking at him demurely through her lashes and reveling in the way his eyes trailed her. It was vain, maybe, but everyone had their vices, didn’t they? She stepped in even closer, the shirt a flimsy wall between them. Her lips at his ear, she said, “But I look best in nothing,” and pressed her lips to his cheek before strolling off casually, eyes catching another shirt in a deep emerald green. Holding it out toward him as though she hadn’t just purred in his ear, she closed one eye as she imaged him in it. “You should try this one, too. I can’t tell which one I like better.”

--

In the eyes of passer-bys, they look to be a normal couple — maybe with a bit more PDA than usual but at least they’re both playing the part right. Sometimes Wes loses himself in the role and while there’s a niggling voice at the back of his mind that’s longing for a more familiar set of eyes, or the scent of someone who’s been ingrained in his life for more than half of it, he ignores it to just appreciate the beauty that is Opal.

He groans at the way she so casually teases in public and resists the urge to just bury his face in the crook of her neck. Maybe if he’s good enough, he can convince her that sneaking to the nearest changing room would really hit the nail on the head with this whole faking it thing, but he knows it’ll be more of a scandal than anything. “Maybe you should show me how good you look in nothing,” he says instead, feeling her absence as she walks away. Eyes take in the new shirt that’s offered and there’s an effort in pulling his mind back in track. “Which one says ‘Mum, trust me. My date and I are just angels.’?”

[wslycastro-archive]

opalzamora​:

.

Opal had something of a soft spot for Wes. Perhaps that was because he paid her handsomely for something she’d have done for pennies and free alcohol, but she stepped in a little closer, giving him an assessing once over. “Blue really is your color. I did find a hot little red number I was eyeing, but…” She tugged the shirt free of his hold and held it up against herself, flashing him a flirty smile. “What do you think? My color, too?”

--

There are times when Wes wonders how he got into this predicament but then he remembers : 1) his first and only real relationship ended up in flames and 2) there’s no way in hell he’d gamble his friendship with Phoebe by asking her to do something like this. In any case, being with Opal is actually fun in a way — a sort of fuck you to his parents but in a more tactful manner.

“Get the red one. We can always use that when mum visits,” he says it so freely and with the woman, he doesn’t even blink when she wants something. Opal’s giving him a lot more in return. “Blue is definitely your color,” Wes comments, drawing her in closer to give her a once-over. “You look too good in everything. I might just get you the whole rainbow.”

[wslycastro-archive]

ofeliaortegaa​:

– 

“You know the more you talk Wesley and the more you let out of that little brain of yours the more of a marvel you become to me.” Ofelia hummed in amusement as she looked back at him, no matter how many times she spoke to him she didn’t think she would ever get board with some of the stuff he came out with. “But sure we can move on.” At his question a laughter poured from her, loud enough to capture the attention of a few people around them and she lent forward, chin propped on the top of her beer bottle. “Boy what makes you think you have a chance with the wife against me? And even more so who says you have the balls to take us both?” 

--

Wesley smiles like he’s been given a compliment and coming from Ofelia, it’s probably the closest he would get. “So you’re saying you like when my mouth’s open and you get a little part of my head. Gotcha.” He sneaks another glance at the bad date from hell and is not at all surprised that even they got caught in the woman’s laughter. “Well I’ve always assumed that three’s a party. Isn’t that how the expression goes?” Wes leans forward as well, grin tugging from the corner of his lips. This is what he likes about Ofelia — the way their wavelengths just match with the same vibe; there’s no second guessing what he’s saying or even caring if he’s said the wrong thing. “I have enough balls for both of you, love. Left and right.”

[wslycastro-archive]

phoebe-winter​:

**

As soon as Wesley had offered, Phoebe put their odds of having an actual edible meal at something dismal like 20%. It still remained to be seen, but the entertainment value thus far was totally on point. If the world could see it now: Wesley Castor cooking little ole her a meal… It tickled them actually, and they couldn’t resist from snapping a few pics for posterity’s sake (and maybe blackmail, depending on her mood…)  

“Oh, I’ve full on cleared my evening. Even brought a toothbrush, so I’m staying over if that’s what it takes to experience your culinary… is ‘prowess’ the word I should be using?” they teased from their perch on the counter. 

--

The recipe Wesley has out is still bright on his ipad screen and yet the words start to mix together. This looked a whole lot easier on Youtube. Still, he keeps the coy grin on his face because he doesn’t want to alarm Phoebe of the nature of their dinner. He poses for their pictures even if the internal panic is about to set in if yet another thing is set on fire. In that case, all he knows is to fight fire with fire, right? In theory it makes sense, but he’s not up for experimenting with the applicability of it.

“You say that like you’re never welcome here. I keep telling you -- the lease is practically half yours.” His chest settles a little when they say they’re staying over; amongst the many reasons as to why Wesley should not be alone, Phoebe has carved a little space in his life of must stick around for sanity’s sake. “Genius, babe. Culinary genius,” he corrects them, already tossing everything in the dishwasher. “But alas, the universe deems that you’re not ready for it yet. Let’s order something.”

[wslycastro-archive]

lainey-zhao-winter​:

.

He was speaking, but the words weren’t actually making much sense. Not to someone who actually knew about Harry Potter. And yeah, it was pretty clear that he was just guessing, talking about O negative blood and whatnot. Still, Lainey couldn’t help but be amused, nodding along like he was getting it all right. It wasn’t until he finally finished that the brunette let out a laugh, head shaking. “You’ve never seen or read Harry Potter, have you?” Head tilted with suspicion, a smile cracking at the corner of their lips. “Don’t lie, it’s totally obvious.” Not that Lainey was mad about it or anything, but it was pretty amusing. Most people just came out and admitted they didn’t like it, or had never had anything to do with the series. 

--

It’s by Lainey’s laughter that Wes assumes he’s gotten everything right and he’s about to congratulate himself when her question has him deflating a little. Damn. He really did think he could pull it off. While he’s not as manipulative as his parents, he at least thought he gathered enough charm to talk from his ass. Guess he needs a little more practice. “Okay, hear me out. When I first heard about this little twit going through a magical adventure, I was thinking some lame cgi movie thing, you know? Plus a few mates back then thought it was so cool I never heard of him so I guess I just never gave it a chance.” Wes has a lot of those — not giving things a chance just because he once cared at how people looked at him because of it. “Is it as good as people say?”

[opalzamora]

WHERE: anywhere that sells clothes. WHO: open. [ @srphq-starters​ ]

It wasn’t often that Opal took the day off– even rarer for her eyes to scan simply over the racks of clothes rather than taking stock of who surrounded her, of what they wore, of how distracted they looked. But with her hair thrown up into a messy bun, yoga pants, and slouchy sweater, she felt almost… peaceful. 

Turning a corner to the next aisle, her eyes landed on another, watching with a disconnected sort of curiosity as they held up the garment as though assessing whether or not it was worth it. In a rare moment of genuine affability, she found her feet carrying her forward, a bland but friendly smile on her face. “That’s a great color for you. I say go for it.”

[wslycastro-archive]

Wesley loves his parents, he does — even if neither of them had a hand on properly raising him. What’s just irksome is the fact that when they do decide to bring out the “I’m your mother/father” card, it’s when they need him to portray the darling son that they’ve tricked the tabloids for him to be. That’s where Opal comes in. Opal is part of that package and even if he has to pay for the appearance, it’s a lot easier than circumnavigating through feelings he doesn’t even know he has in him. As it is, he foots the bill and she gives them what they want.

Holding up the shirt he’s looking to wear for the next charity gala, he turns towards the source of her voice. “You think? I was trying to go one so we can do matchies. What are you going to end up wearing then?”

[wslycastro-archive]

ofeliaortegaa​:

– 

“You know I never understood the use in that game when you’re out in public, and especially if you’ve got shoes on I mean screw you kicking me under the table.” The dark haired woman huffed. It hadn’t ever been appealing to her and she wasn’t sure she was going to start finding it attractive any time soon - even at home the idea of starting sexual encounters with feet was - odd. “Well I mean if he manages to pull that out of the bag then I think I’m just going to be proud of him because she’s hot.” She squealed in delight at the question he asked though and her hands clapped together. “Oh easy, fuck the wife, kill the guy and marry whoever set the two of them up because they clearly like to meddle in peoples lives and I can get on board with that.” 

--

Given the fact that the adventures from his youth have opened up doors he now wishes remained clothes, Wesley’s seen it all, and so a little foot fetish doesn’t deter him — just makes him that much curious. “I think it’s more fucking with the feet? I’ve seen vibrators as tiny as toes, so I’m sure it’s something like that — not like I’ve done anything like that — can we just move on now?” He nods at Ofelia’s judgment of the woman and he’s happy to learn that the town he’s settled on is filled with beautiful people. “Good answer,” he nods approvingly, not at all surprised that they’ve both decided to fuck the wife. The duo has impeccable taste, of course. “If this is a blind date gone wrong, do you think she’d be willing to shack up with either — or better yet both — of us?”

[wslycastro-archive]

valeriacastillo​:

.

Unable to tell if Wesley was joking or seriously inquiring about oat milk being derived the same way as animal milk, Valeria simply shook her head and laughed as she handed him his drink. “It’s made from combining water and rolled oats. I tried making it once, but it just came out watery and not as great as the store-bought ones,” Valeria recounted, making a face as she recalled disposing of her failed DIY in the kitchen sink. “Speaking of weird projects, what are you and Phoebe doing today? I assume you’re meeting them given… well, this,” the woman inquired, motioning to the ingredients on Wesley’s drink that made it pretty clear he was going to be caffeinated for a good while. Something she did during her college days when she needed to power through something, whether it be an assignment or a night out on the town with friends.

--

The woman’s laughter jolts him out of his half awake state; if there’s anything Wesley’s learned from his parents, it’s to keep up appearances for everything. He nods at Valeria’s words as if he’s understanding the whole process, but his life’s a blur of not knowing where things come from and money making things appear so when she starts talking about rolled oats, his brain checks out of the conversation. It comes back when Phoebe’s mentioned. “As much as we’re attached at the hip, we actually don’t have plans ’til later. This coffee is just to make sure I can function properly without wanting to keel over every few minutes.” Wesley’s vices are under control, but he gives way to caffeine; that’s something he can never give up. “So my schedule’s pretty much open for the day unless you have something in mind? Something involving me and fun?”

[wslycastro-archive]

closed: @phoebe-winter​

“I’m going to make you dinner.”

Days ago, when Wesley foolishly announced that he was indeed going to try making them both a meal, he really did think that he was up for the task. The fact that his kitchen isn’t burnt down yet is nothing short of a miracle, but when he promises his best friend something, he’s going to see it through. The smoke detector’s going off and he’s now aware of what preheating the oven means. There’s a smudge of something sticky across his cheek and the water he’s trying to boil somehow burns a hole through his pot.

“So I think I’m going to need a few more minutes” He addresses his friend, cheeky grin on his face. “Let’s say half hour just to be safe. I have some saltines in the pantry if you’re getting hungry.”

[wslycastro-archive]

Why are you scared of Greyson? 👀

The choked out laugh that leaves his lips is involuntary. “Wha — ? Scared of Greyson? Who says I’m scared of Greyson?” Sweaty palms wipe against the denim of his jeans. Has Wes been found out? Dear Lord, he’s not even sure if he’s committed a crime. “Listen. Greyson and I are cool. I take care of his kid sometimes and by now, I’m a hundred percent sure I’m a professional.” A professional liar but he doesn’t voice that lest the man is hiding in somewhere just waiting for Wes to admit that he doesn’t know shit about baby sitting. Could he have saved themselves the embarrassment and just fessed up the moment he was offered the job? Probably. But he’s here now and it’s been too long. “Not afraid. Nope. Definitely not. Why? What did you hear? Did he say something? His kid loves me,” he’s starting to babble now. “My face is too pretty to be on the side of a milk carton!”

@greysonwinter

[ofeliaortegaarchive]

location: the lobster shanty 

status: open ( @srphq-starters )

“no you know, i bet you anything this was a blind date.” ofelia muttered, voice lowered though she wasn’t quite sure why given how loud it was in here and she very much doubted the young couple were paying much attention to herself and her companion anyway. “i can’t tell if the conversation though, is super awkward or if they’re super into each other.” personally she was just impressed at the impeccable taste of venue for a first date, even if it wasn’t her cooking today. it might have been a dive bar sort of place to some, but it was almost like home to her at this point and it was a relaxed place for a date. “i tell you what, they kiss by the end of the night this whole tab is on me.” though she was planning on using her staff discount anyway. 

[wslycastro-archive]

Wesley knows it’s rude to stare, but judging people with Ofelia always seems like a treat. He isn’t one to be malicious about it, but it’s rather amusing and it’s not like it’s hurting anyone. (God, he really does take after his mother.) He’s pretty sure he’s being discreet about it anyway but with the side eyes he’s receiving, he’s starting to wonder if they’re onto them. “Blind date or not, I think they’re about to play footsie under the table. The balls this man has on him, holy shit,” he gasps in awe. “I don’t think they’re going to stop at kissing.” Wes settles in a little more comfortably in his seat. If they’re going to have a show, he’s going to enjoy it, thank you very much. “Okay but fuck, marry, kill either of them. I’d fuck the wife and probably marry the guy. Kill the person who set this up. You?”

[rollinsxmanda]

SALEM, MASS ⇢ EL MIRAGE                                                                    FT. ANYONE @srphq-starters​

Friday nights were always a favorite time for Crimson and not just because she had gotten bigger tips than she did throughout the week. It was because she loved spending the time with her aunt and uncle - sitting outside by the fire pit and drinking under the stars. It was a hard couple of months without them but she was getting by, as best as she could. She had slipped out the back and into the alley next to the club. The air was warm against her rather cool skin and she rummaged through her bag to grab the food that she brought with her. She was in the middle of eating when she heard footsteps approaching. “A strippers got to eat right?” she laughed, looking up at the person. “I would offer you some but I’m not that nice. You enjoy the shows in there?” she asked, referencing the strip club.

[wslycastro-archive]

There are nights when Wesley slips. It’s disappointing but his parents forbade him to check himself into rehab — think of the tabloids — and trying to get sober on his own is a hit or miss most days. Tonight he needs something to take the edge off; nothing too much but just enough to satisfy that craving for a long, long while. He’s heard of a dealer near the strip club that can get him some molly. It’s a party drug, he figures. It’s not as bad as it could be. 

Approaching the alley, he’s met with a woman and if rumors are to be true, Wesley knows that this isn’t the person he’s looking for. Maybe this is a sign from the universe that he should probably stay clean; maybe he’s already mucked it up by coming in earlier than expected. Or maybe Wesley just doesn’t know how directions work and he’s at a wrong place. 

Either way, at least he’s got a stranger to bother. “Yeah. Women and their bitties, you know. Really gets me going.” Wesley still wants a hit and maybe if he asks nicely, the universe will take back this monumental fuck you by keeping his dealer away. “Listen. I know this is a long shot, but do you have something fun in your pocket,” he stammers, tries to get his mind on right. “What I mean to say is — do you have anything on you?”