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#but god i guess i just hate myself so fucking much it's seeping out into everything
elslovers · 9 months
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i neeeeed need abby to make me feel better about having such a shit dad. as someone currently coming to terms with just how much their dad sucks i just know abs would be such a good comfort.
summary: fathers day is easily the hardest day of the year for you it weighs heavy on you every single year but thankfully this year you have abby
authors note: this was such a sweet one to write fathers day can be really hard for a lot of people including myself so I hope this helps and warms yalls heart like it did mine and too anyone else who can relate fuck dads
YOUR DESERVING
“fuck him"
you mutter, throwing your phone down against the bed and ignoring the pile of texts from your girlfriend Abby was going to have to wait it was taking all your mental energy not to grab your phone again and shatter it against the wall
your phone screen lights up again, and you peer at the text through tear filled eyes
abby <3 : I'm headed to my dad's. Can you just let me know your okay?
and you want to tell her you are you want to so bad, but you've never been able to lie to Abby, so you settle on a thumbs-up reaction and turn off your phone until the miserable Day is over because, in all honesty, if you see one more happy father-daughter duo posting photo collages of them, it might just kill you
fathers Day always makes you feel small
but this year was unbearable. In years passed, and you would send a card out for your dad in the post, send him a text, maybe even ask if he wanted to come over and have dinner
but this year, you sat idly by refusing to act as though he was ever anything resembling a father because now you know good and well he isn't seeing Abby with her dad solidified in your mind that that what you had wasn't that of a father at all you'd spent your whole life desperately trying to earn his love his praise his attention but after seeing how freely Abbys dad gives it you knew none of this was supposed to be this hard
and it hurt it hurt so much more than you could explain
you spent your Day in the safety of your apartment, growing out of the noise of your mind with whatever mindless sitcom peaked fancy at any given hour
you tried not to let it hurt
you knew it was wrong to ignore Abby the way you had, but you didn't want your issues seeping Into what for her was a happy day, but you never could lie to her so avoiding the situation seemed to be your best bed
it all ached. It was a dull type of pain that came in harsh flashbacks to your childhood, all the waiting by the phone hoping he would call just to be let down all the birthdays he ignored all the times you were supposed to visit that he just ignored
it affected you greatly left you questioning your worth at every single turn
if he didn't want you how could anyone else right?
abby was aware of this she saw how intensely his lack of presence in your life and the hell he gave you when he was had shaped you she watched you second guess your every move you made it broke her heart watching the girl she loved so much hurt all because he didn't show up how you deserved
it felt impossible to untangle the version of him he made you into from who you actually wanted to be
but abby wanted to help you
she had to help you
Abby palmed her keychain flipping through them until she found the key to your apartment before unlocking the door
and oh did her heart ever break at the sight
you were tangled up in blankets a crying mess as you clutch a mug of what she has to assume is not tea judging by the half empty bottle of vodka on the counter
seeing her girl so broken up was enough to bring her to tears
"abby..." god you hated how weak your voice sounded so sad you hated that he still had this power over you that after all these years that his grip was still strong enough to make you break
"oh oh honey hi..." she spoke gently making her away over to settle beside you on the couch her voice was gentle but her mind trying and failing to suppress the violence she wanted to inflict on the man who made you like this she wanted to ruin him how he tried to ruin you and show him that regardless of how horrible he was to you you still turned out so well that regardless of all the darkness he inflicted on you you were still the brightest person she knew
"today is the worst day" you muttered and she felt her heart break a little harder "all I ever wanted was for him to be around and there has to be a whole goddamn day to remind me that he wasn't that lots of other girls got what I didn't that of whatever reason I just wasn't good enough to deserve a dad"
Abby never thought about it quite like that how truly painful this Day must be for you seeing all the girls including her with their gold star dads and here you have been all Day drowning your sorrows in liquor and sitcoms wondering why you didn't deserve a dad lie everyone else got
"oh angel" abby cooed out her arm hand covering the expanse of your cheek as she pulled you into her side determined to offer you all the comfort she could "you deserved a dad you deserved more then just a dad you deserved someone who showed up for you who held you when you cried and loved you the way you deserve he never took care of you and he's a fuckin pussy but i'm gonna take care of you do you understand? im gonna fix what he broke baby and one Day your gonna see how deserving of that you are"
you didn't know how bad you needed her words until she spoke them but you needed them oh so badly you trusted abby she was the only dim guiding light you had left in this world and if she said you were going to be okay you knew you would
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hornime · 3 years
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voyeurant | kenma kozume x f!reader
he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...
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warnings: 18+, timeskip!kenma, kinda dubcon, kenma’s unintentionally pervy, male masturbation, poorly written video game content (i tried my best), mutual pining but u both are oblivious
w/c: 1.5k
a/n: yes, the title is a shitty pun of valorant. no, i will not be changing it. also this tiktok about timeskip kenma made me giggle so pls enjoy.
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voyeurant: part one ↓ | part two | part three:
“fuck, i hate this map,” kenma grumbled into his headset.
your voiced chimed in his ears. “is it ascent?” you turned to see his face on your screen, pinched in annoyance. “ha, it is ascent. sucks for you.”
“which one are you on? haven?”
“you know it,” you chuckled. “your favorite.”
“i hate you.” he weighed his options, did he really want to play this game? the layout of the world made it irritatingly hard to strategize, and today’s losing streak was making him more agitated than usual. with a sign, he closed the application. “fuck this. i’m gonna go piss.”
“yeah, yeah, you’re such a big baby. and...” you released your mouse, throwing your hands up in triumph, “we just won. at this point, i’m gonna outrank you.” you were joking, of course. kenma wasn’t just a gamer, he was kodzuken, one of japan’s best pro-gamers, and you were just someone that played as a hobby. but it was always fun to tease.
“hmm,” he hummed. “i’m sure you will.” he turned his head to look directly at his webcam, smirking, “in your dreams.”
“ooh, catboy’s getting feisty!” he flinched at the nickname. “go pee so i can beat you at your best.”
he obliged, pulling his headphones off and looping them on the top of his chair. he casually raised his middle finger at you while smoothing out strands of his hair, prompting a series of profanities to escape your mouth, none of which he could hear. he chuckled playfully as you responded with two middle fingers of your own, before moving out of the camera to get to the bathroom.
you and kenma had met in an... interesting way, to say the least. after going moderately viral from lashing out at him for refusing to heal you in a game of overwatch—while he was streaming—the two of you reconciled over a twitter thread and exchanged gamer tags. since then, you’d struck up an easygoing friendship, characterized by almost nightly discord calls and occasional flirting. but we’re just friends, you often reminded yourself. and you were fine, well, mostly fine, with that.
tonight was like any other night: both you and him spending hours in a video chat with nothing better to do than mindlessly play games and bash each other. it was more than enough to strengthen your relationship but fell short of giving you the romantic tension you craved.
with kenma off in the bathroom, you, already bored, spun wildly in your chair. forgetting that your earbuds were still plugged in, the white wire caught on an opened can of coke sitting on your desk, spilling the sugary drink all over your keyboard and the front of your shirt. 
“shit!” you quickly scrambled for paper towels, but the still-connected wire yanked you backwards. in your haste for something to wipe the soda with, the fact that your camera remained on in the video call completely slipped your mind. making the split-second decision that the trip for a towel wasn’t worth it at this point, you quickly whipped off your shirt, dabbing the keys with the part that was still dry. since you were home, you’d gone braless, and your current predicament had you flashing your webcam.
now, kenma had seen a lot of things from your side of the call: he’d seen you get chewed out by your residential advisor for being too loud, you with two sticks of pocky poking out of your mouth like walrus tusks, and you doing random cosplay moves you’d seen on tiktok. what he wasn’t expecting to see, not even in his wildest dreams, was a screenful of your tits, slightly damp from the cola that had seeped through the fabric of your long-gone shirt.
he stopped in his tracks, still out of the frame of his camera, eyes wide and heart racing, desperately trying to calm down and prevent the gradual hardening of his cock in his pants. unable to deny his desires, he continued staring at your plump breasts on his computer, you completely unaware that he could see you.
you quickly threw your soaked top in the laundry basket before throwing on a random sweatshirt and trying to calm your frazzled nerves. you tentatively touched your keyboard, groaning internally when you fingers lightly stuck to the buttons. it’s gonna take forever to clean this, you mourned.
“hey,” kenma mumbled, reappearing on screen and shaking you out of your thoughts.
“hey.” you noticed his flushed expression. “are you okay? you look really red.”
“uh, yeah. i actually uh, i feel kinda sick. so i’m gonna, gonna go.”
“oh, okay.” why’s he acting so weird? “feel better!” you disconnected from the call with a huff, disappointment morphing your face into a pout. well, you thought, better get to cleaning.
kenma, on the other hand, was still, swallowing as the bulge in his boxers became agonizingly hard. though the only thing left on his screen was his reflection staring back at him, the luscious view of your bust was etched in his mind. his hands moved to free his cock, the tip an angry red and smearing pre-cum over the waistband of his underwear. 
he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...
“fuck,” he whined, slowly stroking up and down. his thighs trembled as he fell back into his chair, mind wandering. he couldn’t stop himself, his thoughts become more and more lewd, fantasizing about how your breasts would bounce as he thrusted into you, how your thighs would wrap warmly around your head as he ate you out, how you’d cry out his name so prettily when he made you squirt around his fingers.
it was all too much, and as the circle he made with his fingers tightened as he reached his tip, he lurched forward, alarmed at how good everything felt just by thinking about you. i can’t cum, i can’t, the small part of his brain that wasn’t completely overtaken with pleasure tried to reason with him. there’s no going back if i—shit—if i cum. she’ll know, somehow, if i—if i cum, i—
the ecstasy kept clouding his judgement and his body worked against his mind as his hand pumped faster and faster while his conscience screamed to stop. his wrist wetly slapped the base of his cock, the sounds of both his hands and his moans getting too loud for comfort, but all he could think about was you. your eyes, your mouth, your chest, your legs, your ass, your pussy. god, he wanted to be in you so badly.
he couldn’t hold back, his insatiable need to cum overriding his senses, and the translucent liquid twitched out of his throbbing cock in spurts, drenching his fist and his balls. “fuck, fuck, fuck. i’m—fuck.”
he collapsed against the back of his chair, chest heaving with the sheer intensity of his orgasm. he combed a hand through his hair, the consequences of his actions now weighing heavily on his shoulders. i’m never gonna be able to look at her in the eyes again, he lamented. how am i ever gonna—damn it. 
the sudden ping of a notification had his eyes raising from the mess on his pants towards his computer screen. 
meanwhile, you were messaging kenma, a little off-put by his sudden radio silence but chalking it all up to his mysterious sickness.
[11:05 PM] you: hey ken! hope u feel better
[11:05 PM] you: if u get the chance u should check out what i added to our minecraft house. its perfect for sick victorian orphans like u
[12:14 PM] you: guess
[12:05 PM] you: guess
[12:05 PM] you: guess
[12:05 PM] you: guess
[12:05 PM] you: why arent u responding
[12:05 PM] you: guess
[12:05 PM] you: ok u got me ill tell u
[12:05 PM] you: its a hot tub
[12:05 PM] you: but with soup
[12:05 PM] you: but the soup is lava
[12:05 PM] you: genius right
[12:06 PM] you: anyway get some sleep and feel better <3
[12:06 PM] you: lmk if u wanna play animal crossing
[12:06 PM] you: actually no u should sleep. rest ur eyes and shit
[12:06 PM] you: no animal crossing for u!
[12:06 PM] you: sleep well so i can destroy ur ass in val tmrw
[12:06 PM] you: >:)
he sighed as he read your one-sided ramblings. he really liked you.
and he really wanted to fuck you. lucky for you, you wanted the exact same thing. 
if only kenma knew what you did on the other side of the screen, hands in your undies and his name on your lips...
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>> part two
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© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.
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dr0wning-in-hell · 3 years
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Sacrifice - Hope Mikaelson
Summary : Hope is always sacrificing herself for others, everyone knows that including her girlfriend, Y/N. When fighting against another unknown monster from Malivoire, Y/N jumps in front of Hope to try and protect her, but ends up with major consequences. 
Word Count : 1000
Warnings : angst, near death, crying, angry!reader, angry!hope, fluff
Prompt : “ hi!! i was wondering if you could do something angsty with hope from legacies but with a happy ending ?🥺🥺🥺 only if you can!! “ - anon
Pairing / characters : Hope Mikaelson x witch!reader, Landon, Lizzie, Josie,
A/N : This is very short with very shitty writing, I am truly sorry. I’m also sorry I haven’t posted in so long, a lot of horrible things have happened to me lately and it’s hard trying to find the motivation to write. I will be trying to post more since school is coming to an end! Hope you enjoy this small piece.
new masterlist | prompt list | color prompt list
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It was an endless nightmare at the Salvatore Boarding School. Monsters were coming out of that gooey pit in Kansas left and right, leaving some of the elder students and some staff to protect the younger students. 
One student who took thins a bit too far when trying to protect the younger students was Hope Mikaelson. Everyone was aware of how protective she was over everyone, despite being so cold and hard to get to. The one who knew this best was Y/N, Hope’s best friend and girlfriend. Y/N knew that protecting the students from the never ending sea of monsters was a big deal, especially since they were so close to getting rid of everything once and for all.
The newest monster however, was a lot harder to beat than the others. Never in a million years did the students of the boarding school think they’d have to encounter a basilisk. When they first saw the creature everyone immediately thought of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Thankfully this was real and some of the concepts from the movie were false.
Lizzie, Landon, Josie, Hope, Alaric, and Y/N were in the sewers trying to find the beast when one of the twins felt something wrap around their leg and start dragging them to God knows where. The group followed the beast, throwing rocks and casting spells in some attempt to get it stop. When it finally did they got to see how big it truly was. 
“I fucking hate snakes,” Y/N grumbled glancing at her girlfriend, who was already pulling out a vile of some potion that was supposed to kill the monster. While everyone was doing their parts to distract the snake and free one of the twins, Y/N and Hope were finishing the potion. While distracted with finishing the concoction, the snake gravitated towards Hope. 
Y/N was the closest one to her, and not wanting anything to happen to her she jumped in front of Hope. Only seconds later was Y/N trying to protect herself with any spell possible but was too late when the snake wrapped its’ tail around her legs and threw her across the sewers. Y/N’s body hit the wall with a hard thud, cracking the wall slightly. When Hope looked over she saw her girlfriend laying on the ground, a small pool of blood seeping from the crack in her head.
Hope threw the potion as Alaric and the twins finished off the Basilisk. She rushed over to Y/N who was laying motionless on the ground. Her skin was paling and the amount of blood leaving her body grew. The group made their way out of the sewers trying to keep their friend alive for as long as they could.
It had felt like forever until they reached the school, but when they finally arrived they rushed Y/N to the nurses office where Kaleb fed her his blood in order to close the wound. Alaric stitched up what was left of the wound on her head, and cleaned off the blood as they all waited to see what was going to happen. Hope was pacing back and forth next the bed Y/N was laying on, while the others went to go clean themselves up. 
Hope had tears forming in her eyes, even though no one ever saw her cry or express her emotions, they all knew how much it would break her if Y/N died. She kept mumbling things to herself, blaming Y/N’s current state on herself and not protecting her girlfriend. Little did she know that Y/N put herself in between Hope and the giant snake to protect her, just liked how she was always protecting everyone else.
It took another two hours for Y/N to finally wake up, and when she did she was tackled into a bear hug by her girlfriend.
“Why’d you do that? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Hope said slightly angry as she pulled away from Y/N, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she sniffled.
Y/N groaned slightly as she sat up, an arm going to wrap around her waist. “You protect everyone all the time, Hope. I love you and I wasn’t going to lose my girlfriend so I did what I had to.” Y/N said simply. Hope shook her head as she held Y/N’s hand.
“I sacrifice myself to make sure that everyone’s lives can go on. I can heal, I can-” Hope was cut off by Y/N pressing her lips against Hope’s. 
When she pulled away she was face to face with a shocked and blushing tribrid. “And this time it was my turn to sacrifice myself to make sure you survive. I can’t live without, you know that.” Y/N said softly as she held Hope’s hand in her own, the pad of her thumb running over her hand.
Hope nodded, “I guess it was an equal trade,” she smiled softly at her girlfriend. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Y/N nodded in response, pulling Hope into her side as the two held each other in silence until they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.
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after-witch · 3 years
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Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]
Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]
Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?
Word Count: 8955
notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters
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Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.
That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:
“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”
It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?
You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.
He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.
“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”
His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.
“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.
He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.
“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.
He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.
But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.
So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.
A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.
**
"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."
You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.
But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.
The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.
"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."
The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.
"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"
Fucking. Ransom.
"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.
You have to call Ransom.
You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.
You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.
You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.
"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"
"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"
His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.
"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."
He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"
You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."
"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"
He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."
"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.
Fucking. Ransom.
You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.
"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”
"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."
You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.
**
The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.
But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.
You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.
Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 
The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”
So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.
The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 
But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.
The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.
Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.
Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.
You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.
You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.
**
“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”
You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.
So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”
“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”
You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.
Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.
You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.
The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.
“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”
You don’t get a chance to finish.
“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”
You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.
“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”
“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”
Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn���t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”
“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”
You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.
“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”
He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”
He hangs up. Your hands shake.
You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.
You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.
Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.
Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.
But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.
The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.
Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.
Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.
Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.
Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 
No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 
Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?
You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.
A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.
There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.
“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”
Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.
“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.
Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.
He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.
“We have to let you go.”
The words don’t register.
“Go where?”
It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.
“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”
Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.
Ransom was here.
“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”
You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.
You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?
“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.
Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”
He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.
It takes all of your effort not to cry.
You don’t have much effort left.
**
Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.
You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.
To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.
The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.
You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.
But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.
The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”
“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”
“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”
You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”
The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.
“Is there another card you can give us?”
“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”
“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”
You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.
“Yes.”
You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.
The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.
You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”
The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.
Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.
You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.
At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.
You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.
But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.
Your stuff is gone. All of it.
You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.
“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”
Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”
Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”
You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.
At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.
You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.
You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.
All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.
You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  
You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.
Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.
Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.
For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.
But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.
You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.
But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.
“What the fuck?”
He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.
You text him: What??
He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P
It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.
His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.
“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”
“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”
You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.
“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”
He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”
You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.
His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.
“Why do you think?”
To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?
“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.
“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”
You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.
He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”
He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.
“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”
He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “
He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.
It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.
His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.
Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.
Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.
Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.
“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.
You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.
But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.
You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.
Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.
“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.
His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”
You feel your eyes practically bugging out.
“What the fuck, Ransom?”
He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.
“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”
Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.
You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.
He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.
Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”
You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.
“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.
“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.
“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”
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scrawnytreedemon · 2 years
Text
Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.
Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.
I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.
And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.
However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.
See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.
I think you can see where I’m going with this.
Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.
I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy. 
What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.
When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.
Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.
Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.
It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.
These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.
Let me elaborate.
A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.
Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,
Victor is depressed.
I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.
Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.
Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.
Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.
And I think that’s the thing with Victor.
He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.
People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,
But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.
That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.
Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.
I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.
It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.
Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.
He could have done better. Should have done better.
And he knows this.
His entire arc is about how he knows this.
Victor dies knowing this.
Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.
God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.
I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.
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withoneheadlight · 3 years
Note
I’m s o r r y but I made myself sad over this one so naturally I’m here to share the pain
Okay so I was thinking about the alternate timelines//realities thing and what if there’s a universe where Billy dies, and a universe where Steve dies,, and somehow they meet ~maybe in the Upside Down???~ and Steve is like 🥺 b i l l y,,, but Billy can’t deal with it??? Like, “you’re A Steve, but you’re not MY Steve”
| quick heads up!: mentions of death and mourning ahead |
.
Ahhhhhh, Kelly!. Bring the pain, bring the pain, we’ll deal with it together, cry together, blow our noses together! 😢😢
i’ve been having my mind full of that alt timelines/realities idea these last few days, and that’s surely the reason why that’s what I saw in your beautiful 3-sentence fic, both because a post i saw about one of the boys dying (i can’t find it now. please human who posted it, tell me if it was yours!) and bc of this marvel @edith-moonshadow (<3) wrote in one of my posts. and then you sent me this ask and wrote that fantastic piece and-- IT'S ALL BEEN VERY COSMIC AND PLANETARY ALINGTMENLY and i didn’t want to make myself sadder or make you sadder but,
,
I can imagine how it’d go. Both of them trapped on the upside-down. Both of them bleeding out. Sliced down as they are, right through the middle. Half a Billy and half a Steve, the wound still fresh with the part they’re missing and I imagine they could barely stand it, right at the beginning, the mere sight of that other that’s not― That’ just not. What was once love rotting into hate, into feeling trapped, doomed, to live in this cage with the constant reminder of their loss.
And Billy’d miss the way Steve used to roll his eyes at him, and the way Steve used to sigh all dramatic like ‘God, Billy Hargrove, you’re too much for me I swear’ but would then wink and pull him close and steal a kiss, voice falling low to smile a ‘Definitely way more than I deserve’ into his mouth. Would miss the way Steve used to brush his hair to the side, bite at the curve of his neck, and words, they always sounded better when Steve traced them against the shell of his ear ‘Tell me I’m your pretty boy’ he’d say and Billy would tell him, would try to catch his lips but ‘Ah-ah’ and Steve’d shake his head, brush their lips together ‘First babe, you gotta tell me how much I love you’, holding him tight and not letting him go ‘till Billy would get over the way his cheeks were blushing, and tell him. But―
This Steve. This Steve doesn’t love this Billy. Doesn’t love Billy. This Steve gets mad and yells at him when Billy’s been ‘Too fucking much, I swear! You’re too fucking much’ and it hurts, when he puts his hands on his hips and looks exactly like his Steve. And it hurts even worse, when he sets his jaw and looks wrong and like somebody else completely (And it hurts even worseworseworse, when he finally says it, what they both think. When he opens up those pretty lips Billy used to kiss, to love, those pretty lips that used to say ‘I love you’: “Of all the monsters in here, you’re the only one that gives me nightmares”).
This Steve never calls him by his name. This Steve doesn’t look him in the eye. This Steve hates him.
And weeks pass, and months pass, and they repel each other, can't stand each other but ―they can’t, either, even if none of them ever says it, bear the idea of splitting apart. And Steve’s house is not Steve’s house, but it makes do, with its walls re-painted in horrors and damp seeping through the floral wallpaper of the hallway his mama used to be so proud of. And there’s mold growing in the mattress and invisible night-terrors that bite living in the blankets and it gets cold at night. Cold and lonely and hopeless. And Steve doesn't want to and Billy doesn't want to but. They sleep together. Back to back. Touch only where they have to touch. Not to freeze (not to feel. Except they― ). Wake up together (like they used to). Steve's face buried in Billy's curls and the smell, the smell is the same. Exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly. The same. Right there, all along the tenderness at the curve of Billy’s (this. Not his. Thisthisthis. Never his) neck.
And weeks pass, and months pass, and it hurts. Every minute, every second and every tiny, tiny particle of time. Because this Billy is not Billy and Steve―
Steve’s missing a half. Steve’s an open wound and it doesn't matter how much alike they are, how much they feel (exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly) the same under Steve’s touch, because this Billy is another Steve's and he doesn't fit, and he wouldn’t ever heal, against his skin but― his blue eyes are the same and those curls of his look like they’ve forever captured the sun in the same way and his scars are gone but when the creatures hurt him and draw new ones Steve recognizes under his fingertips the familiar shapes of his back, the way Billy bleeds, the way his skin feels warmth against his palms and,
Billy.
Billy recognizes the way Steve touches him, the way he groans a "Be quiet for frikin’ once. And hold still!" but then, lower, softer, a whisper “Shhh. C’mon. Shhh. Just a second, alright? I promise I’ll be careful” and Billy does and bites down his tongue and the pain and the tears as Steve stitches the wound and Billy wants to ask him to sew his whole body, too, all along that wide wide line where it used to fit that half he’s missing, but what he says is "Would you kiss me once? Just once? So I can feel like I still have him?".
And it's the same. And it's different. And it's not Steve. But it is. Steve. And they kiss and Steve’s crying, because is thesamethesamethesame, the way Billy’s lashes are falling and Billy wants to say ‘I love you’, but he doesn't, and it becomes a lump in his throat as they kiss and kiss and kiss for hours, on that bed they’ve been sharing, that bed they’ve only been touching for survival, and when they're done, Billy wants to ask Steve to sew his lips together too. So he can’t ask him again. So he can not want to but― the nights are cold and lonely and hopeless. So they touch. And they kiss. And weeks pass. And they touch and they kiss and they fuck. And months pass. And they kiss and touch and fuck and fight. And they need each other. Want each other. Hate each other. Hate themselves. And then Steve says "I'll never love you. I'll never love you like I loved him" and Billy says "Neither I will”. And they’re both are bleeding. Been bleeding for so long. Bleeding out. And they won’t heal, a Billy-less and a Steve-less, as they are. So it spreads. The rot. And it's even worse like this, hating what there’s left of themselves. Because they don’t fit but it feels like they do, when they touch and they kiss and they fuck. When they fight.
(When it feels like love but― isn’t).
(Can’t be)
And weeks pass and months pass and neither of them says it (‘Wanna touch you again, kiss you again, fuck you again’), even though they're both thinking it and it’s been almost two and a half years. Five hundred days. Five hundred nights. Of hiding from each other, of finding each other in this endless night, when the dormant creatures start to crawl out of their nests, when the darkness is filled again with growls and howls and screeches. With danger. Vines coming back to life after their hundred years of sleep and then something’s coming something’s coming something’s coming and,
“Take all you can”
“Get the bat!”
“Run, Billy run!”
“Block the door! Block the door!”
“The head! Steve! Slam ‘m on the head!”
“Come on, come on, come on! Let’s get the shit outta here”
and then,
“The gate. Somebody must be opening the gate”
They find it.
Seven feet. That’s how far it is. That's how close they are from making it. And must be some kind of cosmic joke, so Billy laughs at it. Gives that one to the universe. Chokes on his own blood.
Steve’s blurred, less and less clear every time he blinks. Still the most beautiful thing Billy’s ever seen.
“C’mon, pretty boy” he says. Squeezes Steve's hand tighter. Just one second. It’s the end of the end of the world and Billy feels like he’s spent a whole lifetime like this. Stealing Steve Harrington in seconds. So he can steal one more. That’s always been the deal. Just a little more, a little more, since the moment he saw him “You know you hafta go”
Salt. Tears. That detail, Billy always forgets: they taste exactly like the ocean.
“Nah. I’m thinking that― they won't split us apart. Not this time”
Tears. Salt. The ocean on Steve’s lips. Taste like coming back. Coming Back home. But,
“It’s ok, pretty boy. I’m not him”
Steve shrugs. Smiles. Dots on the curve of his cheek. Eyes like the first day of fall. It’s in the curve of his lips, where Billy’s history has always been rewritten.
“But there was a me, that loved you. And there was a you, that loved me. And I guess it’s just impossible. Not to do it again so―” and words, they always sound better when Steve traces them against the shell of his ear, says,
“Can you kiss me? So I can know how it is to have you?”
And it’s the end of the end of the world.
(But,
Time Swirls. Space wraps around itself. Reality flickers. So maybe― maybe it really is. The end. But. Maybe,
There's a house. Steve’s house. And is not the same. But it’s not different, either. And there’s daylight pouring down the hallways, burning bright against that soft-gold wallpaper his mama’s always been so proud of. And the mattress is soft and warm and feels familiar. And the blankets smell like softener and old memories. Like new memories. Like us. Us.
“Tell me how much you love me”
Steve brushes Billy’s hair to the side, runs his lips all along the curve of his neck, leaves a kiss behind his ear. And it’s the same, but it’s different and Billy know it’s always, always gonna hurt. Because they’re still a Billy-less and a Steve-less but. They’re always gonna be a Billy one Steve loved, a Steve one Billy loved. They’re this Billy and this Steve.
But there’s this one thing, that’s always gonna be the same. This one thing neither of them would ever do in halves.
“I love you with all my heart,” he says, and draws Steve closer, closer, ‘till there’s barely any space left between them.
And they allow themselves to feel, where their wounds touch.
Allow themselves to love.)
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salemwritesxx · 3 years
Text
easter surprise
Tumblr media
summary: It’s Easter Day and Bakugou lays in bed sad and pissed – Y/n has canceled his flight last second, something came up. And so, Katsuki, who had taken time off his hero work just to be reunited with his long-distance boyfriend for a week, has nothing to do now. However, the Easter Bunny might have a little surprise for him after all.
w.count: ~900
content warning: fluff, long-distance relationship reunion
-----------------------------------
“Katsuki!”, his mom yelled loudly once again, though more annoyed than the first time.
The man in question, however, only barked something back, his already furrowed brows only deepening before he plopped his head back into his pillow, “Shut up! I don’t fucking care, have your own fucking easter surprise!”, Bakugou yelled back.
All he wanted to do was wrap himself in his blanket and pout, because you, who was living many, many hours away from him somewhere down in Okinawa, did not manage to come and see him during the easter holidays. Frankly, Katsuki didn’t want to talk to anyone, he didn’t want to see anyone, he simply wanted to go and blow something up.
“I swear this … stupid kid!”, she clenched her fist, before sighing and looking at you with an apologetic smile, “Seems like you have to bring the surprise to him, I’m sorry, Y/n.”
You just laughed though, “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. It was my own fault for telling him I wouldn’t come, I guess I have to surprise him myself now.” before you stood up from the sofa.
Originally, you had planned to sneakily come without telling him and the moment he would come downstairs and he would see you, it was all but a big surprise and reunion, however, with your boyfriend sulking upstairs it all came a little differently.
Sighing once more, he was wrapped in a big, soft blanket, face buried in his pillow – he looked messy and tired. Bakugou couldn’t understand why his mother just wouldn’t understand that he was not in the mood for surprises. He had taken off from his hero work just because he thought you would visit him, but then everything changed and now? Now he was stuck at home – alone.
Usually he wasn’t defeated so easily, but he had really looked forward to meeting this holiday, especially since it took a few more months before you could finally move in together.
A knocking on his door made him groan loudly “UGHH Go AWAY!” thinking it was his mother.
“Aw, I’m hurt, Baby!”, you giggled and opened the door.
And the moment Katsuki heard your voice, he immediately raised his head to look at you, his ruby eyes staring at you for a few seconds in disbelief, even your “Surprise!” only seeping through to his brain very slowly, before he jumped up in a frenzy.  
“OW!”, however, being wrapped multiple times in his blanket, Katsuki only landed a few inches away from the bed onto the floor, the fabric wrapped around his hips and legs tightly.
“Kat! You okay?”, being the good, worried boyfriend you were, you rushed to his side immediately and kneeled down beside him, wanting to help. But Katsuki didn’t care, the moment you were in reach, he grabbed you by your shirt to pull you down.
Lips connected and eyes closed, he wrapped his arms around your neck, enjoying the sweet kisses that he had missed so much in the last months – and you complied happily.
While your tongues were twined and your hearts beat in unison you reached out to help him detangle from the blanket until he was finally free and pulled into your lap, Bakugou instantly relaxing as he sighed into the kiss blissfully.
Low, little grumbles of satisfaction escaped his throat as your lips melted together so perfectly – God, how he missed to kiss you, to hold you and just… feel you close by his side.
His lips were so soft and full against your own, your boyfriend tasting even sweeter now that you hadn’t kissed him in so, so long, never really wanting to let go again.
Though at last, he broke the kiss with a soft gasp. Looking straight into each other’s eyes for a few moments, he then whispered, “I seriously… hate you.”, before burying his face at your shoulder, your hearty laugh making his heart skip a beat.
“I’m sorry for lying, Baby. I wanted to surprise you. Can you forgive me?”, gently combing through his spiky hair, you pressed kisses onto the side of his head while holding him so close, both of you not wanting to leave this warm embrace.
“You should be thankful I love you, Y/n… Or I would have thrown you out the fucking window.”, he tried his best threatening voice he could manage, but it was pretty useless. Katsuki was just way too overwhelmed and happy you were here and not, like he thought, still in Okinawa.
“Hmm, then I’m lucky you love me, hehe.”, you giggled and hugged him even tighter, your whispered “And I love you so, so much as well, Pretty Boy.” made his heart jump, before he looked back up and pulled you back into another kiss.
“How long can you stay?”, Katsuki asked in a hushed voice while softly placing kisses around your mouth and onto your lips.
“Two weeks, then I need to fly back.”, in-between kisses, you answered his question, though not without stopping to return every little smooch.
“HaaAhh… Why can’t it be August already?”, a sad sigh left his lips.
“I know, but soon… We will live together, only a few more months!”
Burying his face in the nook of your neck once more, Bakugou started playfully sucking on your skin and kissing around, meanwhile your hand was slipping underneath his t-shirt to caress his back, the tips of your fingers gliding along his back dimples and then up his spine.
Even though he had woken up yesterday to the most horrible message when you told him you couldn’t make it, everything was fine now. Katsuki usually hated surprises, but … surprises like these were the best, because they made the time he waited for you and him to move in together just a little bit more bearable.
---------------------------
@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works
writer’s note: First, HAPPY EASTER 🐰🥚 Second, I have a whole ass backstory for this little blob of writing, like a pen pal AU type thingy and wow- they’ve come a long way, from being childhood pen pal friends to almost moving in 🥺 Sorry, I’m babbling as if y’all know what I’m talking about even tho it’s all just in my head right now lol will hopefully write it out one day, for now! Hope you liked this reunion!
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sweettodo · 3 years
Text
Rolling ⟿ Hisoka x fem!reader
Includes : praising, smut, watersports, consumption of alcohol, use of molly, swearing.
Word count : 4,8k
A/N, I haven’t really written something like this, I’ve never taken molly but I did sorta look it up, I don’t condone using molly, nor do I condone drinking. This smut is for the sole purpose of a little fun night.
••
"And who might you be?"
••
The event was at it’s prime, everyone chatting, drinking, eating, I hated the idea of coming but disregarded those thoughts the second I got ahold of some alcohol.
"I'm y/n, you?" The dark yet beautifully illuminated ballroom created a sparkle from my red gown, etching out my body to my liking. The tall man who stood two feet away from me devours me with his devilish yellow eyes; his charismatic smirk which quickly lured me in for more.
"Hm, I'm Hisoka, but enough about me. You're so exciting to look at, I must admit." I smile and blush, looking down at the rest of my dress.
"Thank you, what brings you here?" I change the subject, standing in the main area of the ballroom, the bar a reach away, I needed it.
"Ahh, just work business, and you?" While he talks, I observe what he's wearing; a black on black suit, his multicolored hair which was more or less intriguing.
"The same, I'm here with my Co. Owner." I smile, a server comes from Hisoka's right, a plate with champagne, he stands in front of us, I graciously take one and Hisoka does the same, thanking the waiter. His eyes slightly widen as he sips from the glass.
"A lady a charge?" He's tilted against the column, we look at each other intently, I kinda liked his vibe.
"Yep, what can I say!" I giggle, he retorts with a light chuckle, his low eyes captivating me more and more.
While you observed the man in front of you, you weren’t the only one, Hisoka was excited. He undressed you with his eyes so sensually, he could have ravaged you right there. The way your hair paired perfectly with your dress, your makeup was to impress others, you didn’t do this for yourself. You wanted people to look at you, Hisoka picked up on your undertoned confidence and he knew that he liked you. You also had a bite to your personality, he liked the power you held.
‘How have I not met her sooner?’
"Do you plan on going straight back to the hotel room? Or another party?" Hisoka shakes his thoughts out of his head, watching the pretty lady raise an eyebrow in return.
‘Another party? Well.. was I not invited or something?’ I shrug.
"I'd head to another party; if I had known one existed." I roll my eyes, he stands straight and turns around quickly, placing the empty glass on the high table next to us.
"It was more of a word of mouth thing; I'd be happy to take you as my plus one? But the scene might be different as you’re used to..."
"Who did you come with tonight?" I ask, changing the subject from the party for a light minute, wanting to be nosy, what if he had come with a woman.
"Just a few friends, god knows where they are." He jokes, I laugh, my fingers rolling the neck of my glass, swirling and swallowing the last sip of alcohol. The hot feeling in my stomach from the drink making me feel more loose and relaxed, ‘I could go with him to a party, where’s the harm?’
"We should." I nod simply, he smiles and wastes no time taking my empty glass from my hand. Swiftly placing it on a servers tray as the kid walked by. He signals for me to follow him. Leading the way and I follow close behind, my hand gently holding up the fabric of my dress so I don't trip, 'he was so tall', and quiet, who the fuck was this guy I've never even seen him before?
"Is it off base if I say that you strike me as very mysterious?" I toss my hunch out there, he looks back at me when we reach valet.
"I'd like to see myself as more of the withdrawn type." He sticks out his hand, I grab it, it was soft, his fingers long and lanky. He led me a few steps ahead when a car pulls up, opening the passenger side door of a black matte Camero; with red interior. 'Nice pick y/n' I do a little jig of accomplishment and slight excitement before he hops in the sports car.
He pulls the car out of park speedily and drives out of the culdesac.
"What do you do for work, Hisoka?" I ask him, he glanced at me, a hand holding his chin while his elbow sits on the middle console.
"I dip into a little of everything, call me an opportunist." He simply answers. There was a big lie right there, I've been able to pick apart things being true or false since childhood; my tack record never really failing me, he didn't need to know that.
"I own an agency, if you were curious."
But he assumed this. He guessed it when he recalled your name during tonights convo, she owned an agency, more like a school for beginning nen users, she raked in millions a year. A firecracker, determined and strong willed woman she was.
"My, quite fascinating, you must be of some talent, yeah?" He asks, a little of a misogynist thing to ask but I quickly shake it off, Hisoka speeds down the highway and I look out the front window.
"I guess." I hum, I glance at his hands, they kinda made me excited- the size...
Minutes later we arrive at a gated neighborhood, he swings his car through the entrance of the gates and I become excited, finally I could really get fucked up.
"Aren't we a little too overdressed for a house party?" I chuckle, he pulls up the the front of the house.
"This isn't your average party babygirl, no one cares what you'll be wearing." Babygirl? A slight cringe at how loosely he used the word. I furrow my eyebrows, before being able to question him someone is swinging open my door along with the drivers side. It was elegant- he looked... so good.
"Not my average party hu-" my mouth falls open a little before I look at him. I knew these some of these people. It was packed. But Hisoka never stopped shuffling through the crowd, leading me down the few stairs and ignoring any welcomes that came his way.
We reach a basement door, he knocks twice before opening it and he lets me in. There were a bunch of couches, a TV, a bar, kitchen etcetera. Everyone looked like they were rolling, drunk maybe?
No. Not rolling on the floor literally. But rolling on some type of psychedelic, or shitfaced for sure. My heart falls in my throat, baffled.
"I don't get into this kinda thing." I nervously chuckle, stepping away from him, he frowns, lifting his hand to my shoulder, caressing it.
"You will soon." I smirks, grabbing my hand and leading me deeper into the foyer. I look around, it looked fun, I wanted to feel it but I would leave myself open to being taken advantage of.
"Drink?" Standing in front of the bar, he pours vodka into a glass, I smirk. ‘Who was this man?’ I liked him, I ignore my slight anxiousness.
"Mhh, gladly; thank you." I hum, taking it from him, right as I'm about to drink from the glass he stops me, covering the opening of the glass with his palm.
"You'll be very- what's the word? Hot, if you drink that by the way." Referencing to the drink, is that what he did for a living, reeled women in to sex them up on molly and champagne?
"You want to take care of me? Hot and bothered Mr. Morow?" I lean into him, his head slightly dipped down so he can hear me, in all honesty, I already was hot and bothered. His bloodlust licking all over my body and seeping into my pores, he smelled amazing, the tone of his voice got me stirring in my shoes.
I look up at him through my thick eyelashes and he bites down onto his lip in anticipation on what was to come.
"You wanna get me vulnerable?" I reach up and scissor the fold of his black blazer, stroking it slightly, "you wanna take advantage of me Hisoka? Coulda’ just told me what you wanted from the jump." There had to have been something in the air.
While on the other end of things, Hisoka’s breath was quickly sucked out in a bit of a shock. His heart thudding a little faster than usual; god he could tear you up.
“I’m stronger than you think I am Hisoka,” I giggle. I was, I was always on my A game.
“What kind of man would that make me y/n?” He smirks, pressing his cheek against mine and whispering, “if I wanted to take advantage of you, I would’ve torn you to pieces before we even got into my car.” I gulp and pull away from him slowly, mustering up the courage and taking a swig out of the cup and his eyes widen, I stop halfway down the drink and press him to drink the rest.
“Go on, drink it Hisoka, you wanted to get me fucked up.” I chuckle, he pushes the cup and pours his own.
“Drink all of it, you wont regret it.”
••
My head was spinning, the walls dipping in and out, swirling, my third eye was 100% open for sure. I sat on the ‘L’ shaped couch, Hisoka diagonal from me sitting comfortably on the corner, we didn’t really talk. Or maybe we were talking? I really was out of it. I didn’t pay attention to the other party goers, there were around 30 people down here.
While he looked over at the wall, I started deep into his soul. The more I looked at him the more I envisioned him on top of me in some dimly lit room.
“Hmm, y/n, if you keep looking at me like that who knows what I’ll end up doing to you.” My eyes quickly snap up to meet his own.
I was so empty headed I didn’t have the capability of feeling embarrassed.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Hisoka’s dick slighty twitched in his pants. He was already pussywhipped.
He needed you.
He looked at me seductively, eyes low. I bit on my bottom lip; a one night stand wouldn’t hurt. It’s been so long, although you were so intoxicated you had no idea how this would go, nonetheless feeling much more bold.
Hisoka was right, you were hot. Your body throbbing, everything was definitely more sensitive, tingling almost.
Hisoka was restless, he knew that he was going to make you his little plaything.
He couldn’t help it; standing, he taps on your shoulder and ushers you up, grabbing your elbow and slightly dragging you down the darkened hallway, it made you dizzy, your eyes spiraling and colors accentuated and it made you see new weird versions of colors, ‘is this real?’
He opens a door and flicks on the light, your eyes needing to adjust to the weird vibrating walls.
You weren’t able to talk much, everything sounded foreign when it left your lips, like a jumble of noises so you held back talking. He shuts the door quickly and walking back towards you, towering over your body. Your heals slip off your feet when Hisoka is pushing you onto the bed, your legs slightly falling open and you stare at him through your lashes, looking like a whore.
He leans over you, his knees pressed on either side of your own, pinning your wrists back above your head, you bite down onto your tongue. Leaning into you, he dives into your neck, bitting and gnawing at the bit. You breathe out a slight whimper; almost undetectable.
Senses heightened, you felt like you could taste him already. He nibbles and licks down the v line of your dress, he radiated a hot and intense vibe, you were stunned. You were also beyond horny.
Hisoka moves his knee up to your cunt, you gasp when he applies the littlest pressure. He pulls up and looks at you.
“I can feel your heartbeat on my knee.” He states, I blush and look away.
“That’s because I’m horny.” I admit, he smirks and uses one of his hands to tuck hair back.
“Are you now... what can we do about that?” He purrs, mouth pressed against your ear and you shivered. Tugging slightly against his grip, he releases you, your hands land on his chest, trailing down and unbuttoning the single button on his black blazer.
“No Hisoka, what are you going to do about that?” You send him a smug look and push him off you slightly, you felt confident so why not have a little more fun than usual.
“My my, are you insinuating you’re going to use me?”the undertone of sarcasm made you laugh, you push up onto your knees and he falls on his back.
“Mhm, I’m going to fuck you until all your kids are dumped into me.” Lifting up your dress slightly so you could straddle his waist, he stares at you with his tongue being pinched by his teeth.
You roll your hips as you tug apart the strings that kept your dress closed, watching him as you smirked, he picked up quickly what you were doing and bunched up your dress from your legs, slowly taking it off and over your body, throwing it to the side, he sits up; and since his legs still hung off the bad, this was easier for him to sit comfortably and as close to you as possible.
His hands tickle down your sides, ending up at your lower back as he pulls you into his grasp tightly, grinding against his dick in the process. You lean back slightly, pushing the blazer off of him and he shimmies it off, you start unbuttoning this shirt and his hands caress your butt, following your tailbone and gripping.
You push off his shirt and he was breathtaking. His toughly toned chest, hard as a rock. Abs galore, his shoulders broad and his biceps huge.
“Let me know when you’re done staring.” You roll your eyes and let him toss the shirt on the floor.
You were definitely disoriented, but aware enough to consent but you were 100% felt empty headed besides the fact you could smell colors. Neither was Hisoka, he looked at you while he sworn you were moving so much more slow, you weren’t; but he thought you were teasing him.
He moves his hands to explore your body, feeling your soft and warm skin. His hands knead your boobs, like it was something he’s never felt before.
You push yourself off of him, “stand up and get on the bed fully.” You demand, he stands, but before he can plop back down, you unclasp the button on his slacks, hesends you a smug glance, looking down at your small hands compared to his wide waist, he was going to absolutely fucking obliterate you and you had no idea.
“You won’t be in charge for long my love, but I suppose I’ll let you have your fun.” Hisoka whispers, you could’ve fallen apart right there, but you held it together for the sake of the challenge he bestowed upon you.
He tugs his slacks off and you watch him with puppy eyes, the air coming from his nose hitched, you didn’t even bother to look at how hard he was, while he stares down at you, your hand climbs the back of his neck, standing on your toes more to kiss him.
Once you guys find yourself deep in a messy make out session, he taps your ass so he can pick you up. You jump a little and wrap your legs around his hard waist, feeling so high up you didn’t even know if he was really this tall or if it could be being literally high off molly altered your state.
He drops down onto the bed, you gasp when his clothed dick slides across your clothed cunt, it sat against your stomach as you looked down and your eyes widen, looking at how... how fucking big he was.
He scooches back so his head upper body is against the headboard.
“You seem intimidated, are you scared I’ll break you?” The smug look on his face made you laugh.
“Nope.” You were lying right through your fucking teeth. You were terrified; his cock was fucking huge.
You roll circles against his throbbing cock as you both took turns sucking and biting on each others necks, he left strong hickies and bite marks all over your chest.
He was so close to coming which was extremely unlike him, he could last for so long and was pissed that the drugs were bringing him so close to the edge.
“I’m giving you a few more minutes before I’m taking control.” He hums, you allow him to take control prematurely.
“Take control of me now Hisoka.” You purr in his ear, he takes action, swiftly pushing you up and slipping your panties down your thighs and shoving you on your back so your head was on the pillows.
He rips your panties off, you kick them off your ankle and his hand trails up your abused chest, hand gripping your neck. You were seeing fucking stars, literally? You didn’t know you were so high; but you did notice the peak was slowly ending.
You stick your hand down and it falls into the waistband of his boxers, he grabs your wrist and throws it back at you. “Don’t touch me.” He snarled, knowing it sounded rude, this was only because he was so close to nutting that if she even do much as stroked him he’d bust.
He tugs at his boxers and while your swollen lips and sliding his tongue in your mouth, you feel his sly hand rubbing your thigh and opening it, his hand grabs the headboard and the other one is holding your thigh open widely.
“You gonna let me put it in?” You whisper a little sassy, he looks at you with mean- intense eyes.
“My love, you won’t be able to as much move when I’m done with you, keep the attitude to a minimum.” He growls, your leg wrapping around his back and as he pins your thigh down, Hisoka knowing you were about to attempt to slam your legs closed.
He slowly slides into your dripping pussy. All he could think about was being enveloped in your hot walls. Savoring the feeling, he had enough self control to slowly enter into you. Your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth falling open, you watch him slowly fill you up.
You couldn’t even think of words, or noises for that matter, your brain drowning in loud red colors and your eyes were only looking at him, you didn’t even know what the room around you looked like. You were spinning, your body felt like it was trembling and twitching. He gives a tiny thrust to finish filling you up and your legs jolt, attempting to squeeze shut when he hits your cervix. It hurt so bad, you wince and your eyes screw shut.
He on the other hand was captivated by your beautiful body and scent, he couldn’t wait to watch you fall apart and drip cum all over him.
Hisoka pulls back, the pain making things feel a little more real; you look into his eyes, his golden eyes, pupils dilated from the drug- as he swears he can feel every nerve in your twitching cunt. Lowly, he lets out a little chuckle before yanking your leg up further and he picks up the pace, it was so sensual. You never made love but if it was anything like this and you didn’t even know the man? This was a culture shock.
You glance up at his bicep, trailing up towards the headboard, his hand clenches tighter on the headboard, you see him begin to white-knuckle the wood and your eyes widen, glancing at him. Seconds later, he has your face twisting into immense pleasure when the pace picks up, he releases your thigh from his grasp and grabs your throat, leaning in and licking slowly down your jawline, the pounding of his cock into your pussy feeling euphoric, your head spun, lacking oxygen, still high, you can tell he had finished his peak, his thrusts becoming more stable.
The snapping of Hisoka’s hips, you were finally able to get the clogged up moans that begged to come out. Finally, when he heard your moan, he began sweating. His hair becoming a little slick, falling down to his shoulders.
“O-h my god.” You groan, your stomach tightening, you wrap your arm around his neck and his flexed arm hold him up neck to your head.
“You want me to fuck you harder pretty girl?” Hisoka grunts, you let out a whine, fingers intertwining into the hair at his scalp.
“Yes please.” You mewl; this is was his moment to really get down to business, he pushes off the rattling headboard. He swiftly gets off of you, but roughly shoving you by your shoulder onto your hands and knees, he rips your arms from underneath you, causing you to fall harshly into the bed; holding them tight while he reaches off the side of the bed and picks up his tie.
His dick sitting pretty between your ass cheeks- hard as a rock, he ties you up. You bite down on your bottom lip, almost sad you couldn’t rub your hands all over him and touch him.
“God, your pussy is so pretty.” He mumbles, pulling your cheeks opposite from each other so he can get the view of the pretty cunt he was about to tear up. He spits onto your already dripping pussy before quickly picking up where he left off, the difference being he didn’t hesitate to pound hard into your cervix. You let out a screech and attempt to move away but he grounds your hips and gives you strong thrusts, not holding back, Hisoka disregarding your little screams from the pain.
“Does that hurt? You’re so fucking tight; no wonder it hurts so bad.” He grits, angrily fucking me. You become more and more vocal, screaming into the mattress. You pleaded for him to untie you.
“Y-you’re fucking ruthless H-Hisoka,” you moan between thrusts, he chuckles.
Hisoka was so close to coming, it took him more willpower then he’d like to admit. He brings his hand up and slams it down onto your ass. The slap ringing through the room.
You let out a throaty groan, tears soaking the bedsheet from your eyes. You had gotten used to the pain, but he filled every crevice in your pussy, you could feel absolutely everything, from his veins to his cock twitching.
You’re so close to releasing, his name falling out of your mouth incoherently and swears following the screams. Hisoka groaned and held down your arch so he could drill into you. You screamed, for mercy? His dick nor himself cared how bad far he was reaching. He brings his hand down again into a hard slap, you cry out and moan. He loved it, encouraging him to go faster. “My god, princess, you enjoy me hurting you with my cock and my hand? What else can I do to you?” You whine and you feel your juices drip down your thigh, you can came and didn’t even know it. Hisoka pulls out and listens to you moan, groan and cry while your legs shake and smirks.
“Untie me please, Hisoka I need to touch you.” You whine, he rubs your ass.
“Hmm well, I could, but I won’t.” He yanks you up by the hair and hair hand runs down your throat, your throat was dry, makeup running down your flustered face. He could come just looking at your face. He never felt that way before, it had to be the heightened senses from the drugs.
He sits against the headboard once again and without untying you he pulls you by your thighs and slowly pushes you down onto his cock. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, hissing when he grabs you by the hips and shoved himself into you.
He stares at your pretty lace bra and disheveled face as he bounces you up and down, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’, practically going cross eyes he was reaching so deep into you. “Y-you’re so big.” You whine, unable to look into his eyes because you could barely keep them open.
“You’re taking my cock so well.” His chest riding and falling, it wasn’t as fast as he liked but he knew he was filling you up as much as he could, fitting his cock into your pussy as he pleased.
He flexed his back, lifting you still and snapping his hips into you. You practically collapse, hair sticking to your forehead and drool coming from your mouth. You scream and your legs begin to quiver.
“A-Ah! I need to pee” You wail as you feel another orgasm wash over your body, he doesn’t slow down but he remains at the same speed, only making the orgasm stronger, he moves a hand and rubs your bud in a pressurized circular motion. A mixture of piss and cum gushes out of your beaten pussy and you have no control of your body, falling forward onto his shoulder and he catches you.
The sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, not stopping you even whilst releasing. He was so thrilled seeing you squirt all over him. Smirking slyly.
“Do you want me to fill you with my seed pretty girl? Have my kids pour out of that tight little pussy?” He grits, moving you back down onto your back and pulling up your numb legs. He needed to come in you now. Drilling into you like no tomorrow. You begged for him to untie you again and again.
He didn’t listen, brutally fucking you. Fucking you so hard your walls clenched so hard he could barely reach as deep. He was so close, Hisoka panting as he begins feeling dizzy, his dick twitched before abruptly stopping, slowly thrusting after a moment, hitched breathing and sweat dripping into your crunched up stomach.
Coincidentally, the slow thrusts made you orgasm again, convulsing and your muscles twitching as you both chased one of the strongest climax you’ve each had. Sniffling and trying to stop the tears, your ass and pussy still twitching as he pulled out of you, he stared sensually at your cunt, watching his own seed spill out of you.
After a few moments, he stops himself from falling in love with your cunt that he just stretched out to fit his desire. He lifted you up by the tied arm and slipped his tie off your wrists, setting you free.
Before you’re able to do anything, he runs his fingers up your slit slowly and carefully, picking up both of your cum, he lifts his hand and grabs your jaw, you instantly open your mouth and stick your tongue out, he sticks his two fingers down your throat and you suck on them, swallowing some of his seed. “Good girl, I didn’t even have to tell you.”
You wipe under your eyes and he smirks.
“We could stay here for the night, or we can go back to my place?” He hums in question. You just drop your back onto the bed. Trying to compose yourself.
“Yeah.” You sigh, panting slightly, he hands you his shirt and you slip it on and button it up.
This was the first time you were now looking around to see where you were, the high slowly reaching an end. You wondered what time it was, hoping to find a clock. Hisoka looks at his phone, ‘1:30am’ it read. He and you had both taken the drug at 9.
He slips on his pants and opens the foreign closet, he didn’t know what to find but when he saw a black t shirt he took it and slipped it on, it fit. He snoops through the closet and tries to find pants for you. He sees a pair of basketball shorts and tosses them towards you, you catch them and try to move as little as possible.
He sees you struggle to put them on and smiles, biting his tongue to prevent him from saying something arrogant. He was so fucking tickled that he fucked your legs into becoming numb and paralyzed.
He steps over at you and crouches down, he grabs the waistband and slips them over your legs. He should’ve warned you his dick would hurt you so bad, but he was so high he didn’t even think to mention it. Hisoka takes your hand and gently leads you to your feet. You feel like your organs had been shifted and you felt empty and cold.
As you and him quietly make your way through the house, people still resides there and the music was as loud as when you first arrived, no one really paid you any mind; which surprised you because your hair was a rats nest and you looked homeless. Barefoot, you and him walk to his car, more like limped.
“I feel like I’ve been split in half.” You mumble as Hisoka helps you into the car, he chuckles. While shutting the door and quickly making his way to the drivers side, he slides in and instantly starts the car.
He begins to drive down the road and out of the gated neighborhood, he puts his hand on your trembling thigh, glancing over at your wrecked face.
“My love, just wait til’ you see what I have waiting for you when we get home.”
351 notes · View notes
hypnoswrites · 4 years
Note
what would a soulmate au, the same as the bruno one where you switch bodies for an hour, be like with a yandere hisoka?
it would be chaotic.
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You didn’t know whether you were lucky or unlucky.
The odds of being soulmates with a nen-user where slim to none, the ordinary population far outnumbering the profession. You’d expected to switch with some safe, normal guy or gal, someone who would be a sorely needed anchor of normalcy against all the insanity you went through on a daily basis.
From the moment you awoke in this new body, you knew this man was a nen-user, the nodes feeling as open as yours.
Being a nen-user, they would probably test out your ability, so you were so glad you’d thought of moving to a safe house you never used before the switch. Sometimes normal soulmates discovered the use of nen while switched, so you hadn’t wanted to risk the destruction of your apartment. Seeing as that risk just shifted from moderate to certain, you could only pat yourself on the back, your stuff surviving another day.
But the safe house was fucked.
Your ability would make sure of that if he decided to use it.
You traced his features softly, yellow eyes gazing back in the mirror, following your motions with a curiosity that was definitely yours. He had sharp features and was conventionally attractive, though the make-up and striking red hair were not as conventional. A finger slowly went over the blue tear drawn under the right eye, checking whether it would smear.
He apparently used good products, as the make-up only slightly shifted shape when you did so. Not wanting to completely ruin his work, you stopped rubbing, lazily investigating the now blue spot on his finger.
You sighed, a sound that sounded far more dramatic then you’d intentioned.
In the back of your mind, you wondered what this man (who looked strangely familiar) was doing in your body. You’d laid out some notes, asking them politely not to run around, and stay inside.
Was he blowing up the safe house? Tracing your features like you were doing? A quick look to a nearby clock revealed that only fifteen minutes had passed, so anything was possible.
He hadn’t exactly prepared for you though, no notes or anything strewn about. You’d awoken standing in front of the mirror half-naked, meaning he’d either intended for you to see his face and chest first thing, or he’d forgotten the entire switch altogether.
You didn’t know which was worse.
Deciding to look around a bit, you stepped out the bathroom a bit awkwardly, his legs taking some getting used to. Normal furniture greeted you, and you didn’t really know where to look, everything seeming both important and completely pedestrian.
Turning a corner, a sudden sight caught your eye, and you felt the blood drain out of your/his face. It was a mirror, which was nothing special by itself, but you hadn’t looked at his body from this angle.
Was that… Was that a fucking spider tattoo?
Of course. Of course you couldn’t have a normal soulmate like everybody else. You had to have a genocidal criminal with an A-list bounty, because why the fuck not. In your exasperation you looked away for a few moments, only to meet eyes with someone else.
“What’s the matter, Hisoka.” A man stood in the middle of the apartment, long black hair and eyes emptier than void. His eccentric fashion matched the one of your soulmate, though the colour scheme was darker. You hadn’t been paying attention, and his aura shot up out of nowhere, surprising you. “Why have you returned when you are clearly not ready? Or do you wish to do the mission without a shirt.”
Hisoka.
You already hated him.
“Yeah… I’m not Hisoka.” You flashed the man the date engraved on his wrist, and for a moment you could see the man’s eyes turn from completely empty, to just a tad emptier. “I think he forgot the date.”
“He did not.” The man replied, rather exasperatedly. “This is rather annoying. I needed him to distract the target.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“It’s only an hour, but I don’t have that time. You’ll need to come with me at the least.” Tilting his head slightly, he studied your form slightly. “You do not move like someone without combat experience.”
“I am a hunter.” You replied, not really caring if this man knew that much about you. “But I am not going to help in an assassination just because you need me to.”
“I’ll transfer the amount I promised Hisoka to your account.”
“And how much was that?”
When he named the amount, you choked slightly, your mind reeling with ideas of what you could do with that much money. You weren’t necessarily materialistic, but anyone had dreams that one billion yen could easily help achieve. At the very least, you could go out for one legendary evening.
“And who did you say you were?”
“Huh? Oh. My name is Illumi Zoldyck.”  Of course it was.
By now it wasn’t anymore about the money, though the sum certainly wasn’t forgotten. This motherfucker put you in a sticky situation, probably wanting to see how you’d handle it, so why wouldn’t you just handle it?
This spider, Zoldyck-associating piece of trash thought he could just play you like that while probably chilling in your body during.  You weren’t the vengeful type, per se.
But he’d regret this.
“Mmmh. Well, I guess I can’t die right now.” You stood up, a bright smile on your face, which according to the slight narrowing of his eyes and raised brows, clearly unsettled the other man greatly. Grabbing a nearby pen and piece of paper, you scribbled down one of your many accounts and handed it over. He quickly entered something on his phone, but you didn’t really care anymore.  “What exactly did you have in mind?”
He put his phone away and instead pulled out a couple of pins. “Our target lives about ten floors below us, and while I could easily reach them by myself, I do not feel like fighting a nen-user while surrounded by all his guards. Are you capable of creating a large enough distraction to lure away about ten guards? Killing them is probably easiest.”
You laughed, and again the assassin in front of you seemed awfully uncomfortable with you, probably unused to your facial expressions on his associate. “Sure!”
And that took care of the rest of the hour, time flying as you did just that, distracting a whole group of guards by violently attacking them. You made sure to dodge a few blows a tad too late, not wanting Hisoka to find his own body as flawless as he left it. If he wanted to put you on the spot,you would make him pay.
You laughed maniacally when you switched back, reeling to a halt as soon as you noticed you’d gone back. With a bit of an awkward giggle, you calmed down, feeling a bit put off by your own behaviour.
That had been… messy.
Even with the awkwardness of switching bodies, your reflexes had switched over quite quickly, his body not unaccustomed to combat. You regretted not using his hatsu at any point, but throwing in unknown elements in the middle of beating down guard after guard was not a very good idea. The target had been disposed of easily, and for a second you doubted if the assassin had actually required Hisoka’s help at all, or if it had been one big trick.
Didn’t really matter. 
As you quickly scrambled to your phone, you saw the money had been successfully transferred, and you couldn’t deny yourself a high-pitched noise of excitement.  
While any impression of your soulmate was horrid, at least you got something good out of this: the money and a good story to tell the next time you went out.
Suddenly your gaze shot up from the device.
What had he done while in your body?
You sat on your bed, the exact same place you’d laid down on minutes before the switch. Sitting up, you didn’t see anything out of place in the room. Every item laid just as you had left it, even the notes you left still piled neatly on your desk. You stood up, pacing through the room.
After finding nothing of interest, you moved on through the safe house. The living room and kitchen were just as untouched.
Another round of going through the safe house, but no corpses or notes hidden somewhere. He also clearly hadn’t gone outside, the locks just as closed as you’d left them, not forced open like you’d expected.
You were at wits end, when you suddenly felt a soft stinging on your chest. Frowning, you looked down, only to feel stupid as the entire upper part of your shirt was stained with blood. How had you missed that? You wondered why you didn’t really feel any pain at all.
Your pain threshold was high, but not even noticing a wound on your own body was sloppy. The mystery was solved when you walked into your bathroom, a stray bottle of painkillers opened on the sink.
Besides the pills, there was another big hint that he’d been here.
He’d drawn a big heart with lipstick on your mirror, a gesture you would’ve found sweet if you wouldn’t have known the artist was a maniacal spider.
Your hands weren’t clean, by no standards if your recent assassination job was anything to go by, but you had standards. Kids were off-limits, innocent bystanders were off-limits, fucking genocide and mass slaughter was off-limits. You weren’t innocent, but by god did you have standards.
Guys like your soulmate didn’t live by the same limitations.
Standing in the middle of the heart, you planned to check out the wound, the blood seeping through your shirt making it quite obvious. Throwing your shirt in a corner, your eyes moved up to check how badly he’d wounded you.
Wha-
Oh, you’d kill him.
Most definitely.
Etched in the upper right corner of your chest, he’d etched his own name into your skin, shallow enough to be harmless, yet deep enough to scar. You could just imagine him, standing in front of the mirror, so self-satisfied as he used your own fingernails to carve his name into you.
His handwriting was neatly done, despite having used your fingernails as pen, the last ‘a’ even curling off into a heart.
The utter fucking creep. You didn’t know much about him, but one thing was sure: when you’d meet him in person, you would absolutely bash his fucking face in with-
Your phone rang, disturbing the increasingly violent thoughts swirling around in your head. You let go of the sink, your fingers having etched themselves into the marble during your realisation. As you deliberatively moved toward the phone, you breathed heavily, internally screaming anytime you caught a glimpse of your chest through reflections.
You picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Did you enjoy your present?”
“I’m going to kill you.” You hung up.
The phone rang again immediately and for some reason, you picked up again, probably because you feared he would keep calling if you didn’t. “Stop calling.”
“You certainly went a bit… wild here.” He chuckled softly, the sound grating in your ears. “Wild enough to forget you really shouldn’t give out bank numbers to assassins, y/n.”
So he knew your name, was that a problem? Nah, plenty of people knew your name. “Do you actually want to say something worthwhile? I’m kinda busy spending all that bad-decision-assassin-money, after all.”
“Oh~? What are you going to buy?”
You were about to respond, a snide remark just waiting to be said, but for some reason, you shut up instead, pointedly looking in front of you. Something was off about this, the question way too casual and idle. Was he stalling? Your senses certainly told you he was stalling.
In a sudden burst of realization, you hung up again, pressing the button with more panic and force than you’d intended.
He was tracing the fucking call.
“Goddamnit!” You yelled, grabbing a nearby pillow to scream in it. 
How could you be so stupid so consistently? You’d just been curious and pissed, the slight ache on your chest making you more furious than you’d ever been in your life, but when did you get this sloppy? This was outrageous.
Throwing away the phone, moving away and going dark were all options, but if he was good enough for the spider, he was certainly good enough to find you.
You also didn’t want to run away, the image of meeting him head-on and punching that self-satisfied grin off his face much more alluring.
Your phone beeped again, and despite the voice in your head telling you to throw away the phone in the nearest lake, you took a swift peek. The message was quite short, but as soon as you read it, you felt fired up.
‘See you soon <3’
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bangtangalicious · 3 years
Text
the glow up | pjm (3)
pairing: jimin x reader
summary: after going off to college, you & your best friend committed to working out. a year later, the results show, and you cant wait for your hot hometown friends to see you. now all you wanna do is wild out and have lots of sex, and enjoy it without feeling insecure
genre: smut, childhoodfriends!au weightloss!au (is that a thing) friends-to-lovers!au
word count: 1.7k
warnings: dry humping, sleep sex/wet dream, feverishly rough sex, choking, technically dubcon but she was genuinely fine with it, slut shaming, cheating (?), basically jimin fucks you hard but he thinks he’s dreaming, creampie, unprotected sex
part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7                                                  masterlist
You woke up, the events of the morning seemingly like a world away. You became conscious suddenly to a warm presence snuggled up behind you. Jimin and you had talked for a while before returning to the party. You stayed back late helping him clean up until you both passed out from exhaustion.
The tension had been uncomfortable. Jimin decided not to bring up Taehyung’s outburst, and you too avoided the topic entirely. It was too confusing.
Jimin’s arms were wrapped around your hips tightly, his fingers gently stroking your stomach. He was totally knocked out, you could tell by the way he whimpered slightly when you tried to move. You sighed, trapped by him completely. You tried to wiggle your way out but as you shook your hips you felt something graze against your ass.
He was hard. Really hard.
Your eyes widened, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t his fault, you knew morning wood was a thing, and seeing how pressed up the two of you were, it was bound to happen. You tried to move again, but it only caused him to press even more into your soft flesh. A shaky breath left his lips at the contact. His hands loosened and slowly began sliding down your bikini bottom. You gasped.
“Jimin what are you doing” You hissed. No response was heard, all you felt was Jimin’s cock desperately prying for freedom from his trunks, now against your bare ass. He slowly rolled his hips, humming in pleasure. “Jimin. JIMIN.” He was still asleep, you realized.
You could move, but you knew if you moved now he would wake up, and then he would ask what happened. And you really didn’t want to have to deal with that. Or maybe. You liked the feeling.
You wondered what Jimin must be thinking about. Was it you he was fucking in his dreams? He had denied you earlier. Your heart dropped as you recalled his cruel comment about Taehyung having came in you, and that grossing him out so much he refused to have sex with you.
As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the way Jimin’s hands had found your breasts, pulling you back into him with all his strength. You moaned in surprise. The feeling of his hands, slightly dry from the day in the pool but so large, covering the entirety of your breast and clutching it as if he was holding on for dear life.
You could feel his heart pounding against you. You wiggled your ass against him, seeing if he would react. He let out a high pitched whine, which cause goosebumps to spread across you. He sounded hot. You felt yourself getting wetter.
Apparently so did Jimin, because his hips bucked into you, his bulge dancing past your entrance in a quick thrust. You squealed at the sensation. The fact that he was acting involuntarily, following nothing but instinct, turned you on beyond reason. You felt him exhale heavily, his hot breath tickling the nape of your neck. He bucked his hips again, harsher this time, whining incessantly.
You could feel how bad his cock wanted to tear through the fabric and feel you. He thrust again. Then again. Harder. And harder. His hands clutching your breasts more aggressively each time. You couldn’t help but scream. It felt so good. He was like a dog just humping you so aggressively in heat. You felt animalistic and you loved it. You pushed back into him more, spreading your legs so he could rut right where you craved him.
His pace quickened. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment, they would see Jimin, eyes shut and lips parted, humping into your ass like there was no tomorrow, and you, pretty much naked, a moaning mess with your eyes rolling back in bliss.
“Jimin” You exhaled, turning your head as much as you could to try to see him. “Fuck, Jimin baby you feel so good”
His face was blushed pink, sweat forming at his forehead. He groaned as you spread your legs even more, allowing your wetness to seep through the fabric of his shorts. He let out a low growl.
Suddenly his eyes flew open, but he didn't stop. He was completely gone, you could see it in his expression. He his were lustful, almost frightening. He met your eyes briefly, not even comprehending who you were or what was happening before he flipped you over and yanked down his trunks. He grabbed your neck with both of his hands as he shoved his cock inside of you without any warning. You screamed out, not expecting the large girth. You were luckily wet enough for him to get inside you without too much resistence, but the speed had you crying out.
“Jimin—“ You tried to choke out but Jimin’s grip on you tightened. He fucked himself into you harshly, groaning at the way your pussy clenched down on him. He lowered himself so his chest was flush against your back as he continued to roll his hips into you. He grazed his teeth across your jaw before sucking it harshly. “Holy fuck” You muttered under your breath.
His pace picked up relentlessly, as if it were even possible for him to fuck you faster. Each thrust was practically splitting you opn. You tried to spread wider but you physically couldn’t. You were ruined under him, and you loved it. You felt yourself teasing your own edge with his cock hitting you in all the right ways. You cried out, nodding your head like an idiot, knowing full well that Jimin did not know nor care what you were doing.
You came like an avalanche, your body twitched and writhed under Jimin. You felt like you were going to lose your voice with how loud you were screaming as his pistoling cock did not give you a second to breathe. You gushed against him, your slick cum making his thrusts even easier. Before you knew it you felt him shoot hot com through you as he let out a loud moan. He buried himself as far into you as he could, pushing your face up against the headboard as his hands practically stopped your breathing. You felt dizzy, but so so good. He recoiled, laying down on top of you then, the full weight of him crushing you.
“Jimin!” You shouted as your ribs felt weak under the pressure. He blinked a few times before he suddenly jumped off of you.
“Oh my god” He whispered, looking at you, with his cum messily dripping down your legs and on your ass. You turned slowly, the soreness beginning to catch up with you. “What the fuck happened”
You exhaled, laughing slightly, “You tell me”
He shook his head frantically, worry filling his eyes, “Oh my god y/n…fuck…no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I had no idea I…” His face reddened, “I thought I was dreaming”
You giggled, curling your finger and motioning him towards you. He obeyed, crawling into your embrace. He held you like you were a delicate piece of glass that he almost shattered.
“I know. You were wild”
“I didn’t fuck” His frustration was evident as you stroked his back calmly, “I didn’t want our first time to be like this”
“Yeah I mean, being conscious is definitely better” You joked. Jimin shook his head.
“I can’t believe my dick has just been where Taehyung’s has. EW” He shuddered, looking at you in horror. Your face dropped.
“W…what? That’s still your issue?”
Jimin sighed, stroking your hair, “Would you wanna suck my dick if I had it stuffed in someone else’s vagina the day before?”
You shrugged. You guessed you understood his perspective, but that didn’t make his words hurt less. Jimin kissed your cheek.
“Please don’t take it the wrong way baby. It was so good. You felt so good. And I want you so bad. But it’s…too soon. I still just can’t believe you’d just let someone so random touch you like that.”
You nodded, wanting to put the discussion to rest before you bit his head off in retaliation. You reached over for your phone, seeing a few missed messages.
tae: im so sorry princess
You chuckled, raising your eyebrows. Taehyung was the last person who needed to apologize here. You glanced at Jimin, who was also on his own phone, hand caressing your thigh absentmindedly.
y/n: don’t be sorry omg. wanna hang?
“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Jimin asked softly, without looking up, “There’s a new taco place that opened up near here. I know you love Mexican so”
Your heart clenched.
tae: yeah i can pick you up. u still at jimin’s?
“Jimin” Your voice wavered. You had never been so conflicted in your life. Jimin was amazing, you adored him. He knew you better than anyone else and was so so sweet. But somehow this whole sex thing was making you question your willingness to redefine your relationship into something more. You weren’t sure if it was because of how amazing it felt to fuck Taehyung, or because Jimin was being an unapologetic little bitch about your promiscuity. “I think I need some space”
y/n: yeah, sounds good. b out in a few
He turned quickly, his eyes sad. You hated that you even had to have this conversation at all, “I just need some time to myself to figure stuff out. I’m not leaving you, I’ll come back. I’m just not sure if I wanna jump into this right now”
His eyes darkened and he pursed his lips. “Oh, okay” He faked a smile and kissed your nose again, lingering. “Just text me okay. Whenever. Whenever you’re done…doing what you need to do” You nodded. You got dressed and Jimin gave you some clothes. As you walked out the door his grabbed your wrist lightly.
“Y/n” His eyes were watery, “I’m still here for you okay. Please…” He inhaled sharply, “Don’t leave me”
You gave him a small smile, “I won’t Jimin”
“Promise?”
You swallowed your guilt and nodded. You walked out to the street and looked at your phone.
tae: i’m down the curb. same car.
You grinned, turned and waved one last time to Jimin, before walking away, your fingers excitedly tapping your phone.
<-----previous                                                                               next----->
A/N: ~sips water~ 
taglist: (lmk if you wanna be added!!) @honeyspillings @hollowtree10
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jisungscaramel · 3 years
Text
voices | changbin
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❀ genre; smut, college au, fwb ❀ pairing; changbin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 1.6k
[warning] explicit sexual content, dirty talk, masturabation, (slight) ownership kink, (mild) dom changbin, phone sex, (which includes imagery of) oral (fem receiving), bondage, spanking, unprotected sex (stay safe y’all), overstimulation, creampie
Your eyes open to darkness, and you groan in utter annoyance - you just hate when this happens. You don’t even wanna know what time it is... but you check anyway, 2:20... am - not the worst. At least you have the opportunity to get some sleep, the slightest chance of closing your eyes to immerse in some obscure dream and certainly not the type of wet fantasy that dared to disturb your beauty rest in the first place.
The universe just loves fucking with the sleep schedule you work hard to keep regulated. But the not-so-random interruption to your slumber in it of itself is the least of your problems; the not-so-subtle throb of your clit is beyond irritating, especially since a certain someone isn’t physically there to help you with it.
Your adjusted vision wraps around the silhouette of the ceiling fan, sharpening in detail as you attempt to scrutinize it, five curved blades, metal brackets reflecting the moonlight, a simple ligh- not that a mundane distraction such as this would do anything to help, valiant effort though.
And then you turn your head to the side, fixing on the space where your phone should be laying on the bed side table.
“Should I call him...?” you ask yourself. You grab the device and go straight to the phone app, aggressively scrolling through your contacts ‘til you see his name: Changbin Seo.
Nothing fancy, nothing personal, it’s a deliberate choice to keep it that way, to stay firmly behind his boundaries, well, the boundaries you’ve assumed of him. In reality, he probably wouldn’t have an issue with you contacting him on a whim - even at this ungodly hour, but the idea still makes you nervous. That’s the prevailing predicament of a friend with benefits - sometimes there are too many boundaries and sometimes there are too few.
‘What if he gets annoyed with me? What if he stops talking to me? What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ The more time you spend in your own head, the more the shadow of your past experiences so rudely loom over you.
‘No, Changbin’s not like that. He’s not like that. He’s not like that. He’s not fucking like that.
‘At the worst, he won’t pick up ‘cause he’s asleep. That’s it. That’s all. Relax.’
Regardless, things would be much easier if he didn’t have to go across the state to be home for winter break.
And instead of making that single tap on the glass of your phone, you put it back down, placing it face down, reaching to open the drawer that lays beneath it. You pull out a little drawstring bag. In the darkness, you open it, unsheathing a silicone vibrator, light pink in the light, but rendered colorless in front of your eyes.
‘I should at least try by myself.’
Committing to your decision, you drown your ears in some dvsn - you gotta do what you can to self engage your senses. But you’d much rather hear his voice, much rather feel it vibrate against your skin, reverberate through your nerves. There’s just something about the way he growls when he goes deep, overwhelming the auricles of your ears in a crescendoing frenzy you can’t even fathom outside the moment, even if you try.
Your eyes close when you turn it on, trying your hardest to picture him in your mind’s eye.
The way he tilts his head back to stare at you, eyes half-lidded in the kind of carnal hunger, it makes you wonder what he’ll do next, body sizzling in desire, like it’s on fire. 
And then, there’s the way he lightly tugs at the corner of his bottom lip, tongue brushing over the reddened skin in a teasing lick, you just want them to dip into your slick, to indulge your clit with quick flicks. He loves to look up at you with a tinge of innocence that so eerily contrasts with the vulgarity of his actions, lips smirking against your heat ‘cause he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how to drive you crazy in the best possible way-
“Fuck!”
Even if your imagination is enough to get you there, it’s not enough to satisfy you; it feels like trying to fulfill a day’s worth of hunger with a measly cup of instant ramen when you know damn well you deserve a three course meal.
You haphazardly throw the toy to the side - you’ll clean it in the morning; it’s just too much effort now.
And here you are again, staring at the dark silhouette of your phone. At this point, the amount of fucks you have to give are rapidly dwindling.
And here you are again, phone shining bright in over your face, Changbin’s name and number apparent on the screen. But before you can actually contemplate the idea that you’ve begun to dub a “last resort,” your phone slips out of your hand, knocking you right on the nose, hitting - you guessed it - his number.
And… now you’re calling him. Of course the universe thinks it’s hilarious to mess with you - when does it not?
“Hello?” There’s a clear groggy sleepiness to his voice - clearly, you’ve woken him up.
Fuck. “Oh sorry, Binnie, did I wake you up?” 
“Hmm yeah,” he pauses, probably to rub his eyes, “what’s up?” As sexy as his gruff voice is, it’s the last thing you can think about, subtle embarrassment delicately wrapping your nerves.
“My bad… you know what? It’s nothing. I’ll let you sleep.”
“No, it’s okay, tell me what’s up,” he requests again.
“It’s nothing, I just…”
“Just what?”
“I miss you…”
“...Miss me where?”
“In…” you tighten your thighs together, “places where I shouldn’t.”
“Oh yeah?” You can hear rustling sheets, as if he’s sitting up, as if his attention’s focusing on you. “What would you want me to do if I was there?”
You bite your lip. “You already know.”
“Tell me.” His voice takes a commanding tone, attempting to bend you into submission even through the phone.
Your fingers trace the skin above your underwear. “God, Changbin, I want you to fucking cripple me.”
It’s simply astonishing as to how clearly his sinister chuckle comes through your line, and it’s all it takes for your hand to slip under the thin cotton covering you. “Damn, chula, I didn’t know you wanted me that bad…” a moan slips from your lips both in response to your actions and his words. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Yeah,” your flustered response sounds in the same pitch.
“Naughty girl. I’m gonna have to punish you next time I see you.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“First, I’m gonna tear your clothes off,” you peel the flimsy sleep shirt off your body, not being able to take the increasing heat radiating from your skin, “and then I’m gonna tie your arms up and bend you over my desk to spank you - one slap for every time you’ve touched yourself while I’ve been gone.”
“Where are you gonna spank me?” A sultry tone edges your words.
“On your ass… your thighs… your pussy, depends on how bad you’ve been.”
“What are you gonna do if I earn my reward?” By now, you’re reaching for the vibrator you so carelessly tossed aside not too long ago.
“I’m gonna throw you on my bed, then I’m gonna force your thighs apart and stretch out your soaking little cunt. I’ll fuck you so deep, you’ll feel me rearranging your insides,” he grunts, “Fuck, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”
“Would you let me cum?”
That evil laugh is back, prolonged in the most tantalizing of ways. “Yeah, but not just once. It’s gonna attack you back to back, until your legs go numb.”
You shudder, eyes rolling back. “What if your roommate tries to interrupt us?”
“I’m gonna fuck you harder to mark my territory.”
“Am I your territory?”
He snickers. “You know that pussy’s mine. All. Mine.”
All you can offer as a response is an array of mewls, your walls desperately tightening against the inanimate object inside you.
“God, you sound so sexy when you moan, you know that?” He grunts, and for a few seconds, no words are exchanged. The only thing you can hear is the rapid rustling of fabric, presumably around his hand movements, and the subtle hisses seeping from his lips.
“Are you naked?” he asks.
“Yeah…”
“Show me.”
You lower your phone to capture the sin you’re committing between your legs with a clear view of your bare body neck down, promptly sending the image to him.
And it’s obvious when he receives it because you hear that low, guttural growl you’re oh so familiar with. “You’re so hot.” His voice is strained. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum… are you close?”
“Yeah… I wish you could cum inside me.”
“I do too. Fuck, you look so gorgeous when your pussy’s swollen, dripping with my cum.”
His voice drops an octave, catalyzing the long overdue release that has been coiling inside you. His name rolls off your tongue in an unexpected increase in volume. The hypothetical fantasy momentarily becomes reality in your mind, simulations inducing tangible pleasure inundating you in waves that you didn’t know were possible in a setting like this; why on earth did you let the frustration marinate for this long?
“Fuck,” he curses.
“What?”
“...I made a mess.”
Your phone vibrates with a message from him - it’s a video... and you have the slightest inkling of what it is.
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literaryfic · 3 years
Link
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young
Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: “She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why?”
Chapter two is out! Read on ao3 or under the cut.
“Have you been well, Cha-young?”, the same deep voice she’d missed asks. The ghost that’s been haunting her came back in the flesh.
He hasn’t aged at all, his youthful face still handsome as ever. He’s not smiling per se, but she can tell he’s happy to see her. She gets up and walks away. This couldn’t possibly be happening.
He catches up to her after a few seconds.
“Cha-young-ah. Hong Cha-young. Talk to me.”, he urges her. Suddenly, she can’t control her anger anymore.
“Talk to you?”, she faces him. “You made it extremely clear five years ago that we had nothing to say to each other.”, she screams. His face is unreadable, years apart have made him a stranger. “And now what? You want me to talk to you? You disappeared on me out of nowhere and never looked back so don’t you dare ask anything of me, got it?”
Panting, the anger she thought gone felt just as hot as the day he left her.
“Fuck!”. She’s not done yet. How could he come back like nothing ever happened? He had given her shelter, just to make her homeless. He had made her believe in love and happy endings, built her a castle and set it on fire. She hated him, his stupid hair and his stupid face. “Why are you doing this to me now? I don’t get it. Why now?” She starts crying out of anger, out of frustration, out of exhaustion.
For years now Cha-young had spent all her energy trying to forget Vincenzo and what they could have been. She had fooled herself into thinking she was over him but even after all this time, even when she was this angry at him, all she wanted to do was to touch him. She felt like she’d been cursed by the Gods, condemned to have him in her sight, yet forever out of reach.
She’s shaking now, sobbing. Vincenzo slowly approaches her, his eyes full of anguish.
“Can I please hold you?”, he almost begs as a single tear runs down his cheek. She doesn’t remember a time where he’d sounded this desperate, and she nods, almost against her will.
He wraps his arms around her, her head falls on his chest. She takes a deep breath, filling her nose and lungs with his scent, the one she hasn’t been able to forget. Somehow, she’s crying even harder now and he starts stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,”, he whispers. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She can’t quite convince herself yet that this is not a dream, so she holds him tight, afraid that the ocean will swallow him and turn him into foam.
They stay in each other’s embrace for a while. It could be minutes or hours, Cha-young doesn’t really know. It seems that tonight, on this beach, her grasp on her reality is loosening. Dreams and ghosts come to her in waves, and she can’t help but wonder when the tide will recede.
In the beginning, she dreamt that he would stay with her. Cha-young thought herself strong enough to anchor Vincenzo, yet he had fled and renounced her. Then, she had dreamed of his return, punished to share the fate of a seamen’s wife awaiting her husband’s homecoming.
He had chosen to leave and, until now, had never bothered to come back, and so after a while she had declared him lost at sea. She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why? The ghost stayed mum, mere fragment of a person who had once been alive.
Yet, here he was, the one she had lost at sea, standing in front her. There was no doubt that it was him, alive and well. She felt herself regain control over her emotions and stepped out of his arms.
“You owe me an explanation”, she demands, looking him in the eyes. He nods slowly, his face serious. He is about to speak when she cuts him off, “Not here.” Here, where dreams become reality and prayers were heard. “Take me to your room”.
And so he does. They walk back to the hotel in complete silence, the sea breeze clearing up her foggy mind. They go up to the very last floor and Cha-young almost laughs. Their rooms are exactly a floor apart.
When they get inside, Vincenzo invites her to sit on the couch while he settles for a nearby armchair. The suite is as big as an apartment and the view of the ocean is stunning. It suddenly dawns on Cha-young that he’d probably been living in luxury for the past 5 years, and why wouldn’t he when he was that rich, but the thought annoys her. As petty as it sounds, she had wanted him to be miserable, just as she had been.
“Why?”
The question that had been haunting her hangs in the air for a while, and at one point she thinks he might leave it unanswered.
“That time I ended up staying, I’d managed to take care of the situation in Italy, but it was temporary solution. I needed to come back to save our family from being killed off.” He explained, choosing each word carefully. She could tell he was nervous, his eyes scanning her face, looking for cues.
“That explains why you had to leave, but that’s not what I was asking, Joo-hyung-ah.”
He looks like she’d just slapped him across the face, and she might as well have. She had never called his Korean name in such a harsh tone before. No, this name had been reserved for their most intimate moments, when she made love to him and played with his hair afterwards, as he fell asleep in her arms, when he told her about the few memories he had with his mother, or described his life in Italy with his adoptive parents. It was the first she had used his name as a weapon, and he looked devastated. Good.
He takes a shaky breath and bites his lip, trying to hold back his tears. In that moment, he looks as old as the world and as weak as a child. Although it pains her to look at him like this, she shows no compassion. This man had destroyed her and she would hold him accountable.
“I left without telling you because I didn’t trust myself to go through with it.”, he finally manages to say after a while. “I had to leave but I just couldn’t bring myself to let you go.”
“You’re a coward, Mr. Cassano.”, she spits out his name, hoping the formality of it would hurt him too.
“I know.”
“Why did you have to leave me? I get that you needed to go back, but why did you have to leave me too?” Cha-young tries to stay as calm as possible, but it proves difficult when she keeps blurting out her most vulnerable thoughts. She feels defenceless against him, but it is the only way she’ll get the answers she needs.
“Turns out the situation was even worse than what Luca had told me, and I wasn’t sure any of us would get out of it alive. You didn’t deserve to have to wait for me indefinitely.”
“So dropping me out of the blue was the best solution you came up with? That’s the only thing the great Vincenzo Cassano, one of the best masterminds in the game, could think of?” Her words are met by silence. “Guess what, genius? I still waited years for you. How was I supposed to get closure when you just disappeared? Wouldn’t you, out of all people, know what it feels like to be abandoned?”
It was a low blow, she had to admit, but she was past that. She needed to bring him to his knees, she needed to shatter him, she needed to break his heart.
“The truth is, I thought—I thought I was freeing you. From me, from my sins.” He’s not looking at her anymore, head hanging down, tears falling onto the ground. She compels her heart to look away, just this once, to not care for him.
“And who do you think you are? Do I not get to decide for myself?”, she’s almost screaming again. Everything that was coming out of his mouth sounded ridiculous to her.
Of course, she had imagined this confrontation countless of times, coming up with all the possible reasons he would use to justify what he did, but none of them mattered. None of them were enough to appease her, to undo what had been done. Nothing would ever repair what he’d broken and they’d never be the same again.
“I have no excuse, tesoro.” She hears the plea in his voice.
“Don’t call me that.” He looks at her, visibly in pain.
It was bizarre, seeing him like that, so hesitant, so vulnerable, so scared.
She realises it at once; she’s witnessing his fear for the first time. She hadn’t been able to spot it at first but there it was. He’d allowed her to see his anger, his sadness, his unfiltered joy but he’d never been afraid in front of her. Vincenzo was scared to mess this up, scared to loose her again. She had to hold back a smile.
“Did you follow me here? Don’t lie to me.” She demands, reinvigorated by her newly found confidence.
“I’d never lie to you.” She rolls her eyes at that. “I landed in Seoul two days ago, but Mr. Nam told me you’d be spending the next few weeks here, so I hopped on the first flight I found. Meeting you here, tonight, was an accident. I didn’t know which hotel you were staying in.” He looks to his right, suitcase opened on the floor, near the bedroom’s entrance.
“Why are you here, Vincenzo?”, she’s trying not to let her emotions seep through her words, to remain distant. But he knows her well, and she can tell by the way his eyes suddenly look at hers that he hears it, the part of her that wants him to answer “For you, I’m here for you.”.
“To repent. I’m here to repent, Cha-young-ah.”. His words carry the same certainty they once did, his tone the one of a fearless man. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest.
“Do I look like a fucking church to you?”, she forces out a laugh she hopes sounds bitter. Not letting him time to reply, she gets up from the couch, feeling dizzy. “Right, I’ve heard enough. Goodbye.”
She can’t tell if he calls her name or goes after her but she’s out the door before she knows it. She runs down the stairs, gets into her room and heads straight in the shower. The water’s freezing cold, but she finds comfort in not being able to feel the tears streaming down her face.
She tucks herself into bed, confused about whether she’d rather wake up from this nightmare or continue to live this dream.
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clumsyclifford · 3 years
Note
“I got my ass kicked but you held the ice” jalex?
sure thing, anon. i've been watching a lot of bones lately so maybe that explains...i dunno. the vibe here.
tw for minor blood & injuries, mentions of alcohol
read here on ao3
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There’s blood on Jack’s face.
“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” feels like the right first question.
Jack staggers into the open seat across from Alex. “Got slugged.”
“You sound proud.”
“I am.”
“But you’re bleeding,” Alex says, aghast. He’s out of his seat and sliding in beside Jack before he can even really think. “Why— why are you bleeding? From getting punched?”
Jack shrugs and winces. Alex looks closer, hesitant to touch him. “Dude had rings or something. Hurt like a bitch.”
“You got scratched,” Alex says. Even he can hear the concern seeping into his voice, but if Jack notices he doesn’t seem to care. “Jack, you should clean this. We— you should let me clean this.”
“No, it’s cool.”
“Uh, I actually wasn’t giving you the option,” Alex says. He wraps an arm around Jack’s forearm and pulls him out of the booth. The seating area is far enough from the bar that Alex can justify somehow missing whatever scuffle Jack got into when he was supposedly getting them both drinks, but he wishes he hadn’t. Trust Jack to get into a fight the moment he’s left to his own devices.
“This isn’t necessary,” Jack says once they’ve reached the bathroom, though he’s letting Alex manhandle him anyway, which Alex appreciates. On account of the fact that it feels extremely necessary.
“You’re fucking bleeding from your face, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that,” says Alex, casting a glance around for anything to wash Jack’s face off with.
“And I’m supposed to bleed from other places?”
“No! No places.” Alex hits him on the arm. “No bleeding at all. Wanna tell me what happened? You were gone for like five minutes. I thought you were getting another round.”
“I was.”
Alex raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Well you obviously didn’t succeed, so what the fuck gives?”
“Got into a fight,” Jack says.
“That’s unlike you.”
“Do not use your fucking shirt to clean my bloody face,” Jack says, ignoring Alex, and Alex stalls in his motion lifting the hem of his shirt.
“Why not?”
“Oh my God, think rationally? You’ll ruin your shirt?”
“You got into a bar fight and you’re telling me to think rationally?”
“It hardly counts as a bar fight,” Jack says, and then sighs heavily. “Use mine. It’s black, it won’t show up, and I’m pretty sure there’s blood on it already anyway.”
Alex presses his lips together and frowns. The blood on Jack’s face isn’t really dripping. “How could there be blood on your shirt?”
Jack lifts his shoulders, shrugging off his leather jacket into Alex’s outstretched hand. “Dude pushed me.”
“...You said he punched you.”
“He did. And then pushed me, you know, with his fists, you know.”
“So he punched you again.”
“No, no, he—” Jack frowns. “I don’t know, who cares?”
“Me! I care! Who the fuck did you fight with? And why? And can I kill him?”
“No, it was stupid, and it doesn’t matter,” Jack says. “Answered your questions in reverse order.” He crosses his arms across his chest and tugs his shirt up over his head, offering it up to Alex inside-out.
“Well, at least you recognize that it was stupid,” Alex mutters. He steers Jack towards the sink counter. “Sit.”
“Come on,” Jack complains. “This is ridiculous. It’s just blood.”
“Everything you say makes me more worried about your well-being. Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Can I never actually leave you alone again?”
“It’s blood, I’ve bled a million times,” Jack says, exasperated. “And for the record, it was noble.”
“Really? Or was it stupid?”
“Can’t it have been both?” Jack sighs, and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.
Alex grabs his chin and pulls his head back down. “Maybe. Can’t make a judgement until I know what you got into a fight about. And you have to look at me so I can clean your fucking face, which is bleeding, which is generally regarded as bad.”
“Sorry, mom.”
Alex runs Jack’s shirt under the faucet until it’s soaked through. He wrings out the excess water. “Sit still.”
“Okay, mom.”
Alex rolls his eyes. If it gets Jack to listen, Alex will accept being called mom. He’d like to think that cleaning a friend’s injuries is a thing that any decent human being would do, not just a mother. Not that it really matters. The point is it’s an Alex thing that he’s now doing for Jack.
It’s not something he’d ever anticipated doing. Jack’s not the type to get into fights. He’s a little bit of a thrill-seeker, sure, but he’s not an idiot. Which is why Alex really does kind of believe the fight may have been noble. Jack wouldn’t pick a fight for a stupid reason, but for a noble reason? Sure. Why not.
Jack hisses as Alex starts dabbing the wet t-shirt at his bloody face. His jaw tenses under Alex’s fingertips until finally he mutters, “Okay, ow, stop, stop it, that really hurts, can’t I do it myself?”
Alex’s hand drops from Jack’s face. “I’ll be more careful.”
“You’re not the problem. It’s— I got fucking decked. Everything hurts.” Jack casts a sidelong glance at Alex and exhales loudly. “Give me your hand, I’ll just do the squeeze-when-it-hurts thing.”
Alex offers up his left hand. “You sure?”
Their fingers interlace. Jack nods slowly. “Yeah. Go. I did this to myself.”
“Technically speaking, that dude you fought with did this to you,” Alex mumbles absently as he resumes his task. Jack groans and his grip on Alex’s hand becomes viselike. Alex does what he can, but it’s hard without another hand to keep Jack’s head stable. It’s also hard when his hand is being literally crushed.
“Ow,” Alex says, snatching his hand away. “Jesus, JB, you’ve got a fucking grip.”
“Sorry.”
“I need this hand,” Alex says, semi-apologetically. He’d be more apologetic if Jack hadn’t just been liquifying the bones in his hand. “You keep moving.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“No, I know that. I just—”
“Okay, it’s fine,” Jack mutters. “It’s fine.”
As delicately as he can manage it, Alex settles his fingers along Jack’s jaw, tilting his head in the most convenient direction. Jack continues bemoaning how painful this is, and Alex tunes it out. If it gets desperate, he’s sure Jack will hit him or something.
No assault occurs. Alex gets all of the blood off Jack’s face without further incident. “Okay,” he finally breathes. The sigh of relief that escapes Jack makes his posture fall. Slumped over with his elbows on his knees, he looks suddenly exhausted.
“I think that hurt more than being punched.”
“I doubt it,” Alex says. He rubs a sympathetic hand over Jack’s shoulders. They’re secluded, as much as they can be in the bathroom of a bar. Underwater by the way the walls muffle the music and chatter. Dim light washes over Jack. “Let’s go home.”
“No, we don’t have to.”
“I’m ready to leave and I think you are too.”
“Sorry,�� Jack says quietly. “I wasn’t trying to ruin the night.”
“You didn’t.”
“We were just supposed to be getting a drink.”
“I have to say, I think I’m more impressed that you got into a fight while mostly sober.”
“I think I regret it.” Jack winces and curls further into himself. “And now I’m also cold.”
“Here,” Alex says, tugging his arms out of his flannel. “We can go back to my place. Watch a movie. Throw your bloody shirt into the laundry.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack says again.
Alex shakes his head. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“It was stupid.”
“You know, I want to believe that, but I just don’t,” Alex says, sighing deeply. “I actually believe it was infuriatingly noble, because you are just that kind of person.”
Jack glances at Alex as he begins buttoning up the flannel. Looks back at the floor. “I don’t know if it was noble. I could have left it alone. That would’ve been the smart thing to do.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it was smart. I’m sure it wasn’t.” Alex squeezes Jack’s knee and Jack looks up at him, surprised at the gesture. A small, almost indiscernible smile tugs at his lips.
“Some creep at the bar hitting on the bartender,” he admits. “Being really gross, really loud. Clearly making her uncomfortable. I said I was her boyfriend. Told him to back off. Guy didn’t like that.” He shrugs. “I pushed him, he punched me. Guess that was cause enough to get him kicked out. I mean, they should probably have kicked me out, too, but…the bartender seemed grateful.”
A soft smile crosses Alex’s face despite himself. “So I was right. It was noble.”
“Worth it,” Jack mumbles. “I hate creepy guys in bars. Ruining the experience for all of us. And look, I get hitting on a bartender, but don’t push it when she says no, you know? Anyway. I’d do it again.”
Alex reaches up and flips the collar of the flannel down, and his eyes meet Jack’s. “Did you get her number?”
Jack looks confused. “I didn’t want it. I was just being decent, you know.”
“Oh.” That’s new. Jack loves to collect phone numbers. Feeds his ego or something.
“‘Oh,’ what?”
“No, nothing, I’m just surprised,” Alex says, adjusting the collar. Jack shifts his shoulders. “You’re usually all over that shit.”
“Yeah, well. I’m…otherwise preoccupied. Not interested in a random hookup.”
“What?” Alex fakes a gasp, pretends to be positively scandalized. “What have you done with Jack Barakat?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Well? Preoccupied with who? I won’t tell.”
“That’s true, you won’t,” Jack says. “Because I’m not telling you.”
“What? Jack! I swear.”
“It’s not that I think you’re going to tell anyone,” Jack says, rolling his eyes and his sleeves. “What are we, eleven? I just don’t want to say. It’s complicated. I’m still thinking about it.”
Alex squints. “Someone I know?”
“Declining to answer any of your questions starting now.”
“Sure, sure. But is it someone I know?”
“Alex.”
“Okay, fine,” Alex says. “Don’t tell me.”
“Same page,” Jack says dryly, gesturing between them. Alex steps away and gives Jack a critical once-over.
“Let’s go home,” he says. “You should put ice on that.”
Jack slides off the sink counter. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”
They’d anticipated being drunk on the way home, so they have to catch a cab. Jack winces when he thinks Alex isn’t looking, and Alex does him the courtesy of pretending not to see. It’s not until they’re back at Alex’s apartment, under the bright living room lights, that the bruise on Jack’s face becomes apparent.
Even Alex winces. “Oh, shit,” he says. He reaches for Jack without thinking and only stops himself just before his fingers graze Jack’s face. “That’s…damn. That’s a shiner.”
“Thank you,” Jack says. “People find this kind of thing hot, right?”
“Uh, damaged people, I guess,” Alex says. Like he’s not, at that exact moment, trying to suppress the thought that it is hot. So is Jack in his flannel. Alex already knows he’s damaged.
“Cool,” Jack says.
Alex wraps an ice pack from the freezer in a dish towel — not that anyone’s counting, but he’s fairly certain it belongs to Rian — and brings it back to the couch. The TV is on. Jack is flicking through titles on Netflix.
“Here,” says Alex. He sits next to Jack and Jack makes as if to take the ice pack, but Alex shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to. I’m a big boy. I can hold my own ice pack.”
“I know,” Alex says. He can’t quite figure out why he’s so dead set on doing it anyway, but Jack must read it in his tone, because he turns back to the TV without arguing.
“What are we watching?”
“Dunno, what’s on?”
“The entire Netflix library.”
“A constantly-changing selection,” says Alex, and braces the back of Jack’s head with his free hand. Jack leans into the touch. “Criminal Minds?”
“Great choice,” Jack says. He flinches when Alex holds the ice to his face, but only for a second. Alex is steady and then Jack is too. The Criminal Minds cover fills the TV screen. “Not a movie, but arguably better.”
“I don’t think that’s arguable,” Alex says quietly. Even with the dish towel, the ice is starting to make Alex’s hand cold. He doesn’t mention it.
Jack hits play on whatever episode of the show has come up. They’ve both watched this show all the way through, but it’s nice to have a show like that to share. On the one hand, neither of them ever tire of it. On the other, they’ve seen it all before, which means they don’t have to become invested or pay close attention.
Jack leans into Alex as the episode starts. Alex’s arm wraps around Jack’s shoulders. They stay that way until the episode ends, and Alex would call it convenient for holding the ice pack, but he sets the ice pack down about six minutes in, whispering that he can’t feel his fingers.
In response, Jack sandwiches Alex’s hand between his own without a word. Alex doesn’t say anything.
He sort of doesn’t think he needs to.
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malethirsty · 4 years
Text
Loyalty - Klaus Mikaelson
Summary: When you help Klaus Mikaelson to turn hybrids, the rewards you reap from the original are perfection.
Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)
Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1196817642251669505?s=21
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You sat in a booth of the Mystic Grill, not ordering anything, just mulling over what had occurred in your life that had led you up to here. As a longtime friend of The Council, you knew of supernatural entities existing and the potential threat they exposed to Mystic Falls. You thought nothing of it until The Salvatore Brothers: Damon and Stefan let their infatuation with Elena Gilbert seep into the town & after that, things had been occurring left, right and centre. One of these things that had a profound affect you was Klaus Mikaelson. The feared Original took over Alaric Saltzman’s body to get to grips with the town, and in order to remain inconspicious, started a friendship with you. Whilst posing as Alaric, he made you think of Klaus’s actual motivations of activating his wolf side and being able to turn hybrids: He was lonely, sick and tired of being the only one of his kind. So when Klaus did return to his original body, you made sure to keep tabs on him, just in case he needed you, also because he looked hot in his real form, but that would be something for another time in your dreams, you had to be professional with Klaus.
After a long winded absence he popped up in Mystic Falls with Stefan & Rebekah, the latter being his sister and the night they returned you assisted Klaus in making the link between Elena’s blood and turning the hybrids, inadvertently saving Tyler Lockwood’s life at the same time. Elena and her pack of friends Caroline & Bonnie, were utterly furious and you were sure Alaric would make sure The Council would cut you off from anything further with them. Which led you to right here & now, trying to think of your next step. Would you be exiled from Mystic Falls? Where would you go? Would you ever see Klaus again? You were so wrapped up in thought that you didn’t notice the pair of feet stepping through the bar until you saw Klaus standing across from you “Well Hello Y/N, what are you doing at the Mystic Grill at this hour?” You wondered whether you should tell him or try and play it off in a humorous way, you decided with the former “Pondering over tomorrow, Elena and her friends hate me & The Council won’t want me around. I’m worried by helping ypu, I’ve ruined the perfect life I’ve made for myself, and while you become the hybrid, I become the outcast” You didn’t notice you had been silently crying until Klaus leant forwards, running his hand down your face, drying it “Love, I want you to listen to what I say next because it’s important. Fuck them, you made the right decision to help me, I have my new pack, I have my ripper & I’ll take you in with me, don’t worry. Don’t spend time on them, they won’t matter in a few hundred years but what you have helped me achieve tonight, will last forever.” You smiled up at Klaus, his promise made you feel better, like you were at home with someone you cared about. “We should really celebrate you and I this evening.” he snapped his fingers for a waiter, before compelling the poor soul to make a whole bunch of food that would be tricky to make at this time of night due to fatigue. Whilst he did this you sat across from the hybrid, transfixed at his beauty, his eyes, dimples, the feint outline of a tattoo on his upper chest, Klaus Mikaelson was just perfect. Having finished with the waiter, Klaus turned round to you “Mind if I sit here in the booth with you love?” you shook your head & you moved down, Klaus talong his seat next to you.
You spent the next few hours having an amazing conversation with Klaus, in admits the Chips, Pizza & Garlic Bread sent to the table, Klaus told you stories of old, about the creation of New Orleans, about times with Stefan, you found yourself entranced by his words, paying close attention to each story. As the night dragged on, you began to get sleepy and forgetting you weren’t in your bedroom instead of a restauraunt, you laid your head down on Klaus’s shoulder, “Well well love, thank goodness you finally made the first move.” Remembering where you were, you withdrew from Klaus “No Klaus, I’m a bit tired, I should head home” Klaus however held a finger to his lips and you obediently fell silent “Y/N, I know your sleepy, I can smell it, but there’s more than that coming from you. There’s a hint of lust there as well, it’s been there since we met. You want me, don’t you?” You gulped, whilst you were thinking this isn’t how you thought this would go down, a part of you cursed yourself because of course being part Vampire, Klaus could smell your scent, now you had to make a choice about how best to handle the situation you had gotten into. Deciding to rip the bandaid off, you cleared your throat and began “Well Klaus, I guess I’ve felt in love ever since you conversed with me as Alaric, something struck me about the conversation. I cared about your story, about what you had to go through, how strong it made you. And all of this, got me to realise that I love you Klaus Mikaelson.” you took a deep breath, weights finally thudding off your shoulders and looked to Klaus, whom had been transfixed on you ever since you started talking. “Niklaus” he said as he reached you, and you looked confused “What?” you inquired “You deserve to know and say my full name: Niklaus Mikaelson. Take my hand Y/N.” you did as he asked and felt a sudden whooshing combined with blurred vision, until you made it inside of a room. you had barely registered the bed at the end of the room when Klaus kissed you passionately, wrapping his hand around your head to deepen it. The heat and the passion was mind blowing, and you leaned into the kiss giving just as much back to Klaus, this had been something you’d waited for, he was going to get your full treatment.
Klaus broke the kiss after a while, panting, clearly riding the high of it “I love you Y/N. I’ve been in love ever since I saw you, I thought I’d rip through Mystic Falls, take what I wanted and leave, but when I saw you and I knew I had to have you eventually. You understood me, were prepared to protect me no matter what, because you cared about me. I’ve lived for a thousand years, seen many beautiful things, but Y/N, nothing compares to how incredible you are.” you felt like crying again, but this time out of happiness rather than distress, however this was soon forgotten as you were pushed into the bed at supernatural speed by Klaus. As you laid out on the soft bedding, Klaus began to remove his clothes and you, bit your lip, intending to enjoy the show. As soon as he removed his pants and you saw his dick, you let a soft cry come from your mouth and Klaus grinned “Many a lover has had a similar reaction to you. Do you want to become more aquainted with my cock? Do you want to taste it?” Deciding to go on the spur of the moment, you ran your tongue up his length, the hybrid gasping as your warm mouth connected with his cock. After some teasing, you began to suck him deep, and as expected, he tasted incredible. Klaus threw his head back and let breathy moans escape him “Oh Y/N, that’s right. Suck me off love.” With the added encouragement, You ran over his veins and the tip, tasting his delicious precum. All that could be heard was slurping as you took him deeper in your mouth, you now began to rub his balls causing him to moan into you ear, a sound you wanted to hear as many times as you could. Suddenly, Klaus pulled away and pushed you onto the bed, before mounting you “I want you Y/N, I want to be inside you. Open your legs, let me fuck you.” You didn’t wait to be asked twice and did as he asked, once your legs were opened with your asshole on display, Klaus immediately thrusted his cock into you.
You both let out a loud cry, you from being stretched open by Klaus’s big member, Klaus from how your walls clenched around him, so tight, yet so snug and perfect. He peppered your neck in kisses so as to calm you down “God! Your hole is pulsing love, keeps urging me to fuck it deeper, harder.” He emphasised his point with several thrusts which made you grip the bedsheets and whimper in pleasure. The sensation of being filled with Klaus’s cock was so intense, everything else was blinded to you but the beautiful hybrid above you, and inside you. It was like you were on cloud nine, trapped between the softness of the bed and Klaus’s body as his cock pulsated inside you as he made love to you so powerfully and passionately. You ran your hands down his chest and back, getting to grips with the man you had loved for so long, and relishing in being naked with him while he was buried inside you, fucking you to within an inch of your life. “Fuck Klaus, so good” you got out and he smiled “That’s what a thousand years of experience does to you love, God I’m glad I get to show you all I’ve learned.” You slowly began to get enough strength to push yourself up a bit and began to kiss Klaus again, him returning it with similar passion, you now riding the inmortal hybrid, drawing up and slamming back down on him, making you both moan. As Klaus began to lick down your neck, an idea crossed your thoughts “Drink from me Klaus”
He looked down at you “Love, are you sure you want me to?” You nodded and seductively responded “I want you to taste me Niklaus” this use of his first name so passionately did it, dark veins formed under Klaus’s eyes, which were now glowing a bright yellow colour as he roared out his monstorous pleasure and sunk his fangs deep into you. He buried into you deeper, colliding harder into your prostate than before as he began to feast on you, you whimpered out your cries of pleasure as you began to dig your nails into his back for leverage. You could feel the feintest traces of blood on your fingertips as Klaus drank your blood, snarling carnally as he gulped you down. Klaus eventually withdrew, blood running down his face, and out of instinct you moved closer to Klaus and licked his face clean, before kissing him, tipping your head back so that the blood tipped down his throat, continuing to sate his bloodlust. As dominant as Klaus could be, his thrusts were starting to become sloppier, a sign any human could recognise that he was close “Y/N” Klaus groaned and you looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes “Come with me.” He moaned softly, the amount of desire that coursed through you at this point was so high, vampires outside of Mystic Falls could probably smell it. You fell back onto the bed and wrapped your legs around Klaus, letting the hybrid sink deeper as he fucked into you helping you get closer to the edge until finally, you both tipped over. You formed an o with your mouth as your load splashed out onto your chest as Klaus cried out his orgasmic release as he released his seed inside of you. You stayed like this for a while before Klaus pulled out and fell next to you his hands snaking over you “Stay with me tonight”, you would have retorted that of course you would, but after orgasm, the waves of drowsiness in the Mystic Grill returned in full force, and all you could do before you went to sleep was curl into the hybrid, kiss him softly on the lips and say “I love you Niklaus Mikaelson”, as you feintly drifted off, you heard Klaus say “I love you too Y/N” which was the final stroke, and sent you to sleep.
492 notes · View notes
demxnscous · 3 years
Text
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CHAPTER IV
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Word Count: 2.1k
Warning: none
Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader
Contains: tension, oh my god the tension in this one, angst(?), angry atsumu phew
previous << index >> next
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The silence was deafening.
There was no mistaking the stares that lingered in your direction, snagging like a nail on loose thread. Atsumu’s muscles had visibly tensed, his body frigid as a long-fingered hand remained poised above the table, faltering in its fruitless endeavor for a damn napkin.
You felt the cold tea seep through your clothing, darkening the red track pants to a deep crimson.
“Oh shit.” The barely audible words had come from Osamu who was sitting across from you, equally stunned, leaning forward as if he had the intentions of helping but found his body to be just as uncooperative as his twin’s.
“You have got–,” you inhaled sharply through your nose, letting the rest of your sentence fall on a breath, “–to be fucking kidding me.”
You gingerly picked up the wet glass from your lap, placing it on the table. Sitting to your right, Kita was already plucking napkins from the dispenser, handing them to you with a mildly startled expression. Taking the napkins from him with a tight, but appreciative, smile, you set them on the soaked portion of your pants, dabbing at the liquid as you watched the brown tea soak into the pure white of the soft paper.
Atsumu was stumbling for coherency, glancing around to his teammates for some semblance of what to do as you continued to wordlessly dry the stain.
“I–”
“Say a single word, Miya, just one, and see what happens.”
The setter lowered himself to his seat once again, jaw clenching. Why weren’t you screaming at him? Raging, sneering, hissing in his face? Where was the curled lip of disgust, the fingers longing to wrap themselves around the column of his neck?
Somehow, this was much worse.
Slowly, you set the clump of dampened napkins on the table, “I think I’m gonna head home.” Your voice was hollow, blunt in every word you spoke. The boys watched as you pulled a wallet from your bag, drawing out a bill before handing it to Kita, “That should be enough to cover it when the tab comes.” Rising from your seat, you glanced down to the captain who was eyeing you concerningly, yet you said nothing as you shouldered your bag and walked out of the restaurant.
The piercing cold billowed around you in a harsh breeze as you stepped outside, causing a shiver to run its way through your body. It was nearly dark, the sky a deep navy; you knew it wasn’t smart to go walking alone at night, knew the dangers that curled within the shadows, but what the hell were you supposed to do? Call your parents with the pitiful excuse that your pride would never allow you to walk back in that restaurant and ask for one of the boys to take you home? Call Riye and endure the endless teasing once you told her why, exactly, she had needed to come in the first place?
Behind you, the door to the restaurant opened and closed with a condemning click.
“Y/n.”
You didn’t turn to look at Atsumu, merely tilting your head up as if you had vested your interest in the stars above, “Yes?”
Gravel crunched beneath his shoes, “What, you can’t even look me in the eye now?” He knew he shouldn’t have said it, that it should’ve been an apology falling from his lips instead.
“I didn’t know you cared so much about whether I’m looking at you or not.” You exhaled deeply, turning over a shoulder before shoving your hands in your pockets, “But, I guess it makes sense. Miya Atsumu–always vying for the center of attention.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, that carved face contorting resentfully, though you were quicker to the cut.
“What now, Miya? You have my undivided attention, so what now?”
“What now?” He echoed, taking a step toward you, “What now, huh?” Atsumu barely caught the way your eyes narrowed in the shadows that splayed across your features, “How about ya’ tell me why you’ve had a stick up your ass this entire week.” Your lips parted and he took another step, “No–why don’t ya’ tell me why you’ve had a stick up your ass since you’ve known me?”
Your hands clenched dangerously in their pockets, nails digging into skin, “I don’t want to have this conversation right now.”
“Then when, y/n?” Atsumu’s voice had begun to rise, “When are we gonna talk about this? ‘Cause now is as good a time as ever.”
You were tired, you were so fucking tired and all you wanted to do was go back home and sleep through the weekend. Why couldn’t he just drop it? Why did he even bother to come out here in the first place if he only intended to have a fucking argument? Why won’t he just leave you alone? Why–
Your hand had slid from its pocket, now rubbing at a temple as a caustic laugh slipped from your throat, “You know what, Miya? I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about you or whatever the fuck you think we need to talk about because I don’t care.”
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“Should we, uh, should we do somethin’ about them?”
Kita continued to peer out of the blinds of the restaurant window, where the team had gathered to watch Atsumu and you, before responding to Akagi, “I’m not sure…it might just be best to let ‘em talk it out.”
“I don’t think I’d consider that ‘talkin’.” Osamu mumbled whilst sneaking a glance outside from his own section of blinds.
Suna shifted to get a better view, “Yeah, they both look pretty pissed.”
“Do ya’ think they’d be even more pissed if they knew we were spyin’ on them?” Akagi had whispered, as if any remotely loud noise would be audible outside of the restaurant where you and the setter were currently bickering.
“Are you stupid? Of course they would be,” Aran hissed as he adjusted his own position.
Behind them, the owner had quirked a brow when she returned from the kitchens with a few drinks for the other guests, but decided to not question the strange scene as she turned a blind eye rather than endure an awkward conversation with the team.
“Is she…?” Suna had trailed off, all of the boys watching in muted shock as you laughed.
They saw the cruel expression you wore, molded from exasperation and fury, as you massaged a temple before speaking. And despite barely being able to hear your words, your evident sneer was enough for them to realize that this needed to be stopped.
Right now.
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He was so close.
So close and yet neither of you made to move.
You noticed his nostrils gently flaring, eyes burning into yours, just taunting you to look away and back down, demanding you to give in.
As if you would ever fucking do that.
“Okay, that’s enough–both of you.”
You shouldn’t have been all that surprised at the emergence of Kita’s impassive voice, the captain coming to stand behind Atsumu with his arms folded across his chest. The setter remained in his stance, as did you.
“He said–,” Osamu was closing the distance between him and his brother, hand quickly grasping at the back of Atsumu’s collar and pulling him aside roughly, “–that’s enough.” Atsumu broke your gaze, if only to glare at his brother who was now releasing him with a chiding click of his tongue.
“Y/n?”
Too preoccupied in the hushed arguments of the twins off to the side, you hadn’t noticed Kita next to you until he spoke your name. You turned to the captain, your face wholly blank.
Like a switch had been flipped.
“Do you need someone to take you home?”
Yes, you thought, take me home. Take me home where I can spend the weekend drowning myself in stress, alone–unbothered. Take me home just so that I can leave again come Monday and do this over and over and over until one day it finally fucking stops.
You managed a vague nod.
Kita placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile before turning on a heel to speak with Osamu, away from the scowling setter and yourself.
You tilted your head up to the sky once again. Someone was watching you. You hated that you knew who it was.
“Oi.” Osamu was making his way toward you, gesturing with a hand for you to follow him out of the restaurant parking lot; you obliged.
What other option did you have?
You walked in a comfortable silence with the grey-haired twin, keeping pace with his long strides that he slowed for your sake. And it was like that for nearly the entire time, with the exception of a few of your directions, until you had reached the street in which your house was on.
“Can I ask what happened out there?” Osamu was the first to break the unspoken tension.
“Just an argument.”
“Didn’t look like it.”
“You were watching?” It was a genuine question–you’d been under the impression that the rest of the team had only caught what Kita had put an end to. But you knew how they were, sticking their noses in places they didn’t belong.
“Yeah…sorry.”
You laughed quietly, though it sounded pitiful to your ears, “Don’t be–it’s fine.”
“I’m gonna take a guess and say that he didn’t just apologize and shut his trap like he should’ve?”
You were walking up the path to your door now, “Something like that.” Of course, you hadn’t forgotten about your damp track pants with the cold causing the fabric to stick to your skin uncomfortably.
Standing in front of your door, you shifted on your feet, “Well, thanks for walking me home, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
When Osamu wavered, hand coming up to rub along his jaw, you paused with your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, glancing over your shoulder to the twin, “Something wrong?”
He shook his head, “No, I just–nothin’, y/n, it’s nothin’. I’ll see you later.”
For some reason, you found it hard to turn the knob as you passed through the threshold of your home.
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When Osamu had sauntered into the kitchen after his tense walk with you, the last person who he wanted to see was his brother.
“So,” Osamu began, pouring himself a glass of water, “what happened back at the restaurant?”
“None of your damn concern.” Atsumu had been sitting at the table, peeling an apple with a small knife.
“When Kita came out to stop whatever was goin’ on, you were inches away from her. What–were you plannin’ on killin’ her?
“Thought about it.”
Osamu scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure the thought crossed her mind, too.”
Setting the paring knife down, Atsumu took a bite of the sweet fruit, “You have fun on your little walk with her?”
The other twin leaned against the counter, brows furrowing, “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
“Ya’ know–your walk, where I’m sure she just spilled her heart to ya’ didn’t she? The knight in shining armor come to save her from his fuckin’ brother.”
Osamu’s mouth twisted into something of distaste; he didn’t understand what his brother was talking about, but he was curious as to where this would go if he simply let Atsumu ramble.
And it seemed to be working.
“You kiss her goodnight, too? Tuck her in and wish her sweet dreams?” Atsumu took another bite, leaning back in his chair. “God, I bet ya’ just want to get in her pants–fuck her senseless and then ditch. That’s why ya’ took her home, right? To fuck the manager?”
Besides the fact that Osamu had very nearly choked on his water, it was taking every fiber of his restraint to not strangle his twin, “No, you dick.”
“Then why?” Atsumu snapped back, his earlier rage limning his features once again.
Truth be told, Kita had asked him to take you home, that way Kita could talk to Atsumu alone and then maybe you would open to him on the walk of just the two of you about what was going on between you and his brother.
But you hadn’t.
“That’s none of your damn concern.” Osamu mocked his brother’s previous words, a mischievous grin playing on his face. He drank the rest of the water, setting the glass down in the sink, “Careful, ‘Tsumu, your real emotions are showin’–try not to strain a muscle, I know this is hard for ya’.”
Osamu had to dodge the apple core that Atsumu chucked at his head.
At least it wasn’t the knife.
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Dividers: @/writeyourmindaway
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cxmetery-gates · 3 years
Text
OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON
CHAPTER SIX: PICKUP TRUCK THOUGHTS
SUMMARY: Lynn takes a moment of solitude to put things into perspective, all thanks to a friend’s truck and some clouds. WORD COUNT: 2.8k NOTE: Not me falling of the face of the internet for a couple months. Whoops! WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston
OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST
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"YOU REALIZE IT'S A SERIOUS problem at this point, right?"
"At least it's not crack."
The two familiar voices catch both mine and Gabe's attention. With the doors open, legs sprawled out wherever they're comfy, and some early 2000s alternative music jamming from the speakers, we genuinely look like high school delinquents. All we're missing is a cigarette hanging from our lips.
My back aches as I pry my upper half to sit up straight, a chorus of popping following my movement. I brightly grin at River and Ellie and my feet reach the black pavement. It appears Ellie just rolled her eyes at River's sassy remark. I begin to ask what they were talking about before I notice something being shoved back in the boy's backpack: his new Obi-Wan Kenobi lightsaber. Part of me isn't surprised, but the other half is wondering what reason he has to carry it around at school. Regardless of the reason, we all have our quirks: it took me until the eighth grade to leave my replica of Harry Potter's wand at home.
Geeky things, I guess?
I can only guess what River was telling Ellie when it comes to his devotion to Star Wars. There isn't an existing number to count how often River and I find ourselves on the topic of space battles and the Skywalkers.
"What's up, friendos?" I ask as they draw closer. A sudden chilly breeze lifts my hair and bumps along my skin. It's almost a frustrating sensation, it being the middle of August. It looks like I'm the only one who feels it, as my teeth are the only ones that chatter. Since my arms are tightly holding each other, I barely have time to react to Ellie's next reaction.
Ellie drags her feet dramatically until she goes limp in my arms. "I wanna go home and sleep."
I stumble back at the weight added, wriggling my arms to hold her steady. The last thing I need on the first day of school is a concussion. "Christ— well maybe if you get off, we can take you home."
River piles his backpack into the back of Gabe's truck, the loud thump startling Ellie, and looks at us with a confused stare. "Weren't– Weren't we supposed to hang out today?"
The girl in my arms rises to her feet, groaning. "Shit, I forgot. My mom said she wants me back home after school as soon as possible. You know, groundings and all."
"Next time, don't get into an accident." Gabe sends her a smirk.
Ellie narrows her eyes and mocks his response, crossing her arms and leaning on one leg. A small chortle parts my lips as I lean up against the truck next to River. After her bickering, Ellie continues. "Go get ice cream or something in my memory. I just have to get back before I'm killed, which should be any day now."
"I call your funeral playlist," I reply. Looking up while my fingers stroke my chin comically, I add, "A ton of 80s pop with a dash of Gaga?"
Booping my nose, Ellie smiles. "You know me too well."
We all file into Gabe's small truck— well, almost all of us. Since the truck is a three-seater and police like to patrol this area, there is always a sacrifice who gets to claim the back of the car. This time, it happens to be me. Once I was lying flat on my back, a blue tarp was pulled over my body, coming right above my nose. Oh, the perks of old, short pick-up trucks roaming a town with endless police...
Sliding open the window, Gabe's voice calls out. "You good back there?"
"Yeah, I'm fucking peachy," I reply.
There's the sound of laughter before the engine kicks on. At that moment, my paranoia starts to kick in, starting with my heart beating fast in my chest and palms getting sweaty. Not once have any of us gotten caught, but I can't help but think the day we are, it's my ass going to jail. I've never bothered to look at the laws relating to seat belts in other states, but here, the law is highly enforced. Not only would I get fined and definitely put into a cell, but I have no doubt Gabe would endure the same fate.
Nice way to put yourself in one of these states, I chastise myself.
I almost groan, but I can't be sure if I'll cause one of the friends up front to worry. So, I exhale and inhale rhythmically like I was taught. Looking straight ahead, all I can see are blue skies and puffy white clouds. Occasionally, a tree or two will enter the scenery. I'm barely blinking as I try to put shapes to the clouds, some more impossible than others. Despite having an imaginative mind, the figures aren't creating a picture for me to follow.
I like to remember how easy it was as a child to create something out of nothing. An empty napkin roll wasn't just cardboard; it was a telescope that needed color. Our dolls weren't acting on our behalf; they were doing it themselves and showing us their lives. Every cloud wasn't just a random array of water droplets but rather, a visual story to be told. I want to know what causes all of us to lose that form of innocence. Ways of thinking like pessimism or optimism, that's easy: once too many shitty things start to happen more than the good, one is likely to form a biased view or vice versa. But, why do we stop playing with imaginary friends? Or act out intense battles on the playground? Even the smallest blip of innocence, like cloud-watching, becomes warped.
Sometimes, it's easy to pick out that moment in our own lives where we find ourselves becoming grown-ups and leaving childhood behind, but the shitty part is that it isn't just me or Ellie, River, or Gabe who go through trials. It's not just the kid who loses a parent or the girl who was taken advantage of. Everyone has their wars. And in the end, we lose, becoming a part of the system that inflicts these damages.
These damages I speak of tear us apart. They mold us into shapes beyond recognition. No longer a funny shape or a distorted animal in the sky, but dark, heavy, and so close to bursting. And when we finally let go, after all the waiting and rolling, we seem to explode, leaking and oozing our pain, our torment, us. And when it's over? What's left? I guess there are two options: remain on the ground to seep into further nothingness, or rise once more, only to break again, again, and again. But life is such torment and full of trials, is it not?
Funny how staring at a cloud can put life into perspective.
My brain is overrun by these thoughts that I don't even realize Gabe's truck is rolling to a stop. I finally take notice when car doors swing open then shut.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," River says leaning over the side of the truck to get a look at me.
Rolling my eyes with a grin, I swat at his shoulder, which misses as he recoils. "Shut up, loser." I sit up, tossing the tarp to the side as I move to stand. River smirks and offers his hands to help me down. Without hesitation I take them, swinging one leg over the side and the other following before I made a short leap to the ground. Because neither of us apparently can avoid embarrassment, we're both holding each other's hands after I land. A rosy blush spreads across his entire face— no doubt mine as well— before I take the initiative to lean backwards, focusing on Ellie who crawls from the side door.
"Speaking of losers," Gabe sighs. I can't help but feel the reddening in my cheeks, assuming this asshole is talking about River and me, but I notice he's looking at Ellie, now swinging her backpack around one shoulder in her driveway.
She notices that all of us are looking, causing her to freeze. "Why does everyone hate me today?"
I smile bringing her into a goofy hug. "We just miss you. Don't get into any more accidents, please?"
"Yeah, yeah," she snorts, hugging me back to the best of her ability, considering I have her arms pinned down at an odd angle. "Alright, leave my driveway before I actually get you guys killed."
Gabe, River, and I say our goodbyes before filing into the white truck, heading God-knows-where as a worn-down engine sparks to life. Looking over at River, who sits to my right in the passenger seat, I send him a glare that he doesn't see since his eyes are focused on what lies beyond the window— or lack thereof.
While his hair barely covers his neck, mine flows down to my mid-back, meaning having windows rolled all the way down and speeding down a highway won't lead to the best outcomes for my hair. But I can't complain too much: River's hair going crazy in the wind is both cute and a bit funny. A small smile graces my features before a thin lock of hair enters my lips.
Glancing over at the driver, I notice how only locks of hair toward the ends move slowly despite the windows rolled all the way down, as if the strands are wearing a shield against the wind. I wonder how Gabriel keeps his hair so still before making the dumbfounding realization that he wears that beanie 24/7 and who knows how long he goes without washing his perfect hair. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen the boy without the hat. I guarantee no one would recognize him without it.
"So, where are we heading?" Gabriel asks when we reach the stoplight before entering the populated part of town.
I exhale, leaning my head on the headrest of the seat. "Well, I for one could go for something frozen. Maybe a burger, too."
"Didn't you just eat lunch?" River asks, humorously smiling in my direction.
"And had coffee literally less than an hour ago," Gabe adds.
Sending a blank look to River (whose smile widens) then over to Gabe, his eyes never leaving the stretch of road ahead of him (at least one person in the group can do that), I huff, my eyes shutting closed and I bring my shoulders up into a shrug. "I don't know what you both have against me and my food and drink consumption, but you better knock it off."
There's a small hum of laughter to my right, sending a slight shiver down my neck. "If we left you alone for a week, there's no telling how much you'd put in your system," River tells me as if I don't know that already.
"Yeah, yeah. Alright, Bob and Jillian, I don't need you to berate me."
══════════════════
Twenty minutes later, the three of us find ourselves outside a burger joint. In one hand, I have a burger waiting to be devoured and in the other is a frozen strawberry lemonade. Nothing says summer like this combination. We're sitting the parking lot eating our meals, more specifically in the back of the truck. From my phone, I have a playlist plainly called "Chill" playing from the nearly-blown speakers.
"I never thought food could taste so good," I moan as the burger slides down my throat.
"You're acting like you haven't eaten in a week."
Sending Gabe an eye-roll, I reply, "It might as well have been."
There's a moment of silence before River brings up a topic not discussed in a couple weeks. "Do you guys wanna come over and jam for a bit sometime this week? We haven't done anything in a while."
One summer a few years back, the trio of us learned we can play different instruments. I have been playing the guitar and drums since I was younger, thanks to a musically gifted grandfather. Gabe and River both had a knack for guitar too, though Gabe had more experience with the bass guitar and River had some training with piano. While our jam sessions are nothing too serious, as none of us want to be in a band or write our own songs, it's become a fun and stress-reducing way to hang out when silence would otherwise fill the atmosphere. The last time, we figured out how to play the theme songs of our favorite movies using a ukulele and bongos. It was something I didn't need to hear, but I'm glad I did.
I nod my head. "Yeah, we can this weekend if we aren't being drowned in homework by that point."
Gabe also agrees with a nod, his mouth full of fries. "It's a maybe from me: Mom might need to borrow the truck since hers is wearing down."
River turns his dark brown eyes over to me, capturing an embarrassing scene as lettuce pokes between my stuffed lips. Great. "Well, I guess I can hang out with you if someone can't show."
While I playfully punch his arm, I send a look over to Gabe who hides a smirk in his straw. He catches me looking as River goes on about one of his classes. Sending me a wink, I narrow my eyes knowingly: his mom just got a brand new truck. Mr. Matchmaker goes back to this food, making a statement on how hot River's finance teacher is, causing the boy to make a very uncomfortable face.
Despite the long talks we shared in the back of Gabe's truck, I find myself zoning out hardcore once again. I can't figure out why exactly my mind had wondered, but I do know where. My thoughts go back to Trinity's face, remembering how she would sit next to me against the side of the truck the very few times she decided to make time for my friends. There's a ghost of warmth in my palm like fingers squeezing when the short snippet of a memory expels from deep inside my mind. I don't know why I thought of it. It just appeared, causing a droplet of woe to fill my gut.
Like my friends have told me before, I need to let this go. There's no use in holding on to something, or rather someone who isn't coming back, especially someone who was never good for me in the first place. Glancing up, I spy on River munching and talking with Gabe. A blush covers my cheeks when I remember how utterly embarrassing it was when I broke down in front of him over a stupid girl. He told me there are worse things to worry about.
"Like climate change?" I asked, sniffling into a pillow. I hope he washed it after that encounter. Hell, he needed to lysol everything down after my mopey ass walked through the place.
River smiled warmly at me, pulling me into a giant bear hug. Sometimes, I want to ask for one of those hugs again. "I was going to say people who like pineapple on pizza, but climate change is also a concern."
I remember crying not a second later, but that was due to the thought of polar bears facing extinction.
Contrary to knowing how wonderful my three best friends are, I'm also aware that there are certain things I can't share. I don't want to overbear them with my problems that should have been solved months ago. The fact that I'm still getting small flashbacks and thoughts of her is pathetic, and I'm aware of that fact. On the other hand, it isn't like my group of friends will give up and leave if I spill my guts, right? I shouldn't be scared of expression my thoughts, feelings, and emotions to my closest friends. And yet, here I sit, undecided on what to do.
Christ, do I need to get my priorities straight.
When my eyes break away from their trance, all I see is Gabe and River entering a heated discussion, about what I'm not sure. With my thoughts still in a bit of limbo, I'm shocked back to reality when they both leap from either side of the vehicle, rushing to pull items from their bags.
Under any other normal circumstance, it would be concerning to see two dudes arguing one moment then reaching into their bags the next. I'm willing to bet the next logical calculation for a stranger would have been to get away, fearing the queue for guns or knives. But I know these losers. Even if they are fighting or wanting to kill each other, there is only one way they can settle their differences.
"Soon, you will see the way of the Jedi," River exclaims while thrashing his blue lightsaber through the air.
"Shut the fuck up, you nerd!" Gabe flicks out a red lightsaber, taunting the other.
"Oh, my God," I say with no emotion in my tone, watching as red and blue shamelessly slash at each other in battery-produced light in a burger joint parking lot.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
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