Ruin The Friendship [ dreamwastaken x reader ]

36 | can't wait

I walk into my apartment, drop my keys, go straight for my bed, slam myself in, and wrap up in a blanket. For comfort, I also grab the crocodile plushie from Clay's Halloween costume that he left. Mine now.

That was an insane Monday.

I got to class, immediately got pulled from class by the fucking police. Then interviewed by the fucking police.

Did I tell the truth? No, not even a little.

Sorry officer! I don't recognize that man! I was just there! The guy he beat up was super drunk and harassing me, though!

Surprisingly enough, Matt had been BAC tested, was way over the legal limit, and for that— the case is likely to get dropped before anything can come of it.

Thank God.

Still, I'm calling Clay.

"Hey, baby, I was just about to—" He starts, but I interrupt.

"You will not believe this shit—"

I explain it to him, and Clay hums.

"Lying to the pigs? You're such a bad girl." He says the second I'm done, voice low, laughing.

I smile for that, "I'd never snitch on you, daddy."

I hear him laugh back, then there's a moment of silence before he speaks again.

"Funny thing. Uh— I was about to call you. I actually..." Clay pauses for a moment, "Call me back on FaceTime." He says, and hangs up.

I knit my brow in confusion, but call him right back. As soon as he picks up and I see the video I gasp.

"No—"

"Yeaaaah—"

"Is it from the fight? Is it gonna be okay?" I ask, feeling horrible. Clay's right wrist is in a cast.

"Yes and yes. Just a fracture. Doc said it'll need just a couple weeks and it should be healed up." He says.

"I'm— I'm so— I'm so sorry—" I stutter out, leg jittering, curling in on myself. "Does it— can you still speedrun and play and—"

Clay hums. "Yeah. Fingers are all good. It doesn't even... hurt really. I only noticed because it started to swell up."

I exhale some of the tension. "Oh thank God. I was gonna cry if I actually screwed you over like that."

"Not your fault, baby. I made that choice." Clay says back.

It makes me smile, soft, private. "It's a little my fault."

"No." He cuts in, voice sounding absolutely final. "It's not. You can't blame yourself for the popularization of lack of consent in this mysoginistic socio-economic patriarchal—"

I moan.

Clay stops, laughing, flipping the camera to his face, grinning. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Keep using big words, daddy. I'm your stupid bimbo whore bitch. I'll spread my legs for your IQ." I tease.

He snorts a laugh. "Effervescent."

I moan, wanton, loud as I can, arching in my bed. "Daddy—! Chill!"

"Open those legs. It's 195 and throbbing." He says back, playing right along.

I keep moaning, biting my lip. "Oh my God— oh my God— it barely fits— ah— slower daddy, it's so big."

"You'll need a WAP to handle this IQ baby— just hold on for me—" He continues.

"Ah— I already squirted... I'm sowwy..." I say, biting my lip so I don't laugh.