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m00nsbaby · 9 months

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Do you want me (dead)?

Jake Lockley x F! Reader.

Tags & warnings. College AU, no mentions of Marc or Steven, explicit, +18, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating, no use of y/n.

Word count. 3.5k

Summary. He was childish. Unbearable.

It was as if he had a magnet to you, always bothering you, finding a way to ruin your day in some manner.

You were going to kill Jake Lockley at any moment.

You decided not to blame anyone else but yourself for your bad mood. It had been a conscious choice to only get two hours of sleep due to your sudden desire for a movie marathon by yourself.

You didn't have many friends; you exchanged words with a couple of people, if you were lucky. On any given day, you would arrive, attend class, and then spend the rest of your time alone somewhere else. So, on a Wednesday morning, you could afford to rest your arms on your desk and hide your face there, dozing off until the class started.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Cariño." If you were a cat, that single word would have been enough to make your fur stand on end. You didn't even bother lifting your head to see who was by your side.

He cleared his throat louder. "Cariño."

When you raised your hand to show him your middle finger, he smiled satisfactorily. Jake was content with getting even a gram of your attention. There was a personal pleasure in getting under your skin, as if his day got 200 times better.

"Did you sleep well?" He was going to keep pushing until he got more from you. "I slept amazingly, actually. Last night, I found a video where..."

"I'm not interested, Lockley." You growled, finally raising your head.

"There she is." You wanted to wipe that cocky smile off his face with a punch. You could only hope that one day he would annoy the wrong person, and someone else would take care of the dirty work. "As beautiful as always."

"I hate you."

"Ouch, my heart." He placed a hand over his chest, still smiling.

"Go to..."

"Good morning, everyone!" You nibbled on your lower lip to avoid screaming over the professor about how much you wished a truck would run over Jake Lockley.

At least with this, you were free of him for the next three hours.

It wasn't long before a poorly folded note landed on your desk.

Hey :)

With your index finger, you pushed the note, letting it fall to the floor.

Heyyyyy!!!

The next one also landed on the floor.

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You caught a glimpse of what looked like a poorly drawn cat. Next paper to the floor.

You didn't even bother opening the next one.

"Professor?" Hearing him speak again made you lift your gaze, wondering what nonsense he would come up with this time. "We have a trash bin in the classroom for a reason, right?" As he said this, he pointed at you and then at the papers on the floor.

"No, no, no! I didn't..."

"You two again?" The professor pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he sighed heavily. His gaze landed on you almost immediately. "Get out of my class."

"But..."

"Out." After a few seconds of silence, you realized he was serious, and you had no choice but to make as much noise as possible with your belongings while standing up.

"Go to hell, Lockley." You said loudly, eliciting a collective 'uhhh' from the group. If you were already in trouble, it was better to have a good reason.

"You're staying for..."

"Detention, yes, yes." You growled as you slammed the classroom door.

You could still feel Jake's gaze on you, along with his triumphant smile. You didn't cross paths with him for the rest of the day.

It seemed that the next day fate was on your side because there were no signs of life from him.

Classes passed as boring as ever, in fact, even more so now that you had no one to argue or talk with.

It was quieter without him around. Well, the good side was that you were finally free to go home.

You had no choice but to cross the edge of the football field to leave school. Both hands were in your pockets, and you had your earphones on. You were almost thanking God for getting through another day without Jake Lockley.

Almost.

At the last row of stands, there was someone. It wasn't uncommon, and you would have done your best to avoid them, except this time you recognized who it was even with his face hidden in his hands.

You rolled your eyes when you realized you couldn't even have a single day of peace.

Fortunately, not even the sound of footsteps caught his attention. In fact, it left you more intrigued how loudly he was breathing. Perhaps today was the day he finally crossed paths with the wrong person and got put in place.

You shrugged to yourself and kept walking, but your chest decided it didn't agree with you.

What if something had happened to him? Was he crying?

"Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking," you thought to yourself when your legs wouldn't move any further.

Ugh.

You retraced your steps.

"Are you okay?" It came out in a stronger tone than you would have liked.

When he lifted his head from his hands, your stomach churned. You always thought you'd enjoy the day someone finally gave Jake Lockley what he deserved, but this felt horrible.

He nodded silently when he realized it was you.

There was a cut along the bridge of his nose and another on his eyebrow. Blood was flowing from one of his nostrils and reached his lips, all on top of a black eye.

His response should have been enough for you to continue your way, but...

"You don't look good."

He laughed, not genuinely, but one of those laughs you give automatically when someone tries to cheer you up in the worst moments, even though you weren't joking.

"You should've seen the other guy." You didn't smile.

He was a jerk, even in this situation.

You hesitated a few seconds before making your decision. You took a seat next to him on the stands, close enough for your leg to brush against his.

You were silent for what felt like an eternity. Jake didn't even bother to look at you, but at least he wasn't hiding in his hands anymore; he was watching the field as if the grass were the most interesting thing on planet Earth.

"Can I see?" you whispered after a while.

"Huh?"

"Your face. Can I see?" He finally turned to you in silence, and you did the same, daring to look at him. If you noticed any hint of him about to give you that stupid smug grin he always had, you'd make him regret it even more.

But no. Those huge brown eyes were fixed on you as if he were a lost puppy.

You used your right hand to gently hold his chin, lifting his head slightly to search for any other injuries. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be more than what you noticed at first glance.

You pulled the sleeve of your sweater enough to cover part of your hand, which was such a light shade of pink it could pass for white, though you didn't care as you used the fabric to wipe away the blood running from his nose.

If only you had been aware of how Jake's heart was racing.

You licked the fabric slightly to dampen it when you noticed the blood had started to dry.

"Is this why you didn't go to class?" You tried to fill the silence that was starting to make you nervous.

He nodded without saying anything more. You never thought you'd wish to hear his annoying voice.

"Was it a fight?" Another nod. Well, knowing there was no one else bothering him was enough to give you some relief. You kept cleaning. Under his nose and upper lip. The wounds looked less dramatic without so much blood.

"Done."

He licked his lips, cleaning off any remaining blood. You adjusted your backpack on your shoulder when you finally stood up.

"It's late, Jake. Go home." you whispered. You didn't care if it seemed like you were talking to yourself. You didn't wait for a response before walking away, or at least taking two steps before his voice stopped you.

"Hey." You spun on your own feet to look at him. "Thanks, cariño."

You smiled; you couldn't have stopped it even if you wanted to.

"See you tomorrow." It was the last thing you said before continuing to walk.

And yes, you did see him the next day, against your will.

The following days were torturous for both him and you, as Jake set out to annoy you in new ways.

He asked you at least 4 times if you would spend some time with him after school, like a date or in any situation. He simply took your concern for him as a way of saying, "Maybe I don't hate you as much as you think."

You were on the verge of exploding.

You were tangling the cable of your laptop when you noticed a silhouette in front of you. You didn't have to look up to know who it was.

It was just the two of you in the classroom now that everyone had left.

"What do you want, Lockley?" You didn't look up as you packed your charger into your backpack.

"I want to know if we can hang out after school," his tone was firm, more than usual.

"I already told you, Jake, in how many languages do you want me to say it? Fortunately, it's the same in Spanish or I doubt you'd understand," you were not in the mood, not today, not now, and especially not after having rejected his invitations several times before.

"I just want to buy you an ice cream, cariño. Or do you prefer a smoothie? A frappe?" The poor guy was desperate.

"I don't want anything." You finally turned to face him with a frown, adjusting your backpack on your shoulder.

"¿Por qué tienes que portarte como una idiota conmigo?"

"I understood it, you enormous jerk!" Your voice rose almost immediately as you pushed his chest to keep him away. "We're not friends, Jake, we're nothing. I can't stand you, and you can't stand me either. What happened the other day was just some human empathy."

Your index finger kept hitting his chest again and again as you spoke, your frown remained deep.

In Jake's eyes, you looked nothing more than an annoyed kitten, hissing when someone gets too close.

"So leave me alone, seriously, because I swear if you keep this up, I'm going to..." You couldn't continue speaking because his lips were on yours, devouring them like a starving man.

Your eyes opened in surprise just seconds before you succumbed to his delicious taste of mint and cigarettes. Your hands slowly traveled up his chest until they reached his shoulders, which you held onto when your legs weakened.

It wasn't fair that he was such a good kisser.

He moved forward slowly, guiding you until your body was pressed against one of the walls of the classroom. His hands were hooked onto your waist as if you were going to run away at any moment.

You had no intention of doing that; your mind was genuinely somewhere else. However, after eliciting a delicious moan from the guy in front of you by biting his lower lip, your thoughts were momentarily disrupted.

"Please, hermosa." he whispered with a husky voice as his kisses trailed down your chin. "Please, just one date."

You couldn't hate him more. How could he do this to you?

Your eyes were closed as you tilted your head to the side, guiding Jake to your neck. You nodded without saying anything.

A moan escaped your lips when you felt him bite your skin, sucking with enough force to leave a mark.

"Fuck, Lockley," you whispered with heavy breaths as he pulled away from your neck. That stupid cocky smile. Ugh.

"Then I'll see you this afternoon." You hated him. Really, you hated him, just as much as you hated his ridiculous and soft lips now coated with your strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

"Fine." You wished your mouth had expressed what you felt, but your body was acting faster than you."

He picked you up in his car, and you would have preferred to jump out of it while it was still moving than admit that there was something about being in Jake Lockley's car that made you feel... special, especially after hearing him call it 'baby' more than once.

The car smelled like leather, cigarettes, and his cologne.

"You look beautiful." You rolled your eyes with a smile as he got in on the opposite side of the car.

"Thanks, Jake." If you were going to spend so many hours together, the least you could do was try to make it tolerable for both of you. However, you remained on guard for any stupid remarks that might come out of his mouth.

"So, ice cream?"

"I love the vanilla ice cream from McDonald's."

"McDonald's it is, then."

Was it because it was him, or were you just easily impressed to feel delighted with an invitation for a one-dollar ice cream?

"Are you going to tell me why you got beaten up the other day?"

"I didn't get beaten up." He rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on your seat to look back, reversing the car.

Oh, that was...

Oh.

"Well." You imitated his disgusted gesture. "Why did they fight you then?"

"It was over something stupid. Can we talk about something else?"

"And what could you and I talk about?"

"About school?"

"Boring." When he stopped at the drive-thru, you remained silent, smiling.

"Two vanilla ice creams, and... do you want something else?" Was this what it felt like to be the passenger princess?

"Fries."

"And some fries."

"Have you ever eaten fries with ice cream?" You asked as he drove forward to receive his ridiculously small order.

"Together? No." He frowned as he looked in his wallet for the exact 3 dollars to pay the girl at the window. "That's disgusting."

Receiving your ice cream made you confirm that this was what it felt like to be a passenger princess.

"Or maybe you just have terrible taste." You also received the fries.

You would have never imagined that Jake Lockley's idea of a date was sitting in his car, chatting and eating fast food, but you weren't complaining. He was doing an excellent job of making you feel comfortable.

You didn't even notice when the sun set, and the McDonald's parking lot emptied, leaving just the two of you.

"Jake? They'll worry at home, it’s late."

"Sorry, cariño! I didn't even notice." He quickly started the car, and you laughed because you would have never imagined that a guy like him would care about what your parents might say.

You sighed heavily as you got back into your seat. If only the day lasted longer.

And if only the way home was longer.

He opened the door for you just as he did when you got in, and you smiled in thanks. You turned on your heels to face him after stepping onto the sidewalk; you needed the extra inches to be able to look him in the eyes.

"Thanks for driving me," you whispered as he took a step closer to you.

"You're welcome, cariño."

"And thanks for the ice cream."

"You're welcome, cariño." he repeated, trying not to laugh.

"And the fries." His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, keeping you on the edge of the curb.

"You're welcome, cariño." He finally laughed before leaning in just enough to leave a chaste kiss on your lips.

"See you tomorrow." Another kiss, short and gentle.

Both of you went to bed with the most ridiculous smiles on your faces.

You were looking around nervously, feeling a pit in your stomach at the mere idea of running into Jake. How should you approach him this time? Did you want to deal with the curious stares from your classmates?

Well, you didn't have to look for an answer because a hand pulling your arm took you out of your reverie. Before you could react, you found yourself locked inside the janitor's closet, and once again, you were about to kill Jake Lockley.

"Jake... What the fuck?" You said with almost disappointment. Just when you thought he couldn't annoy you any more.

There was no response from him. The only thing you got from him was the most desperate kiss you had ever received. His tongue was exploring every inch of you while you tried not to knock over the stack of mops and brooms next to you.

"I missed you," was all he could say between kisses. You wondered if he had always been this intense or if it was his strange fixation on you.

You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, looking at him. Bright brown eyes, flushed cheeks, and lips now pink from kissing you.

Maybe you didn't hate him as much as you had sworn.

"Can you lock the door?" you whispered, looking at him with your lower lip between your teeth. Maybe it would be fair to give back some of the mistreatment you've put him through lately, while he looks at you with so much admiration.

Maybe he deserved it.

He stretched out a hand to obey you, when the 'click' resounded in the small closet, your hands immediately went to his jeans, you unbuttoned them without looking away.

“¿C-cariño?"

"Shhh, do you want to get caught?" You questioned with a smile that nearly made Jake faint.

You pulled his jeans down enough to free his erection, still covered by his boxers. You gathered saliva in your mouth before running your tongue along it to moisten his underwear, all without taking your eyes off of his.

He exhaled heavily causing a smile in you. You licked over the top of the cloth again a few times before slowly lowering his boxers.

You swallowed when his cock was in front of your face.

"What is it, hermosa?" He questioned with a mocking smile when he noticed the surprise in your expression.

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes as you spit into your hand to hold it. You licked its entire length again from base to tip.

You aligned it to your mouth with your hand while your lips were in charge of leaving wet kisses on the head, not caring that your lips were being stained with pre-cum.

"Hermosa." Jake repeated, his voice shaking. You already knew what he wanted but your habit of bothering him was always present in you.

"Yes, Jakey?"

"Please."

"Please, what?" You looked up at him as you traced little circles on his slit.

“Put it in your mouth. Please please please".

“You are adorable when you ask properly.” You gave a small laugh before obeying him. You took a deep breath in through your nose and you pushed it into your mouth in one movement, to the point where you felt it hitting your throat.

“Carajo.” He whispered breathlessly and finally placed a hand in your hair. He held a few strands in his fist and pushed you further against him, to the point where your nose collided with his abdomen.

You'd have to fix your makeup when you got out of there.

And although your eyes began to water, you didn't move away or make any fight to push him, first dead before letting yourself lose. After a few seconds he released you, letting you take a breath and sniff.

"Do you want to kill me?" You whispered laughing as you licked your lips.

"It seems to me that you are the one who wants to kill me, hermosa." His fingers squeezed your chin before pulling you back against his erection.

It didn't take long for you to open your lips for him, taking his entire member into your mouth for the second time.

Your gaze was still fixed on him.

"Are you going to swallow it all, mi amor?" With teary eyes you nodded, your hands resting on his thighs. "Buena chica."

Both hands went to your hair to keep you still. You obeyed and opened your mouth wide for him, even sticking your tongue out from under his cock so he could move freely.

He thrusted into your mouth without an ounce of mercy, you could feel your saliva run down your chin to your neck. When his movements became more frantic you knew he was getting closer.

The heat in his lower abdomen had him covering his mouth with one hand trying not to make any more noise.

One more hard thrust and Jake came. His hot cum ran down your throat as there wasn't enough room in your mouth to keep it there, it shot straight for you to swallow.

"Are you okay?" You questioned with a smirk as you wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

"Better than okay, cariño."

Hey :)

A note appeared on your desk, making you roll your eyes before laughing softly. You uncapped your pink pen to write underneath the horrible handwriting.

Hi! ♡

You filled in the heart before placing the paper on Jake's desk. You even winked at him when he looked surprised to receive a response.

Vanilla ice cream after classes?

And fries too? :)

446 notes · View notes

reasoningdaily · 7 months

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Daniel Motaung, a former Facebook content moderator employed by Sama, photographed near his home in South Africa on Feb. 11, 2022. Motaung alleges Sama wrongfully terminated him in 2019 while he was attempting to start a union

In a drab office building near a slum on the outskirts of Nairobi, Kenya, nearly 200 young men and women from countries across Africa sit at desks glued to computer monitors, where they must watch videos of murders, rapes, suicides, and child sexual abuse.

These young Africans work for Sama, which calls itself an “ethical AI” outsourcing company and is headquartered in California.

Sama says its mission is to provide people in places like Nairobi with “dignified digital work.” Its executives can often be heard saying that the best way to help poor countries is to “give work, not aid.” The company claims to have helped lift more than 50,000 people in the developing world out of poverty.

This benevolent public image has won Sama data-labeling contracts with some of the largest companies in the world, including Google, Microsoft and Walmart. What the company doesn’t make public on its website is its relationship with its client Facebook.

Here in Nairobi, Sama employees who speak at least 11 African languages between them toil day and night, working as outsourced Facebook content moderators: the emergency first responders of social media. They perform the brutal task of viewing and removing illegal or banned content from Facebook before it is seen by the average user.

Since 2019, this Nairobi office block has been the epicenter of Facebook’s content moderation operation for the whole of Sub-Saharan Africa. Its remit includes Ethiopia, where Facebook is trying to prevent content on its platform contributing to incitement to violence in an escalating civil war.

Despite their importance to Facebook, the workers in this Nairobi office are among the lowest-paid workers for the platform anywhere in the world, with some of them taking home as little as $1.50 per hour, a TIME investigation found. The testimonies of Sama employees reveal a workplace culture characterized by mental trauma, intimidation, and alleged suppression of the right to unionize. The revelations raise serious questions about whether Facebook—which periodically sends its own employees to Nairobi to monitor Sama’s operations—is exploiting the very people upon whom it is depending to ensure its platform is safe in Ethiopia and across the continent. And just as Facebook needs them most, TIME can reveal that content moderators at Sama are leaving the company in droves due to poor pay and working conditions, with six Ethiopians resigning in a single week in January.

The office in Nairobi, Kenya, where Facebook content moderators began working in 2019, photographed on Feb 10, 2022. Sama was known publicly as Samasource until early 2021.

Khadija Farah for TIME

“The work that we do is a kind of mental torture,” one employee, who currently works as a Facebook content moderator for Sama, told TIME. “Whatever I am living on is hand-to-mouth. I can’t save a cent. Sometimes I feel I want to resign. But then I ask myself: what will my baby eat?”

TIME is aware of at least two Sama content moderators who chose to resign after being diagnosed with mental illnesses including post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety, and depression. Many others described how they had been traumatized by the work but were unable to obtain formal diagnoses due to their inability to afford access to quality mental healthcare. Some described continuing with work despite trauma because they had no other options. While Sama employs wellness counselors to provide workers with on-site care in Nairobi, most of the content moderators TIME spoke to said they generally distrust the counselors. One former wellness counselor says that Sama managers regularly rejected counselors’ requests to let content moderators take “wellness breaks” during the day, because of the impact it would have on productivity.

Workers say Sama has also suppressed their efforts to secure better working conditions. In the summer of 2019, content moderators threatened to strike within seven days unless they were given better pay and working conditions. Instead of negotiating, Sama responded by flying two highly-paid executives from San Francisco to Nairobi to deal with the uprising. Within weeks Daniel Motaung, the attempted strike’s leader who was in the process of formally filing trade union papers, had been fired—accused by Sama of taking action that would put the relationship between the company and Facebook at “great risk.” Sama told other participants in the labor action effort that they were expendable and said they should either resign or get back to work, several employees told TIME. The workers stood down before the seven days were up, and there was no pay increase.

Are you a content moderator at Sama or elsewhere? TIME would like to speak with you. Please get in touch with the author: [email protected]

“At Sama, it feels like speaking the truth or standing up for your rights is a crime,” a second employee tells TIME. “They made sure by firing some people that this will not happen again. I feel like it’s modern slavery, like neo-colonialism.” (Sama disputes this characterization, and said in a statement that its content moderators are paid triple the Kenyan minimum wage.)

Foxglove, a legal NGO based in London, says it has informed Sama it is preparing legal action in relation to its alleged wrongful termination of Motaung. “Firing workers for trying to organize is against the law,” says Cori Crider, Foxglove’s director. “Daniel did a brave thing by blowing the whistle here—as was his legal right.” The Katiba Institute, a Kenyan public-interest law firm, is assisting with the case.

Sama denies that there was any strike or labor action. “We value our employees and are proud of the long-standing work we have done to create an ethical AI supply chain,” Shriram Natarajan, the head of Sama’s Nairobi office, said in an emailed statement. “We exist to provide ethical AI to our global customers and we are proud of the role our employees play in building new online experiences and cleaning up the internet. It’s a tough job and it’s why we invest heavily in training, personal development, wellness programs, and competitive salaries.”

Facebook says it spent more than $5 billion on safety measures in 2021. It contracts the services of more than 15,000 content moderators globally, most of whom are employed by third-parties like Sama. In response to a detailed set of questions for this story, a spokesperson for Facebook’s parent company Meta said: “We take our responsibility to the people who review content for Meta seriously and require our partners to provide industry-leading pay, benefits and support. We also encourage content reviewers to raise issues when they become aware of them and regularly conduct independent audits to ensure our partners are meeting the high standards we expect of them.”

A strike, struck down

Daniel Motaung was a 27-year-old university graduate from South Africa looking for his first job when he came across an online ad from Sama seeking Zulu speakers.

It was early 2019, and Sama had recently won a contract to provide content moderation for Facebook’s Sub-Saharan Africa markets. Sama placed job ads in countries across Africa, both directly and through agencies, looking for people with fluency in different African languages who were willing to relocate to Kenya.

Motaung, like many other moderators TIME spoke with, says he had little idea what content moderation involved when he applied for the job. He thought it simply involved removing false information from social media. He says he was not informed during his interview that the job would require regularly viewing disturbing content that could lead to mental health problems. After he accepted and arrived in Kenya, Sama asked him to sign a non-disclosure agreement, and only then did they reveal to him the type of content he would be working with daily. By then, he felt it was too late to turn back.

Several other current and former content moderators described similar experiences of not being warned about the nature of the job. Two, from separate countries, said they had answered job ads placed via agencies for “call center agents.”

Elsewhere in the world, similar working conditions have landed Facebook in hot water. In 2020, the social network paid out $52 million to fund mental health treatment for some of its American content moderators following a lawsuit centered on mental ill health stemming from their work, including PTSD.

In the U.S. and Europe, many Facebook content moderators employed by the outsourcing firm Accenture are now asked to sign a waiver before they begin their jobs, acknowledging that they may develop PTSD and other mental health disorders. African content moderators working for Sama say they are not asked to sign such a waiver.

Read more: ‘I Sold My Soul.’ WhatsApp Content Moderators Review the Worst Material on the Internet. Now They’re Alleging Pay Discrimination

According to payslips seen by TIME, Sama pays foreign employees monthly pre-tax salaries of around 60,000 Kenyan shillings ($528), which includes a monthly bonus for relocating from elsewhere in Africa. After tax, this equates to around $440 per month, or a take-home wage of roughly $2.20 per hour, based on a 45-hour work week. Sama employees from within Kenya, who are not paid the monthly relocation bonus, receive a take-home wage equivalent to around $1.46 per hour after tax. In an interview with the BBC in 2018, Sama’s late founder Leila Janah attempted to justify the company’s levels of pay in the region. “One thing that’s critical in our line of work is to not pay wages that would distort local labor markets,” she said. “If we were to pay people substantially more than that, we would throw everything off.”

Employees themselves didn’t see it that way. One day in July 2019, Motaung got talking to a group of other moderators who were hired four months previously. He recounts that many said they felt the job that they had applied for was not the one they were doing, and discussed their low pay and poor working environment.

Some said they had done research that showed content moderators in other countries were being paid far more for the same work. They resolved to group together and take action to better their conditions. Motaung took the lead, and he and his colleagues created a WhatsApp group chat to begin canvassing opinion more widely. Soon, the group had more than 100 members.

Employees who were in the group chat say they discussed the trauma of the work and how many felt they had been hired under false pretenses. Kenyan employees said it was unfair that they were paid around 30% less than the foreigners in the office, and that they had not yet received the medical insurance they say they had been promised. Other employees were frustrated that Sama had recently introduced compulsory night shifts to meet Facebook’s demand for 24-hour coverage.

Based on the discussions in the chat, Motaung drafted a petition with a list of demands for Sama’s management, including that everyone’s pay be doubled. The document, seen by TIME, said that if management did not “substantively engage” with the demands within seven days, employees would go on strike.

Kibera, the largest informal settlement in Africa, out of which Sama says many of its workers are hired.

Khadija Farah for TIME.

The Alliance, as the group of employees began calling themselves, presented their petition to Sama’s management in a meeting on July 30, 2019. Two senior Sama executives from San Francisco joined via video-conference, but they dismissed the workers’ concerns, according to Motaung and others. “They told us there are lots of people who are dying to get this job, that they did research on the wages and this is a nice wage considering what people are getting in Kenya,” says one employee who was present during the meeting. A 2021 study carried out by three MIT researchers found the average salary at Sama including benefits was approximately 2.5 times the Kenyan minimum wage. But even so, these wages only cover the basic costs of living, workers say, and don’t allow them to save or improve their financial situations.

Within days, the two executives from San Francisco had arrived in Nairobi, and Motaung was suspended from his job pending a disciplinary hearing. Sama told Motaung some of his colleagues had accused him of bullying, intimidating and coercing them to sign their names to the list of demands. He was told to stay away from the office and barred from talking to his colleagues. Motaung says the allegations that he bullied more than 100 of his colleagues into signing a petition for better pay and working conditions are ridiculous. He suspects that Sama intimidated several of his former colleagues into making statements against him. “It was just them pretending to follow a process so that they can get rid of me quickly, so that everything can go back to normal,” he says. Sama did not comment on allegations of worker intimidation.

Meanwhile, other employees involved in the attempted strike action were being invited to individual meetings with Cindy Abramson, one of the executives who had flown in from San Francisco. Two employees who were particularly vocal during the worker revolt said that Abramson flattered them in these meetings, suggesting that they had leadership potential, and dangled the prospect of promotion if they could convince their colleagues to stand down.

Three rank-and-file participants in the labor action told TIME that during their own one-on-one meetings, Abramson, whose total compensation in 2018 was $194,390, according to Sama’s public filings, intimidated them into revoking their names from the petition, saying that they must choose between disaffiliating from the Alliance or losing their jobs. Her warnings were especially stark toward Kenyan employees, according to people with knowledge of the discussions. The Kenyans were reminded in the meetings that they were more easily replaceable than foreign employees, which many of them took as a threat of being fired if they did not stand down. Scared, many people started revoking their signatures from the petition. “They threatened us, and we backed down,” says one Kenyan employee, who reasoned that it was better to have a low-paying job than no job at all.

“There never was a strike or labor action,” Sama said in its statement to TIME. “Being a responsible employer, we wanted to see our team in person, meet with everyone face-to-face and address their concerns head-on. It’s why we flew members of our leadership team to our offices in Nairobi and it’s a decision we stand behind.” The statement also said that after employees asked for higher salaries, the company conducted a pay audit and found they were already being paid double the living wage for the region. Sama said it has since changed its onboarding processes to “be more transparent about what to expect and we intensified our onboarding program by developing new training modules to ensure team members were prepared on how to handle the functions of the role.” Abramson, who has since left Sama, declined to comment.

Two weeks after his suspension, Sama fired Motaung, claiming he was guilty of gross misconduct “for engaging in acts that could amount to bullying, harassment and coercion and that led to the disruption of business activities and put the relationship between Samasource and its client [Facebook] at great risk,” according to a termination letter dated August 20, 2019. (Sama was known publicly as Samasource until early 2021, when it changed its name as part of a transformation that also included switching from a non-profit organization to a business.) The letter also noted Motaung’s leadership role within the Alliance, and said that he had advised his colleagues not to attend one-on-one meetings with management. Sama did not respond to questions about its firing of Motaung, but said in its statement that it had dismissed three employees who had “violated workplace rules.”

In the days before he was terminated, Motaung was busy drafting documents that would have formally established the Alliance as a union under Kenyan law. “I think they found out. While I was doing that, I received a letter terminating my employment,” he says. Motaung’s work permit was then canceled, leaving him just three weeks to leave Kenya for his native South Africa.

Kenyan labor law says employees are protected from dismissal as a result of “past, present or anticipated trade union membership,” and the Kenyan constitution says every worker has the right to go on strike.

Before he left Kenya, Motaung says, he handed the union incorporation papers to another employee in the movement. But the resolve of the Alliance had been broken, and the union never materialized. “We were in shock, devastated, broken,” one employee said. “And then life continued. After that, nobody dared to speak about it.”

For a time, however, a spark of resistance remained. Jason White, a former Afrikaans quality analyst from South Africa, says Sama fired him around a year later, in the summer of 2020. He had been a participant in the Alliance, and continued to ask questions even after most of his colleagues had given up. He says he regularly asked managers whether Sama was deducting too much tax from employees’ payslips, and why his girlfriend, also an employee with the company at the time, was not provided a work permit despite being promised one.

In July 2020, White and a colleague took their concerns to the South African embassy in Nairobi. In a series of emails, reviewed by TIME, and then at a meeting in person, the pair informed South African officials about the thwarted strike and Motaung’s firing the previous year, and how some of their colleagues believed they had been hired under false pretenses. The officials promised to investigate, but never followed up. The embassy did not respond to a request for comment.

After that, “there was a definite change in behavior from [Sama’s] top management,” White says. Soon after, a Sama manager offered him a payment equivalent to two months’ salary on the condition that he stop mentioning the pay and conditions at Sama to anybody, he says. He declined.

Then, White says, he was called into a disciplinary hearing, charged with having unauthorized contact with a Facebook employee, forbidden under his employment contract. White says he believes this was a reference to an email that he had sent to a Facebook staffer who had previously visited the Nairobi office, in which he had revealed his pay to her and asked her whether she believed Sama was exploiting him and other employees. Although he never received a reply, he believes that the employee told Facebook, who informed Sama. “The company saw that as a good opportunity to use that against me,” he says. Sama did not address TIME’s questions about White’s dismissal or the alleged payment offer extended to him. A Facebook spokesperson said that the email’s recipient had followed protocol.

A system driven by Facebook

Once every few months, Facebook employees travel from Dublin to Nairobi to lead trainings, brief content moderators on new policies, and answer questions. Five content moderators said that ahead of these meetings, Sama managers regularly instruct workers not to discuss their pay with Facebook staff.

But satisfying Facebook is at the center of the work culture Sama has created.

When Idris (one of the content moderators cited above who asked to use a pseudonym out of fear for his personal safety and job prospects) arrives at Sama’s office in Sameer Business Park each day, he logs into a piece of software designed by Facebook.

As soon as Idris looks at his first piece of content, a clock starts ticking. He might be confronted with graphic images or videos depicting dismemberment, murder or rape. No matter how disturbing the content, Idris must make a decision within 50 seconds about whether to take down or leave up this material—a target laid down by his Sama bosses.

Every week, his average handling time (AHT) is measured against the 50 second target during a formal review process. (The target can rise as high as 70 seconds, or sink as low as 36, depending on workload and staffing, according to employees.) If Idris takes too long reviewing each piece of content, he might be reprimanded by his team leader. If the problem persists, he will be pulled off working for Sama’s contract with Facebook and put on an internal training program instead. If he still does not work fast enough, he believes, he could be fired.

Moderators like Idris are expected to maintain an AHT of around 50 seconds, regardless of whether the video they are reviewing is minutes or even hours long. Facebook guidelines seen by TIME—previously unreported—instruct content moderators to watch only the first 15 seconds of a video before marking it as OK to remain on the platform and moving onto the next piece of content—as long as the title, transcript, top comments and thumbnail of the video appear to be innocent, and no users nor Facebook’s AI systems have flagged specific points in the video.

Through its prioritization of speed and efficiency above all else, this policy might explain why videos containing hate speech and incitement to violence have remained on Facebook’s platform in Ethiopia.

TIME reviewed several examples of lengthy Facebook Live videos that contained hate speech and incitement to violence well into the body of the videos. In one example, a two-hour long video with more than 1,000 views, a man speaking Amharic says that anyone married to Tigrayans or Oromos—two major ethnic groups from Ethiopia—are traitors and enemies of the state. In a coded call for ethnic cleansing, the man says that Amharas must not live in an Ethiopia that contains members of those groups.

An Ethiopian digital rights group, Network Against Hate Speech, told TIME in March 2021 that it had reported this video and more than 70 others to Facebook. But this video was not taken down until at least three months later.

“The majority of posts that have taken [a] long [time] before removal … are videos,” Network Against Hate Speech told TIME in an email last year. In the months since, the Ethiopian civil war has only escalated, with reports of mass atrocities and murders of civilians along ethnic lines.

Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen said in an interview that the working conditions described by content moderators at Sama appear to have had a serious impact on Facebook’s ability to police content in Ethiopia. “I am entirely unsurprised that these moderators are not being treated with the dignity that they deserve,” she told TIME. “It is tragic that the consequence of this devaluing of human beings is that others, in some of the most vulnerable places in the world, are now suffering as well.”

Adding to the pressure they feel, Idris and other Sama content moderators are also expected to make the correct call at least 84% of the time: a target known as “quality score,” which team leaders track each week and use to measure what they deem to be underperformance.

Some pieces of content are reviewed twice, first by Idris, and then by a more senior “quality analyst,” who is generally a former content moderator with good knowledge of Facebook’s policies. If the pair disagree on whether a piece of content should be permitted to remain on the platform, the quality analyst’s decision is taken as final, and Idris’s quality score ticks downward. Even if they agree a piece of content should be removed, they must also agree on the reason for removal.

Facebook has put some features in place to help protect moderators, like the option to render videos in black and white or add blurring. But one Sama employee says that he does not use these options because of the pressure to meet quotas. “How can you clearly see whether content is violating or not unless you can see it clearly? If it’s black and white or blurred, I cannot tell,” the employee says. “Some people use the option, but I don’t. Because if I wrongly action that [content], I will be marked down.”

Employees say they are expected to work for up to nine hours per day including breaks, and their screen time is monitored. “I cannot blink,” one employee says. “They expect me to work each and every second.” In a statement, Sama said that it caps working hours for content moderators at 37 hours per week, however TIME reviewed an employment contract from 2019 that said workers can be expected to work for up to 45 hours per week without additional compensation. It is unclear whether that includes breaks.

TIME reviewed several copies of Sama content moderators’ performance reviews, where they were measured against target metrics for AHT and quality. In one email, a manager chastises a content moderator for spending too much time not moderating content while logged in.

Employees say that on a typical working day, they are expected to spend around eight hours logged into Facebook’s content moderation program. On such a day, a target of 50 seconds per piece of content would equate to a de-facto daily quota of nearly 580 items.

This evidence appears to contradict public statements that Facebook has made in the past about expectations it places on its contractors. “A common misconception about content reviewers is that they’re driven by quotas and pressured to make hasty decisions,” Ellen Silver, Facebook’s vice president of operations, said in a 2018 blog post. “Let me be clear: content reviewers aren’t required to evaluate any set number of posts … We encourage reviewers to take the time they need.”

A Meta spokesperson, Ben Walters, said Meta asks contractors like Sama to encourage moderators to take as much time as they need to make decisions. The video guidelines, he said, were designed to allow content moderators to use their best judgment so as to avoid wasting time on long videos that do not appear to contain policy violations. Sama did not respond to questions about its workflows or targets.

Idris says that while Sama management, not Facebook, are the ones pressuring content moderators over their metrics, he thinks it is clear that they do so because of anxieties about what it would mean if the company did not meet Facebook’s expectations. “That is always their excuse: the client has seen your AHT is high,’” Idris says, referring to times he is put under pressure by his manager. A former employee adds: “They only care about pleasing the client.”

Content moderators at Sama are meant to receive “wellness breaks” of at least an hour per week, to help them deal with seeing traumatizing content. But some employees described having to “beg” to be allowed to take their allotted wellness breaks.

A former counselor said that Sama managers, not counselors, had the final say over when and whether content moderators were allowed to take breaks. The counselor witnessed managers repeatedly rejecting content moderators’ requests for breaks, citing productivity pressures. “There is a clinical responsibility in our job to ensure that the moderators are cared for,” said the former counselor, who asked not to be named. “This responsibility is not fully being fulfilled. Sama is more interested in productivity than the safety of the moderator.”

Enter the virus

When Kenya went into COVID lockdown in March of 2020, Sama announced that it would hire out two luxury lodges in the countryside for its employees to relocate to, in order that they could continue their work uninterrupted. Many took up the offer, which was optional, and left their families behind. Dozens of Sama’s Facebook content moderators moved into the Lukenya Getaway resort a short drive away from Nairobi, where rooms typically cost more per night than an average Kenyan content moderator at Sama makes in a week.

Less than two miles from Sama's office is Mukuru kwa Njenga, one of the largest informal settlements in Nairobi.

Khadija Farah for TIME

In November 2021, Sama finally reopened the doors to its office near the Nairobi slum, Mukuru kwa Njenga. Employees, many of whom had not received a single COVID-19 vaccine, say they were pressured to return to the building even as cases of the Omicron variant rose in the city.

Some attributed the decision to a belief among managers that content moderators’ quality scores and Average Handling Times would improve if they were physically present. (Several employees said the return to the office had had the opposite effect.)

Soon there was an outbreak of COVID in the office, and many content moderators started requesting sick leave. Instead of granting all of them, a Sama HR manager informed employees via text message that they would not be granted sick leave unless they received a note from one of two specific hospitals.

As a result, some employees who couldn’t access those hospitals went to the office even if they had symptoms, two employees said.

In its statement, Sama said it had offered unlimited COVID-related sick days in response to the pandemic. “As we reopened our offices, we’ve worked to keep our team safe by following CDC guidelines, having nurses on site, utilizing 20% of the office space to encourage social distancing, and we’ve hosted three vaccination drives to make it as easy as possible to get vaccinated if employees choose,” the company said.

Outsourcing trauma to the developing world

In an era where Facebook has come under sustained fire for failing to stem the flow of misinformation, hate speech and incitement to violence on its platforms, the company is often praised when it says it is increasing the number of dollars it spends on safety.

But hiring content moderators in the U.S. and Europe is expensive compared to the cheap labor available in Kenya and other countries in the Global South like India and the Philippines.

The rise of content moderation centers in these countries has led some observers to raise concerns that Facebook is profiting from exporting trauma along old colonial axes of power, away from the U.S. and Europe and toward the developing world.

“Outsourcing is a scam that lets Facebook rake in billions while pretending worker exploitation and union-busting is somebody else’s fault,” says Crider, the Foxglove lawyer who is currently preparing a legal case against Sama. “But it’s not just Sama,” she added. “Foxglove has been working with Facebook moderators around the world for years – and these people have had it with exploitation, the strain of toxic content, and suppression of their right to unionize.”

Almost all of the employees TIME spoke to for this story described being profoundly emotionally affected by the content they were exposed to at Sama – trauma that they said was often exacerbated by the way they have been treated in their jobs.

Many expressed the opinion that they might be able to handle the trauma of the job – even take pride that they were sacrificing their own mental health to keep other people safe on social media – if only Sama and Facebook would treat them with respect, and pay them a salary that factors in their lasting trauma.

In its statement to TIME, Sama said it had “revisited” its mental health processes after employees raised concerns in 2019 “and made further enhancements, and provided additional coaching to team leads.” But employees say the protections remain inadequate to this day. “When it comes to your personal welfare,” one employee says, “You are not treated like a real human.”

After returning to South Africa after being fired, Motaung, the leader of the failed 2019 strike, says it felt like everything around him crashed. He went to Pretoria to look for work, but struggled. He lost a lot of weight.

“I was not OK mentally, emotionally,” he says. He eventually returned to a village in the mountains where he has family. “When I got home, they were like, what happened to you? What were you doing in Kenya? I couldn’t even talk about it because I signed an NDA.”

Sama extended Motaung access to its wellness counselors for one extra month after his departure, as it does for all outgoing employees. But Motaung didn’t take up the offer. He had attended wellness sessions around once a week when he was in Kenya, but found them unhelpful. “Those people …It was sort of like we were there for their entertainment, or there for them simply to get paid,” he says. “Whereas the help that we really needed, we were not getting.”

Motaung says he is still dealing with the trauma he incurred at Sama, but is unable to afford a therapist. “If you do this work, it’s very hard not to experience permanent scars to your emotions and mental state,” he says.

In conversation, Motaung still avoids any specific mention of what he saw during his work, conscious that he is still bound by the NDA. What he will say is that he had a traumatic experience, and that he still gets flashbacks. He expects to carry the burden of that trauma with him until the day he dies. “That sort of thing can change who you are,” he says. “It can destroy the fiber of your entire being.”

#Inside Facebook's African Sweatshop #facebook #outsourcing #south africa #SAMA #kenya #slave wages #content moderator #trauma #emotional abuse #mental scars from content moderation #nda #sama sweatshop for content moderators

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moonjxsung · 14 days

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HELLAUR POOKIE I MISSED YOU RAHHHH it has been a serious hot minute since ive been back here hello everyone hello star hello every single 85 anons (woah thats a lot) RAHHH first of all i reread all of your anon asks and your personal updates on your blog and im really upset to hear that youre taking down all of your small drabbles and requests (rip my favorite minho biker story <//3) but honestly i totally do understand where you stand on this and i respect your opinion im just glad youre still here and staying with us !!! (im chaining up your ankles and keeping you here forever who's in who's basement now huh !! yeah thats what i thought !!! [we have conjoined basements])

I MISSED YOU STAR RAHHH i was going through yet another week of "oh shit i think my mental health is depleting but im going to pretend that its not at a critical level right now and immerse myself in studies and hope it goes away" but in fact it did not go away and i dont know how i feel right not BUT ITS OKAY because im rewatching komi cant communicate and i made my 84th spotify playlist on my fifth spotify account and i used to use 4 spotify accounts during 2022-2023 so this is probably like my 600th smth playlist but yk!!! (i made a total of like 30+ this year so far im goign crazy star help me)

speaking of i shoudl send you my new playlist on discord ALSO i saw you and an anon talking about 505 RAHHHHH ARCTIC MONKEYS <333333 i used to be a huge arctic monkeys fan but now im getting back into them i literally have a 505 phase RIGHT NOW ive been listenign to it on loop !!! idk why im so energetic right now rahh i missed you lots oh yeah also !!! my $50 temu package arrived and i like freaked out about it for like a solid 15 minutes then proceeded to lose my ring and brand new keychain in like the next 2 hours (im so upset) its okay though cs they were like 50 cents each i can rebuy it !!! (im still upset) star im not kidding im serious when i say ive spent over 90 bucks on temu during hte past like 3-4 months please help me star im going insane my friends keep saying that im such a loyal temu customer that atp the company is going to start recruiting me to be one of their asian workers in china and ill be enslaved earning two pennies a day for the rest of my life

did you knwo peppermint candy is good

~《☘️》

HIIIIIIIII POOOOKIEEEEE RAHHHHHH I MISSED YOU SO MUCH HOW ARE YOU HOW’S IT GOINGNTHTJFJDKDKDJ I will gladly remain shackled to the confines that are tumblr. I love it here (mostly) I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH RAHHH‼️‼️‼️‼️

I’m SOOOO sad about my shorter drabbles (biker!minho story was literally my fav one by FAR oh my god) but hopefully they can pick up again in the future 💔💔 fuck you wattpad thieves. We all booed !

ANYWAYS I MISSED YOU TOOOO I was also having a shitty mental health week and I’ve just been insanely busy like I haven’t had a single second this week to just sit down and take a fucking breather!!!! But we made it to the weekend and I’m alive RAHHHH star lives to see another weekend of interacting w her beloved anons and consuming kpop content 💯💯 I hope you’re doing better though my sweet angel!!!! April has been so shitty but I know we’re gonna make it out of it alive somehow 🫶 ALSO YES SEND ME ALL THE SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS I NEED SO MUCH NEW MUSIC TO LISTEN TO ‼️‼️ I’ve been listening to the arctic monkeys nonstop again bc I was talking about them on here I LOVEEEE HOW WE’RE BOTH BACK IN 505 PHASE SOOOO REAL

PLELWKAKSLDKSKEKDKR RHE TEMU PART 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 CRYINGNTJTNGNFMEMEJ THAT’S me at the fucking kpop store near my HOUSEEEMEKEKE I SPENT $200 THERE TODAY AND IM GOING BQDK TOMORROW BC THEY GOT THE NEW JHOPE KEYCHAINS AND BEANIES IN STOCK I NEED RHEM SOOOO BAD. YOU AND ME RETAIL THERAPY TOGETHER ERA WHEN 😍😍😍😍🫶

Also peppermint candy is good but not as good as you I love you so much RAHHHHH I MISSED YOU SO BADDDJEKSKSKSKS

#☘️ anon #ask

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gadgetsaudit · 1 year

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Top 3 Best Vlogging Camera in 2023

The best vlogging cameras give you a strong range of options for recording excellent videos that are ready for editing and uploading to YouTube (or your preferred video sharing website).

We carefully examined the video features of the best compact and DSLR cameras in order to determine which top video camera you should buy. We looked for the best autofocus, the best optical image stabiliser, fantastic resolution options, useful connectivity, and many other features that help serious vloggers produce high-quality videos. If you want to start vlogging right away and are on a budget, have a look at our list of the best inexpensive vlogging cameras for YouTube.

The Panasonic Lumix LX10 was our top pick because it combines a more affordable price range (under $500 is comparatively affordable in this market), 4k video capture capabilities, live video cropping, light composition from video, slow-motion video capture, and a whole host of other tools that help you create the perfect vlogs and fantastic images. Compare the Panasonic TZ70 with the Canon 720 small-sensor digital camera to see which is genuinely better.

It was a really difficult decision because there were so many great vlogging cameras to choose. To find out what we thought and what to think about when buying a vlogging (also known as video blogging) camera, check out our entire list.

1. Canon Vixia HF R700 Camcorder Vlogging Camera:

This Canon model certainly meets your need for a little camcorder to improve your vlogging. This budget-friendly vlogging camera is a great low-cost alternative, even though it's not the most potent video-capturing device on the market (although we strongly advise getting the accessories bundle). The picture stabilisation in particular makes this camera a fantastic choice if you like to move about a lot. This model's biggest flaw is that it does not handle 4k video, which may limit your options. A camera that makes it easier to convert from video to still photographs for additional content may be preferred by certain vloggers over a camcorder that is really only built to handle video.

Pros:

At under $200, it’s a reasonably priced option.

The little camcorder prioritises video.

stabilisation of images in real time for handheld video

Cons:

No capture in super HD

Battery life is insufficient for an hour of recording; SD memory card

Read More: For best top 3 vlogging camera in 2023

#technology #vlogtravel #camera #photography #video vlog

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aagaard26griffith · 2 years

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Arizona Real Estate School

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fluffrry · 3 years

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Could you write something where the reader and H can't say they are together, his publicist idea, and her family is always asking why she doesnt date anyone even try to get her to blind dates and Harry is jealous but it is a bit fun, no angst.

Hi nonnie!! Here is a short little thing for you :D

Content: Bf!Harry, Famous!Harry (implied), Fluff, Banter, Non gender specific reader

Word count: 807

Authors Note: Hello! My requests are open and my masterlist is in the way!! In the mean time, please leave me any feedback you have and come talk to me in my inbox :)

******

Fame came with it’s perks, but only if you were willing to accept the things you had to give up. Harry had learned that going public with the ones he loved only hurt them in the long run, and neither he nor his team wanted to continue the pattern. You knew this, of course, but it didn't make it any less irritating.

Your family made it a point to gracefully shove you into relationships, much to your dismay. Even if they think Harry is just a roommate, you’d think they'd accept your want to be single. Family never quite does what we wish, though, do they?

You let Harry know everytime you had a date lined up, and assured him that it wasn’t anything you were planning to pursue. It still felt like a betrayal everytime you zipped up a new dress and took a taxi to a fancy restaurant, though.

“How ‘bout our own date night, then?” Harry proposed. He was filling up a blender with some multicolored fruits and milk, something he did every morning.

You’ll admit you are less than half awake as he says this. Harry is much more of a morning person than you are. By 7am he’s always chipper and ready to take on the day, never missing an opportunity to have a filling breakfast and some morning alone time.

“Oh, yeah? Where did that come from?” You asked, pawing around the top shelf of the fridge.

“I just haven’t treated you to something in a bit.” The knife Harry held hit the cutting board with a deep sound as it sliced. “And...I’m not the happiest seeing you go on all these blind dates.”

Harry’s chuckle followed the end of the sentence, but the fact that he made eye contact let you know he was serious.

“They’re just a formality, H. You don’t have to go out of your way. I don’t need any fancy wine, just you.” You pulled some orange juice from the fridge and grabbed a glass to pour it into.

“I know.” Harry paused as he pondered. “But I think it’d be nice.”

“Alright!! You plan and I’ll show up.”

Harry smiled, nodded, and powered up the blender. The beautiful fruits mixed into a light green color.

“Sounds good,” He said. “Just be ready by six.”

******

The restaurant was dimly lit, and had a fine dining atmosphere. The table you sat at was finished with glossy dark wood, and the napkins folded on top were stark white and clean. It was crowded with men in tuxedos and women in neutral dresses.

Harry had insisted you sit outside and avoid the crowd, so the breeze grazed over your skin and relaxed you. You were always calm with Harry. He had a warm, charming, and easy going vibe, even if he was always up for something spontaneous.

The table was by itself and on a small, balcony-like structure (something you rarely saw). It was behind glass that came up to just over your heads. Above it was a nice view of the sky and the cool, open air. If you looked to your right, you could see inside the restaurant and people watch.

“Mmm,” You mumbled as the ice cold water you sipped cooled your throat. “This is so nice. There’s so many options— I can’t decide what to get.”

Harry flipped through the menu with the precision of a veteran restaurant attendee. “How about we share something? Make it as romantic as we can. I’ll pick if you want.”

“Oh, no. Last time we did that I ended up eating a $200 appetizer. I’ll be picking my own meal, thank you.”

Both of you smiled in unison. Harry reached across the table to stroke your hand. You winced internally, knowing it was still wet from the condensation on the glass.

“From now on, every time you go on a date, we go on a date too.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“Yes. Very much so, actually.”

You always loved Harry’s honesty. It was second to his fluffy, soft, curls.

“I’m just worried someone may see us, you know?”

Harry rubbed the skin between your thumb and pointer finger gently. “Don’t worry. No one will. We’re alone, and I’m pretty sure that glass is tinted.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Very sure. Let me be the one to stress, okay?”

You made a noncommittal sound and returned your attention to the pricey menu.

Harry spoke again, the lightness returning to his voice, “You just worry about what movie we’re gonna watch tonight. You usually take hours just to choose.”

“Yes,” You agreed. “But my picks are always good, aren’t they?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know after you decide what to eat tonight. If that ever happens, of course.”

“Keep up that attitude, and I’ll have no problem keeping you here all night.”

#writing #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles

173 notes · View notes

confinesofmy · 2 years

Text

a few days ago i asked “hey does anyone want to read the semi-organised scraps of my abandoned wip where kendall overdosed in early season two, had a really bad series of seizures, and basically got thrown into a new york penthouse “for his own good” to “heal” “away from public scrutiny” but then just stayed there, trapped, until his dad died and his siblings discovered that he wasn’t in a catatonic state in some facility upstate like they thought but instead, like, in solitary confinement on the upper west side in a stripped out apartment with no way of contacting the outside world?”

well, here it is. 🙈

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there are content warnings sprinkled here and there but for the most part this is exactly what it says on the tin. i thought it was too bleak to continue writing or put on ao3 but however bleak you’re imagining it from the description is probably just about right. it’s not that bad.

thanks everyone who said they were interested in reading, btw! i hope you enjoy.

okay, so, i waffled on... pretty much every facet of this, all the time. almost everything i publish contains 200 secret AUs that no one ever sees but me, so this is going to read like a fever dream, maybe? there will be endless contradictions.

i've actually never shown anyone an unpolished piece of fiction writing outside of creative writing "drafts" in school that i reverse-engineered from finished works to make it look like i was doing drafts the way my teachers wanted me to. so in lieu of any known standard of formatting for this, it'll be notes first, then fic fragments, but feel free to skip around obviously. including the notes is probably a completely unnecessary intimacy on my part but they inform the writing immensely so i don't feel like this sprawl is complete without them.

notes wordcount: 1,628 fic fragments wordcount: 6,482

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NOTES

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disclaimer for the viewers at home: any medical stuff about status epilepticus and the treatment plans is heavily researched but that does not mean it's accurate, both bc i'm no expert and bc kendall's care is open to manipulation. by that i mean that if logan wants him to stay on benzos forever then that's something he can make happen and something that would be communicated to kendall as necessary, even if it isn't. but i feel obligated to say some quick (ish? not really, sorry) things about status epilepticus just so you have a frame of reference for it outside of the context of fiction.

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so, status epilepticus is a seizure lasting longer than 5 minutes or a series of seizures that occur too close together to allow adequate recovery between. it is most common in children and elderly populations and has a vast variety of causes. in kendall's case, his generalised tonic-clonic SE is caused by snorting too much park coke (cocaine insufflation specifically is actually v unlikely to cause SE but oh well) and i think it probably lasted less than an hour total, which sounds long but for SE it really isn't.

the main factor in recovery from SE is etiology. if SE is a symptom of something more serious, like a brain tumour or an infection or drug-resistant epilepsy, you're obviously more likely to have a worse time recovering. in kendall's case, his GTCSE is coke-induced, and he's 39 and in good health, so realistically, 6 months down the line he probably wouldn't have the lingering symptoms he's implied to have in this narrative premise, from what i understand.

something that i waffled on was making his GTCSE refractory (drug-resistant). this complicates treatment during the continuing seizure/s, which in turn complicates outcome and recovery, and could explain kendall experiencing lingering neurological symptoms like speech apraxia, chronic headaches, personality changes, etc. it was at about this point in my research that i realised i was getting a little too bogged down in neurology and decided to leave it up in the air, which is very annoying after that much research. but regardless, i settled on: maybe kendall's lingering symptoms are neurological, maybe they're psychological, who knows.

another specific point of contention was kendall's speech patterns, during and after recovery. i did a bit of research into acquired apraxia of speech to help me write accurate speech patterns but the whole topic became this kind of no man's land. if his GTCSE, refractory or otherwise, caused a traumatic brain injury, that could manifest as, like, anything. if i could only research one more topic for the rest of my life, it would probably be TBIs simply because the sky's the limit on how their symptoms can manifest. so once again, psycho, neuro, it's both, it's neither, who knows. i hesitantly decided his speech difficulties would be one (or two or three) of like ten categories of speech dysfunction but honestly never did quite settle it.

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for point of reference, i think this might be the penthouse apartment that i reference in this fic except in my fic it has balconies. trying to find the perfect apartment in new york w a budget of 100 gazillion dollars is like, weirdly difficult. strange city.

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also the short conservatorship comments in the notes are only somewhat researched but if there's one thing we learned from the free br*tney situation it's that conservatorships' rules are often open to wild interpretation in reality, as well. :(

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all! that! aside! here's the original notes.

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content warnings for abuse, isolation, substance abuse, basically everything you'd expect but also some descriptions of really distasteful twitter-variety ableism re: seizures

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Okay so Kendall is basically abducted and imprisoned by his dad who takes advantage of Kendall's isolation to enact cruelties upon him. Things are very bad for Kendall.

Eventually the family finds out where he's been the whole time. This coincides with his father's... Death, probably?

Someone new takes over his conservatorship. Kendall has to relearn how to be a person.

He's okay. Presumably his conservatorship ends but then again maybe not.

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48 hours in Icelandic rehab. A few days of helping out daddy. He gets fucked up before an event and winds up experiencing a series of seizures in public.

He wakes up in the hospital in bad shape, experiencing coke withdrawal and neurologically out of sorts. A doctor tells him his dad's setting something up and he'll be able to leave soon.

He's transferred to the apartment. Insert bad times here. His dad occasionally visits and is sometimes physically abusive. He mostly recovers from the seizures but thinks some things will never be the same.

Maybe his dad dies? His siblings find him. They tell him they had been told he was in a coma or that he was in some facility unsuccessfully relearning how to, like, breathe and blink.

His guardianship and conservatorship are either A.) nullified now that Logan is dead because he refused to name a beneficiary to it and had Kendall's doctor doing assessments every 90 days with instructions to stop approving the guardianship if Logan were to ever lose control.

B.) He is inherited by a family member who claims to want him emancipated but sabotages the court case so they can keep him under their thumb. Or maybe they do emancipate him. Or maybe they don't, but it's not a control thing, it's a genuine act of caring.

C.) He gets a public guardian who encourages him to seek emancipation or, alternatively, is just a neutral public servant who truly wants to accommodate his needs.

D.) Nullified bc Logan paid lawyers in advance to bail Kendall out ASAP if Logan isn't the conservator anymore.

Whatever the case, Logan's dead. Kendall's not going to be getting any more visits from him. Kendall's allowed to go outside when he wants. He's allowed to buy things from stores. He can go out to eat. He can talk with people he knows on the phone or in person.

Recovering from his seizures was a long and difficult process but recovering from his year/s? in the apartment isn't going to be much easier.

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The day of the party it's probably been about 10 days since Kendall did the manslaughter.

The partygoers who witness/record Kendall's seizures don't actually know who he is, so most of the original videos hit the web as like "guy has seizure at nyc houseparty" and like a snapchat of Kendall seizing and then the phone slowly panning to a guy making kind of the 😳 face or maybe like a tiktok of Kendall seizing with the "he need some milk" audio

The videos go kind of viral, at least viral enough that there are hundreds of permutations of them out there. A caramelldansen remix, memes galore. Kendall's identity is leaked in the early stages of it going viral, before the PR teams had identified the videos, so the main spike comes from Kendall-specific memes like a remix of the Iceland interview: "I saw their plan, dad's plan was better b-b-better dad's plan was better" interspersed with clips of him convulsing at the party.

Meanwhile, Kendall's drifting in and out of consciousness, completely out of it when he is awake, his level of possible neurological damage completely up in the air.

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Oh btw Greg puts him in the recovery position against his kitchen bar while he's convulsing and he 100% dislocates his fucking shoulder because of that.

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New York Presbyterian

Neurological screening exam, blood tests, toxicology screening, an EEG, lorazepam 4mg 2 or 3 times, then levetiracetam after the seizures cease. Continuing levetiracetam prescription after, but probably not as a medical necessity.

40 minute long seizure, continuous video EEG for 24 hours, first MRI after the seizure stopped, a second (third?) three days after

Speech language pathologist, maybe assistive tech like a pecs board. Neurologist. Physical therapist?

Immediate after-effects exhaustion, headaches, vomiting, light and noise sensitivity, memory loss short term and long term, difficulty reading and thinking and speaking, confusion, mystery bruises, achiness, personality changes,

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It's honestly easier to list Kendall's privileges than to list all his limitations of freedom.

He's allowed to go to the bathroom by himself, usually.

He's allowed to bathe by himself, usually, but if he takes too long someone's coming in to fetch him. He's no longer allowed to sit in the shower for hours like he sometimes had at first.

He's allowed to feed himself and is allowed to use a spoon and fork with supervision.

He's allowed to sleep with no direct supervision for the most part. Random check-ins happen but they're sporadic.

He's more or less allowed to choose a room to be in during waking hours.

He's allowed to read the books that are in the apartment.

He's allowed to get food out of the fridge so long as it's not an unhealthy interest. He can get a snack but he's not allowed to binge.

He's allowed to request groceries and he's allowed to request meals. Doesn't mean he'll get them.

He's allowed to ask for non-food items but it's a rare thing to actually get approval on those. Books are the most likely to get approved.

He's allowed to ask permission to make supervised phone calls to certain people and private calls to Logan.

He's allowed to wear a watch that he asked for early on, the only signifier of the passage of time aside from the location of the sun and the staff changing.

He's allowed to choose his own clothes. This list is short enough that I guess that bears mention.

He's allowed to work out in the at-home gym after he finds out that it exists but his handler can make him stop if it seems inappropriate.

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FIC FRAGMENTS

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In his new apartment, Kendall is closer to the household staff than he's ever been before.

It's not real closeness. He's not friends with them, he doesn't really talk with them, not like friends talk. But they're the only human faces that he sees, other than his father's. They come and go on their own schedules, something he's not yet allowed to do, and they bring him things from the outside world.

For the first time since childhood, Kendall really takes a moment to consider himself from the help's perspective. His forced house arrest, his quiet despondency, his one and only visitor.

These people, some of whom live with him in the apartment, some of whom he's never quite learned the names of, know things about him and his father that would make headlines for weeks. They have to, as close to it all as they are.

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After a couple of days of doing his little song and dance to support daddy and prevent a hostile takeover, Kendall, seeing no end in sight, descends into a huge bender.

He killed a guy, he relapsed, his ex-wife doesn't want him around his kids for a while, he lost all leverage he had against his dad, he let Stewy down. He feels hollowed out and empty, a puppet with his dad's hand up his ass. So why not do all the drugs he can get his hands on? What's it matter at this point?

He winds up experiencing a major medical event in front of a bunch of people and needing to be hospitalised both to recover and to detox. After that, instead of going back to lifelessly working for daddy while trying to find his way into a medical coma, it is determined it would be for the best if Kendall just disappeared for a little while, just so he won't embarrass the family any further.

The place he's sent isn't rehab. And it's not really an institution either. He does not have the words to describe it.

He's not allowed to choose anything. He's not allowed to be completely alone in the kitchen. It's rare to be left alone in the den. If he spends too much time in the shower, first someone knocks and then, if he doesn't come out, they unlock the door and pull him out. Not unkindly. It's all very clinical, routine. Like he's a child who can't be unsupervised or he'll get into trouble.

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He thinks there might be cameras.

He sneaks into the kitchen one day to make a fruit plate, managing to avoid the attention of that day's minder. After he's done slicing some strawberries he finds himself looking at the knife, the little flecks of flesh and the red stains lingering behind. He's not sure how long he looks at it before quietly washing it and returning it to its place.

The next day, it's gone, along with the entire knife block. The next time he opens the cutlery drawer, he discovers the butter knives have also disappeared. The man who was watching him that day is also gone and Kendall never sees him again.

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He has to ask permission to use the phone. Then usually the person he's asking has to ask someone higher up, maybe then they also have to ask someone higher up. Kendall is beneath them. Kendall is beneath everyone.

When he gets permission, maybe half the time (and he starts asking less and less), the number is dialled for him. The first time he had been knocked so off-kilter by having to wait for permission that when the other person picked up he didn't know what to say and ended the call.

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He gets visits from a lifestyle coach and a masseuse every week. He thinks they might think he's people, at first.

Their first visits were both a surprise, a simple, "Kendall, the lifestyle coach is here," was his first awareness. He'd spent the morning in a dull haze sitting silently on the couch after he'd finished the breakfast he'd been given.

The lifestyle coach, Pete, knew his name already and seemed to be under the impression that Kendall was looking to fulfill a fitness goal after a health scare. He asked Kendall questions about his diet and exercise levels, Kendall half-heartedly answering that he's been having difficulty eating and that he used to exercise more.

From there, they move on to abstract questions that Kendall doesn't know how to answer. "What are you looking to get out of this experience?" is the first.

"Uh. H-has anyone talked to you? Any of my, the team?"

"I got your intake form so I know you're interested in maintaining a healthy diet and exercise level and I know we'll be doing some physical therapy with your shoulder but I was wondering if you had any other specifics in mind? Anything you'd like to prioritise?"

Kendall blinks slowly. He thinks this might be the first real human conversation he's had in weeks. The first conversation where the other person doesn't know that he's broken. He barely knows how to navigate it.

"N-no, just that... Will be fine."

Pete looks him over, takes in his hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes, his hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him.

"Okay. So Kendall, tell me a bit about yourself. What are you into?"

Kendall thinks about making some shit up but he's too tired to lie directly. He barely has the energy to speak at all. His mind slips around, trying to find something, anything.

"I used to like listening to m-music. Hip-hop. Uh, and rap," he says. He had kind of hoped more words would come after that but he couldn't think of any so he just closed his mouth.

"Oh cool, that'll be good for workouts," Pete says and smiles encouragingly in a way that Kendall would've found condescending before but now finds genuinely comforting.

"Yeah, I guess," Kendall mumbles, averting his gaze to the carpet. He hasn't had his phone since he was at the hospital and doesn't think he'll ever see it again. There aren't any TVs or computers in the apartment either. He's not really allowed to listen to music.

Pete must get that Kendall's not going to do any better with more questions because he stands up and says, "Alright, great. So do you wanna show me your gym?"

Kendall didn't know there was a gym. He looks to the guard posted by the door, trying to communicate that, and is thankful when the guard turns, purposefully walking down the hall. If Pete notices, he doesn't comment.

When they reach the gym, Pete requests that Kendall do some range of motion exercises so he can take a look at what he's working with. The first one is just standing.

"So does your back hurt?" Pete asks casually.

"Sometimes." Kendall answers. He hasn't really thought about it.

Pete steps forward and asks, "Can I touch you?" clearly expecting a quick answer right before he does. He freezes awkwardly when he doesn't get it.

"Oh. Uh, yeah." Kendall answers after a couple of beats.

"So, it was your right shoulder, yeah?" Pete places one hand on Kendall's right scapula and the other on his right delt, cupping the muscles carefully. Kendall sucks in a sharp breath, feeling unpleasant sparks of sensation where Pete's hands rest.

After a short pause, Pete continues. "So aside from a little bit of remaining joint instability, you're also keeping your shoulders rounded and what this is doing is putting a lot of stress on your joints and muscles and in the short term that causes shoulder and back pain, which leads to the muscles tightening up further. It's kind of a self-perpetuating problem. Today's bad posture becomes tomorrow's injury. Add in that a dislocation makes you vulnerable to more dislocations and you've got a real problem here." As he speaks his hand dances up and down Kendall's back, tracing muscles from the small of his back to his shoulder and above. Kendall feels like he's going to jump out of his skin but tries not to show it.

"This is where your shoulder should be," Pete says, gently manipulating Kendall's arm up and back, then adjusting his elbow to line up with his shoulder. "Does that feel better or worse?"

It feels like Kendall's at a meeting. Or at a gala. It feels like he's showing off for his dad, trying to be as tall as he can make himself but it's not tall enough. His eyes sting with tears and he tries to blink them away before Pete can notice.

"It feels fine," he croaks.

"That's good. That's a really good sign," Pete pats his shoulder lightly and then thankfully backs off.

From there they do more range of motion exercises, Pete occasionally correcting Kendall's form and pointing out areas they can work on. It's been years since Kendall's had a trainer and he finds the whole thing unexpectedly overwhelming. No one's paid this much direct attention to him in... Maybe months, actually.

Pete guides him through a few strength reps, taking note of his strengths and weaknesses and then hands him a bottle of water and tells him he can stop for the day. Kendall starts drinking just to have something to do.

"Alright so I think weekly appointments are going to work out perfect with your current fitness level. I'll email you some exercises I want you to do before our next appointment and in the meantime I want you to keep me up to date on how you're feeling, we don't wanna move too fast, okay?"

Kendall nods, unsure how much any of that is going to apply to him when he's not allowed to call people on the phone without permission.

Pete also gives him a food guide printout to follow, telling him to modify it however he needs so long as he eats.

"You're going to be building some muscle so your eating needs to reflect that. You said earlier that you've been having some trouble with eating so really I'd say just try your best to eat whatever you feel like you can. If it's healthy that's a bonus, if it's not that's okay."

Kendall nods again and murmurs his agreement but is once again thinking about the contrast between the level of control over his own life that Pete thinks he has versus the amount he really has. He guesses he could tell him, surely Pete's going to have to sign an NDA anyway. But then wouldn't he be just another person who treats Kendall like a zoo animal? Maybe it would be easier that way.

"You did good today," Pete's voice breaks through his thoughts. "We're gonna have you back in shape in no time."

The compliment hits way too hard, sending a thrill through him that he ignores entirely. "Thank you," he says gruffly.

"Anytime. See you next week, dude."

And with that, Pete's gone, and Kendall's back to finding a nice spot to look at on the wall until someone makes him stop.

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content warnings: suicidal ideation, and like. light incest. (kendall gets an inappropriate erection. :/ )

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Here's a thought. Maybe Kendall thinks it's for his own good. Maybe he's grateful that even now, when he's tried to kill his dad and ruin everything, when he's fucked himself up so bad that he can barely even string words together, that his dad is still willing to take care of him.

He's placed in the apartment and notices that he's never left completely alone and he thinks that it's probably safer, that there's someone watching him to keep him from hurting himself any further. He notices the lack of sharp objects and that no one ever gives him his phone back so he can't call anyone to get him drugs, notices that there isn't any alcohol in the apartment. The doors to the balconies and the elevators are locked at all times and he isn't given keys. He thinks about the care in such gestures, that his dad's going to help keep him in line no matter what.

He can't leave and maybe that should frighten him but he imagines what leaving would look like. His shaky hands and his stuttering speech, embarrassing his family by simply existing where people can see him. There's no real reason for him to leave anyway, he's burned bridges with everyone at this point and he's afraid of what he might try if he did get loose. Best case scenario he'd go to Waystar but it's not like he can work, not like this.

He's been wanting to die since the moment he pulled himself out of the water and clawed his way up the riverbank but now when he's come closer to death than ever before his dad has rescued him and told him to live. This is probably the kindest thing his father's ever done for him.

Every morning when he's gently awakened to be brought to the kitchen island to sit until he finishes eating, he thinks of it as his father encouraging him. During his physical therapy sessions when he's sweating and panting and nearly crying from pain. During his speech pathology appointments when his stutter is unignorable he clings to the fact that his dad thinks he's worth the trouble of fixing.

When his dad finally comes to visit for the first time he finds it all boiling over and he almost runs to his dad to hug him, murmuring "thank you, dad" again and again with barely any mistakes because he's put so much preparation into finally having this moment. He feels arms wrapping around his back and he starts crying, sobbing, and his dad holds him through it and presses a kiss to his temple and he thinks he's never felt so loved.

His dad's visits are infrequent but treasured. Kendall doesn't really know why he visits at all but he always tries to tell his dad about all his recent progress, words sometimes muddled or halting. Unlike when he was little, his dad doesn't get mad at him for his stutter now, he just listens and occasionally murmurs encouragements. Before he leaves they always hug and after the first time Kendall doesn't cry anymore he just relaxes into it like a warm bath.

One day he does the most humiliating thing he's ever done in his entire life. He can't help it, he doesn't know why it happens, but it does. His dad is hugging him goodbye, rubbing his back through his thin t-shirt. It had been a great visit, he'd made his dad laugh and aside from his stutter he'd only mixed up his words a few times throughout the visit. But something goes wrong as he feels his dad's fingers firmly tracing the outline of his shoulder blade, there's some kind of misfire in his stupid, broken brain, and he feels himself start to harden in his sweatpants.

He rips his hips back and pulls out of his dad's arms stuttering out apologies as he turns away and tries to hide his shame. His face feels like it's on fire.

After a long pause, he hears his dad say, "It's okay, son. I'll see you next time." and the shame slips away like sand. He's forgiven, even for this. The promise that his dad will return feels like absolution.

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Here's another thought, Logan moves Kendall into his penthouse duplex and whenever anyone visits he arranges for Kendall to be on thrice the benzos he's prescribed. Anyone who visits think he's turned into a drooling incoherent vegetable and feel uncomfortable looking at him.

Maybe even after he's out and Logan's dead, that idea still slips out sometimes bc the siblings prefer it to the truth, that Logan abducted him, drugged him, and abused him, while they watched.

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content warnings: substance abuse, smth like an overdose, seizure pov, more descriptions of really distasteful twitter-variety ableism re: seizures

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s02e02 Kendall does too much park coke at the party and has a prolonged series of seizures. His dad makes sure he's "taken care of."

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It's been ten days since he crawled his way back to Shiv's wedding for an alibi that didn't matter.

Kendall's walking out of Greg's bathroom for the third time that night, coke still dripping down his numb throat. A bad feeling hits him, inexplicable but so intense he can't ignore it. The polar opposite of the high he's expecting.

He looks around the room like he can find the source. Takes an inventory of his body. There's nothing. Just a disconnected sense of impending doom that he can't shake.

He grabs another beer, starts scouting the crowd. Maybe someone here can fuck the feeling out of him.

Greg sneaks up on him, his freakishly huge hands on Kendall's shoulders, pulling him back down to earth. Starts talking about his back pain. Within a minute, Kendall's drifted back into the welcoming embrace of the party.

He drifts aimlessly, coke making the bass in the techno music feel like it's thrumming in his bones. He's becoming less sure that a fuck would even fix him, the feeling of dread still at full intensity.

He's walking to the open plan kitchen to sit down on one of Greg's few pieces of furniture when a spike of pain splits his head in two and he feels every muscle in his entire body lock up. The last thing he sees is dozens of pairs of ankles, sideways from where he is on the floor.

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[ID: A 15 second LiveLeak video entitled, "Guy Having Seizure At Nyc Houseparty." A group of people in an apartment surround an unconscious man on the floor who is convulsing. A voice from off-camera shouts, "Should we call 911?" End ID.]

[ID: A 6 second Snapchat video. Caption reads "this party craaaaaazy 😳😳😳" Loud techno music is playing and a lot of people are talking. A man is lying on the floor having a convulsive seizure while people nearby dance. The phone's camera switches to the front lens and we see the blond young man taking the video widen his eyes apprehensively as he takes a drink. End ID.]

[ID: A looping TikTok video of a man having a seizure at a party with the "he need some milk" sound. End ID.]

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Kendall wakes up on the floor, Greg crouching over him, his head throbbing with pain and his mouth full of blood. He tries to speak and discovers that he can't.

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Kendall wakes up and holds onto consciousness by the skin of his teeth. Everyone is yelling. The lights are so bright and he realises he's looking at a ceiling. Someone's putting glue in his hair and his head feels like it's going to burst.

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Kendall wakes up alone in a hospital room and feels like if he could just reach up and press his hands against his head maybe the pain would stop but his arms are too heavy and he's worried if he moves them they might shatter.

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Kendall wakes up in a hospital room and there's a woman standing beside him. He tries to ask what's happening, where he is but all that comes out is "What?"

She looks at him and smiles like she understands what he meant.

"Hello, Kendall. I'm Nurse Lisa. You're in the hospital because you had a series of seizures but you're going to be alright now. Your cousin is here and the rest of the family is on the way and we're gonna do everything we can to help you, okay?" she says. His attention waxes and wanes as she speaks and he thinks he catches about half of it.

"My head...?" he asks, running out of words before he's finished.

"Your head hurts? That's common for the type of seizures you had and it looks like you bumped it when you fell. We're gonna get you an MRI later just to take a look at things." She smiles reassuringly at him.

"Right," he says, without really meaning to. He feels like he's in a dream.

The woman starts saying something, voice soft, but he can already tell he's passing out and he doesn't understand any of it.

⠀

Kendall wakes up alone in a hospital room. He feels like he's been hit by a bus and his mouth tastes like copper. He's also doped to the gills, he can tell.

He runs his hands carefully over his body, looking for an injury to explain this. He finds more spots that feel bruised than he can count but nothing else. Eventually he notices there's wires stuck to his head. As he investigates them with his fingers, one of them pops off. It's an electrode. He wonders if they've given him electroshock therapy.

He's still examining the electrode when the door opens and a man in scrubs walks in.

"Hello, Kendall. I'm Nurse Charlie, you're at the hospital. How are you feeling?"

Kendall tries to shift focus so he can understand. Eventually he manages to croak out, "Gad."

His brow furrows. That wasn't right. Why did he say that? He tries again. "Bad."

"Can you tell me more?" Charlie asks.

After an uncomfortably long pause as he tries to find the words, Kendall says, "Hurts. What happened?"

"You had a series of convulsive seizures that we think were drug-induced and we had a tough time getting you stable. Now we're just monitoring you to be sure you don't have any more seizures. You've been here for about 15 hours."

"Where's my dad?" Kendall asks, these words coming easier than the others.

"He came earlier but he had to leave. Do you want to see if we can call him?" Charlie asks.

Kendall thinks about how fucked up and weak he feels and how hard it is to talk. Thinks about how his dad must have responded to learning that this happened because of Kendall's addiction.

"N-no."

"Alright, that's fine. I'm just gonna get that back in place, okay?" he says, gesturing to the electrode that Kendall forgot he was holding. "We need to get a good look at your brain waves so we don't miss anything important."

Kendall falls back asleep as the nurse is reattaching the electrode.

⠀

When he next awakens, Greg is there, sitting next to his bed and seemingly texting. Kendall's head hurts less, or maybe it just hurts different.

"What pay is it?" he asks, nearly startling Greg out of his chair.

"What?" Greg asks.

"What pay- What..." Kendall trails off. Why can't he fucking talk? "What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday, technically. Are you okay? I thought you were gonna die, they kept asking me how much coke you did and I didn't even know. Do you think everybody's gonna be mad at me for buying it for you? I didn't know you were gonna do that much."

Greg keeps going but Kendall doesn't really hear him. His mind's caught on Wednesday. Wasn't it Monday? How long was he asleep?

"Greg." Kendall interrupts.

Greg's mouth claps shut. After a short pause he says "They told me to call Karolina if you ever woke up. Are you good, should I go do that?"

Kendall opens his mouth but then thinks better of it. Nods instead.

While Greg is gone, Kendall takes stock of himself. He's sore, all over. His muscles feel wrung out. His head is killing him and when he finally gets his aching arm up far enough to feel around, he finds a lump on the back of his head and nearly screams with how much it hurts to even touch it.

He zones out for a while, mind slipping around as he tries to process what's happened. Was this an OD? He can't remember how much coke he did. It was probably a couple grams. But he's done more before and he'd been working his tolerance up since before the wedding. It doesn't make sense.

Karolina walks in, high heels clacking against the tiles. She sits down where Greg had been.

"So, Kendall. How are you feeling? Do you think we can talk?"

Kendall moves his tongue around for a moment, trying to speak. As Karolina opens her mouth to say something, he finally manages.

"Is dad m- m-" he swallows, tries again. "Is... dad... angry?"

Karolina's lips purse.

"Well, he was worried about you. Did Greg tell you about the videos?"

Kendall shakes his head.

"Well, apparently some of your guests decided to film you during your episode. They didn't actually know who you were but, unfortunately, Twitter put it together pretty quick and you were trending for a few hours. Now we're trying to spin it as you having epilepsy, see if we can win some public sympathy."

"Do...?" he interrupts.

"No. The doctors did some tests and they're pretty sure it was just the cocaine. They have warned us that you might develop epilepsy as a result of this event though." Karolina pauses, straightening her skirt. "Your father's arranging a place for you to stay while you recover. He doesn't want you in the public eye until you're well."

"When?" Kendall asks.

"We don't actually know. Could be weeks, could be months, or..." Karolina shifts minutely in her chair. "The doctors are going to want more tests so we can get a better idea but we've been told to be prepared for anything."

Kendall's eyes start burning before she's finished and by the end he can feel tears streaming down his cheeks. His face crumples and he lifts his hand up to cover his mouth. Karolina stands up and awkwardly puts a hand on his shoulder.

"There's no reason to assume the worst yet. You're going to have around the clock care for as long as you need it and you've got one of the best medical teams in the world. You'll be taken care of, Ken."

She stands there for a moment longer before she realises he's going to keep crying and leaves.

⠀

After she's left, he tries talking more. Speaking takes a long time because it's hard to think of words and how they fit together but it's also hard to make his mouth move properly. There are some words he can't say right, no matter how much he tries.

He assumes the headache and the muscle soreness will fade with time but what if he can never talk normally again?

Roman had told him he'd be fucked as soon as he wasn't any use to dad. Kendall had believed him. Now he literally can't say the word "business." That's how useless he is. He looks down at the open weave hospital blanket in his lap and suddenly he's tearing it apart, forcing his fingers between threads and pulling, yanking until the tear becomes too wide for his wingspan and then starting again on a new section.

When he's done the blanket is a complex tangle of string and his arms feel like the muscles are falling off the bones. He does not feel any better.

⠀

When Kendall gets out of the hospital he's still dealing with his new meds' side effects, constantly doped on the benzos and still fucked up from the seizure, the hospital stay, the disjointed things he's heard from Gerri, Karolina, Jess, his siblings. He's in shit shape and when he's summarily shuffled into a Hell's Kitchen penthouse he's really too stoned to argue.

His health aide tucks him into bed and that's the last he knows until he wakes up the next morning and his dad is sitting in the den reading paperwork.

His dad explains that Kendall is single-handedly destroying the family's reputation. The bear hug and now this? People can smell blood in the water and they're paying a lot of attention to the family at large and it's only so long before they do the math on Kendall's relapse and that K-holed moron's demise.

Ken needs to keep his head down, for the family's reputation but also for his own health. He could have died. Watching that video of him, writhing around, blood frothing out of his mouth, surrounded by disaffected druggies debating whether they should even call a fucking ambulance? It had made Logan sick, to see his son, who he had always loved so dearly and had such high hopes for, brought down so low.

Kendall's made it very clear he can't be trusted to stay off drugs and Logan is furious that Greg sourced for him. But if even that hapless little fuckstick could be swayed to give Kendall enough coke to kill himself, the solution is obvious.

Kendall needs to sit tight, no outside contact, until the whole thing blows over.

He'll have a physical therapist, a doctor to fix his voice, and a shrink to fix whatever the hell is wrong with his fucking head. They'll all be carefully vetted, so there's no use asking any of them for anything.

Kendall's also going to lose some privileges. He needs to keep things clean while he recovers. No leaving the apartment while he's like this. No need to look at the news or call anyone to bring him drugs, so no phone, no TV, and all of his financial accounts frozen. Logan will take care of anything he needs.

Kendall breaks down. Not because he feels trapped or like he's being treated unfairly. What breaks him is that he's been such an embarrassment to his dad and put his dad through so much worry, done so many unforgivable things, but Logan is still looking out for him. Still willing to see to it that he's taken care of.

He clings to his dad, shaking and sobbing, until Logan has to leave and carefully peels him off. He leaves him with the simple statement, "I love you, son. I'm gonna take care of you."

Kendall tries to return the I love you, words halting and slurred, but his dad stops him with a squeeze on his shoulder and a shake of his head, and then he's gone.

⠀

When his dad finally dies he expects to be inherited, not as a ward, but as an object. He doesn't know who it will be or what will happen to him. It scares him.

⠀

When their dad does die it's revealed that Kendall is inheriting the most shares or whatever. No one quite knows where he is other than a facility somewhere. When they find him, they're shocked.

He's skinnier. But softer. He looks healthier. But there's something deeply wrong. He's skittish, he seems slower mentally, much more sweet and shy like he was when he was really young. He cries more and not just because he's grieving. His hair is longer than it's ever been before, framing his face and long enough he has to tuck it behind his ears to keep it out of the way.

It seems like he's been holed up in this apartment, with no TV, no phone, and a bunch of other shit missing, since he was first hospitalised. There was never a facility. He thinks the raisin is still president and he doesn't know that he's 40, almost 41.

They send him for health check-ups. Find out that he's been seeing several specialists on a weekly to monthly basis the entire time, even a psychologist who refuses to communicate with them. He's in perfect health. No brain damage, no lingering physical effects aside from his stutter but it sounds like the stutter he had when they were kids so it's hard to tell if it's from the seizures or if it's just regression.

But he can't function if there's a TV on nearby. He frequently needs to be reminded to get out of the bath otherwise he'll just stay. If meals aren't scheduled he doesn't eat. He panics when he has to leave the house and doesn't try very hard to hide it. Or maybe he's just bad at hiding it now.

He's scared of crowds, startles easy. Frequently anxious in general. After two weeks he works up the nerve to ask if he can move back into the apartment. It's the biggest request he's made yet so they say yes after consulting with his new psychologist.

He moves back. Doesn't request any changes to be made to the apartment. He wants his Walkman and headphones but no phone. They get him set up with a landline phone but even then he eventually asks that the ringer be turned off and they usually have to call Jess to get in touch with him.

Rava visits frequently. She had wondered if he was dead and they'd just covered it up. Apparently at some point their divorce had gone through with all her concessions met which while at first it had relieved her eventually when no contact had been made had become a source of worry.

She tells him the kids have missed him and he's inconsolable. She holds him until he's asleep on the couch and tries not to descend into despair herself. She tries not to think about how she's going to explain this to the kids, knows that that's a question for their psychologist. Maybe his, too.

The next time she visits she's told them that their dad is feeling better but he's still sick and Sophie and Iverson have made him a get well soon card. He cries for a little while after she gives it to him but not as bad as before. She broaches the idea of bringing them next time and he panics and says no.

"I-I don't think that, that they sh-should see me. L-like this."

"Like what?"

He opens his mouth but no words escape. Fresh tears spill over his cheeks as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and bites, viciously.

She pulls him close, runs a soothing hand down his back, and tells him that they love him and miss him and they'll understand if he's different now, whatever that means.

"They want to see their dad, Kendall. Nothing else matters."

"Y-y-you wouldn't say th-that. If you knew w-what. What I've done."

She asks him to tell her and he breaks down. She's persistent, knows that he wants to see the kids, she asks if he's told his therapist. He nods and she suggests they book an appointment together to discuss his hang-ups, because, as she tells him, seeing the kids would be good, for him and for Sophie and Iverson.

He wants to discuss it with his therapist first, so they agree to wait until he has. His new therapist, who he's been seeing for two months at this point, thinks that if he wants to tell Rava about the car accident and about his father's abuse then he should, and so she agrees to mediate.

He decides to tell her about his dad first, selfishly. He doesn't think she'll want to talk to him ever again after she learns about the waiter and he doesn't think he's ever going to tell anyone else about what his dad did so she's his only chance to ever tell someone who will really understand.

He also, and his therapist doesn't necessarily agree with him, thinks that if Rava does allow him to have a relationship with the kids in the future, she should probably know, that-- That he spent over a year waiting by the elevator for his father to visit and hopefully not hit him. But if he did hit him, that was fine too, because Kendall was that desperate for attention. That desperate to feel useful, needed in some way.

She should know that, sometimes between visits, he would grab at himself, his chin or his shoulder, and grip to the point of bruising just to feel an echo of his father's love. She needs to know about the times his dad had been irritable and Kendall had intentionally frustrated him so they would have more time together, after his dad took out the day's stress on him. He doesn't think it would be right, for him to see her kids, their kids, without her knowing how sick he had become.

Between his stutter and his occasional meltdowns he doesn't think he can tell her with words even if his therapist helps, so he painstakingly writes two confessions, one about his dad, one about the waiter.

After his therapist explains, he hands her the one about his dad, ashen-faced.

She starts crying early, a hand over her mouth. He joins her, stressed and scared and wishing he was braver. He turns away to try and compose himself, not wanting to seem like he's looking for pity, but he can still hear as she gets progressively more upset.

When she's done she blows her nose and starts delicately drying her face of still-dripping tears. His therapist asks if she'd like to share how she's feeling and she lets out a hysterical mix between a sob and a giggle that makes Kendall duck his head in anxiety.

"Can I touch you?" she asks and he nods. She puts her hand on his shoulder, putting slight pressure until he's facing her, eyes still averted.

"I'm so sorry that happened, Ken. I'm so sorry it took so long for us to find you. That you had to suffer like that, all by yourself." Rava delicately reaches for his hand, interlocking their fingers together loosely and placing her other hand on top. She continues, "But I'm really glad that we found you because now we can help you recover from what happened. Whatever that recovery looks like. We all just want you to feel safe and comfortable."

She pauses, controlled breaths the only noise she makes for a moment.

"I don't think the things that happened with your dad were your fault, or that you did anything wrong. You were put in a terrible position that most people couldn't imagine in their worst nightmares and you did your best to get through it in one piece. None of what I just read makes me think you shouldn't be around the kids. It did help me understand how desperate you must be to see them and I can tell how much you don't want to do anything to hurt them. But you're not disgusting, Ken, you're not going to hurt them by being near them. They've missed you so much, the whole time. All they want is their dad back."

Kendall lets her words wash over him, pretends the second letter isn't burning through the couch cushion beside him. She doesn't blame him. She doesn't think he's disgusting. She still thinks he should see the kids. She wants him to feel safe.

⠀

#adam talks too much

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

I Saw You Trying, My Love

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: ok so this is long, and angry. It all happened because I really wanted to explore the headcanon that Wilhemina would be very possessive and very jealous if she were in a relationship. How would that relationship work? Could it work? I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, lovelies <3

Word count: ~ 8 200

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Wilhemina’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry.

You ignored her. You kept shoving the contents of your wardrobe into your bag.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I heard you the first time,” you snapped. You threw one last pair of socks – your favourite, fluffy and glittery – into your bag and gave it a shake. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

You zipped up your bag and stomped past Wilhemina out of the room you had shared with her for the past two months. She must have realized how serious you were, by then, because she followed close behind you. She had never done that before when you had had a fight. She was too proud to run after you like a desperate child. Usually she would let you walk off and wait for you to blow off steam. But today, the sound of her cane followed you down the stairs and into the living room as you went around it, grabbing items you would need – your book, your glasses, your phone charger. Wilhemina’s watch. You threw that back on the couch when you realized what it was.

“Has your brain turned to mush? Where do you plan to go? You have nowhere to go to, Y/N.”

Wilhemina positioned herself in the doorway, blocking your way, both her hands gripping her cane. You came to a halt in front of her and scowled.

“I’m not a baby, Wilhemina,” you retorted, your face mere inches from hers. Your words were thick with anger. “I’ll get along just fine without you. Actually, I’ll be better off without you. Now move.”

She stood her ground, glaring back at you.

“What are you gonna do?” you hissed. “Uh? Lock me up? Bring me food once a day, torture me? Are you going to lock me up in here until you break me and turn me into the obedient pet you wish I were?” You paused to take a breath. “Is that your plan, Mina, my love?” You all but spat the last two words at her like a curse.

For a second you recoiled. You hadn’t meant to do that, turn a term of endearment, a promise of care and tenderness whispered so many times before to soothe and comfort and reassure, into poison. But on second thought, you were glad you had. She deserved the sting.

“I don’t –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“For God’s sake I have the right to spend time with my friends! Not all my life revolve around you, Wilhemina! You cannot keep me with you every minute of every day like a fucking dog!” A fresh bout of fury rose to your head and took control of you. “I can spend time with other people, I can enjoy myself without you! But what I can’t stand is you snapping at me and calling me names every time I so much as smile to someone else! I’ve had enough.” You lowered your arms in defeat, shaking your head at her. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. Move.”

Wilhemina’s face was hard and angry, her jaw clenched tight, her poise proud and dominating, but her eyes – you had always been able to tell what she truly felt by looking into her eyes. They were your favourite thing to stare at, not only because it was so easy to get lost in them, but because they were the key to understanding her. The key that opened the safe where she hid herself when she did not know how to communicate or thought she had to lie to keep herself safe. Her eyes were always, always honest. Especially with you. You took one look at them now and then had to look away before your resolve left you.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Maggie’s place.”

Wilhemina scoffed bitterly. “Why, of course. Right into the arms of the daft prostitute.”

“Mina she’s my best-friend since high-school,” you growled, raising your free hand to rub your forehead in frustration. “Please don’t insult her.”

“And what a friend indeed. Always so eager to please, so eager to have you all by herself so that she can lay her dirty little hands on your arm or - ”

“This is what best-friends do!” you roared.

Wilhemina didn’t even flinch.

“Why don’t you screw her tonight?”

“Alright, you – you know what, I’ve had enough.”

You pushed past her, and you must have been too brutal, or maybe she had been unsteady to begin with; in any case, she dropped her cane, and her knees gave way. She winced as she braced herself for the fall, for the pain – but you wrapped your arms around her waist to support her, and held her against you. “I’ve got you,” you whispered into her hair.

Time froze. Silence fell. You closed your eyes, nuzzling your nose in her hair. What were you doing? Leaving her? Ridiculous. As if you could live without her. You pressed her closer against you, feeling like you could burst into laughter at your own excessive behavior. This was just like any other fight you had had with Wilhemina before, nothing you could not mend. Leaving this house, leaving this woman, had never been an option. It would mean leaving your heart. Leaving a part you wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive without.

You dropped a kiss on her forehead and were about to pull away. To cup her face and kiss her mouth and laugh with her at how stupid, how childish you were.

But then you remembered. All the times she had gone too far. All the snapping and the hurting and the possessive, jealous, unhealthy behavior. Earlier this afternoon she had slapped one of your coworkers and friends for “standing too close to you”. It was the first time she had used physical violence. The last straw.

You knew where it all came from, the insecurity and the fear and the pain. But that did not make it acceptable.

Gently, you let her go, picked up your bag and made for the front door.

“Y/N?”

She followed you down the corridor, stopped a few inches away from you as you turned the key in the lock. You felt her hand brush your elbow, but she did not touch you. Somehow it was this, her hesitation, that broke your heart.

“Don’t come after me,” you told her over your shoulder.

“Y/N don’t you dare –“

You opened the door, ignoring her, closing your eyes against the setting sun and the tears that were starting to pool. Wilhemina’s voice rose behind you again, not angry anymore, but shaking, and terrified. She was terrified.

“Y/N don’t you – “

You slammed the door behind you and ran down the driveway to your car, afraid you’d turn back and fall into her arms if you stopped for one second.

It hurt. It felt like your heart had been torn out of your chest. You opened the door of your car with shaky hands, sobs wracking your body, barely seeing anything through your tears.

You didn’t remember much after that. You must have driven all the way to Maggie’s. Knocked on her door, with your bag in one hand and sobs bubbling out of your throat. She must have let you in, asked you, were you alright, was Wilhemina alright – perhaps she hugged you. Certainly she made you some tea, for Maggie was one of those people who believe tea can make everything better. As if you had not irremediably broken what you cherished most.

You must have drunk your tea, to please Maggie.

The bed in her spare room was big and comfortable. The sheets smelt of fresh peaches. You spent the rest of the evening cocooned in their warmth, alternating between dozing and sobbing into the pillows. When night fell, Maggie brought you dinner on a tray. She sat beside you as you swallowed what your stomach could hold. And then she asked you what had happened.

You hadn’t been able to tell her yet. You’d thought that, perhaps, if you kept it a secret, your leaving Wilhemina wouldn’t be real. You would be able to go back home and find her there waiting for you. She would rise when she’d hear you come in, and she would smile that fond smile of hers and wrap you up in her arms and kiss you slow and sweet. Somehow, all of your problems would be gone.

It didn’t work like that. You knew it didn’t. But still, you couldn’t help but hope.

Maggie didn’t believe you, at first. She gawked at you, then narrowed her eyes and scrutinized your face. She was naive, Maggie. Very romantic. She believed love was stronger than everything else. She had spent five minutes with you and Wilhemina and proclaimed with tears in her eyes that she had never seen two people more in love. It simply wasn’t possible for you to be without Wilhemina, and for Wilhemina to be without you. You would cease to exist. The world would explode.

But then, as you dissolved into tears again, unable to finish your story as you desperately clang to her, her face fell. She let out a small “oh” that sounded so surprised, so final, so defeated. It rang in your ears like a bell mourning death.

You didn’t go to work the day after. Nor the day after that. You knew Wilhemina would be at Kineros, knew she was too hardworking to even consider taking a day off. Hell, Wilhemina could be dying of pneumonia, she would still drive to work and sit at her desk and boss everyone around. Throwing snarky comments like knives at frightened employees, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. You could picture her, sitting straight and proud in her chair, with her cane leaning against her desk and her hair tied in that high ponytail you loved so much, for it accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Had she taken off the photograph on her desk? Of you and her, on a sunny day in the countryside a year ago, a few days after you had started dating. Your hand on her cheek, your teeth on her chin, her eyes half-closed and crinkled up with laughter.

You wouldn’t have gone to work even if Wilhemina hadn’t been there. There was no point anymore. You had never really cared for the job anyway. The only thing that had made life interesting had been Wilhemina.

So you spent hours in bed until the sheets no longer smelt of fresh peaches but of your sweat and tears. You went for a run with Maggie. You tried to keep yourself busy, read a book, watched movies, cleaned Maggie’s house. You knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life at Maggie’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It became harder to get up in the morning. Harder to fall asleep at night. So you daydreamed and thought of Wilhemina. To soothe the pain of her absence. You thought of her face in the morning, still soft from sleep. That magic moment when she would wake and those big, brown, doe eyes of hers would meet yours and smile. How deftly she would do her hair, ponytail always perfectly centered. How sometimes, while she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she would stare out the window and get lost in the view.

One day it struck you how often Maggie did touch you. She was a very touchy-feely person, had always been: she would pat your shoulder or hold your hand or stroke your arm or kiss your cheek. It was innocent, she behaved like that with everyone. But now you realized how it must have looked to someone as insecure as Wilhemina.

Maggie was beautiful. All blue eyes and soft strawberry blond locks and pink cheeks and pretty flowery dresses. She was soft, and selfless, and very kind, and everyone adored her. She taught French at the University. Had a fiancé, wanted to start a family. Exercised every day. She was normal and healthy – more than that, she was perfect in every way. No rough edges, no high walls, no back pains that kept her up all night, no early appointments to the doctor’s, no days that could be ruined by one glance at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie had found her place in the world and the world cherished her.

And yet – and yet how brighter Wilhemina shone in your head. She was a lighthouse, Maggie a candle. How much more precious and rare Wilhemina was. There were a million things in her that singled her out as one of the most fascinating person you had met. How she could make a witty comment on something the likes of Maggie would never notice in the first place. How she would stare right into the eyes of whatever scared her and defeat it with patience and determination. How deeply, how fiercely she loved.

On the eighth morning without her you woke up completely panicked and haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting on her own. She would never tell anyone she needed help, she had never allowed anyone but you to see her vulnerable. She would push on through her days as if everything was perfectly fine and go back every night to a dark, cold, lonely house where everything would remind her of you. Did she get enough sleep? Was she even eating? It seemed likely to you she would use food deprivation to punish herself. Eating the bare minimum to make it through the day without collapsing.

You asked Maggie to check on her. She drove to your house one evening and came back in a sour mood. Oh, Wilhemina was just fine, she jeered. Her usual pleasant, cheerful self. She had opened the door, taken one look at her, and sent her off with a scoff. Maggie was so angry she spilled most of her drink on the floor. And despite it all, you couldn’t help but smile.

In the morning of the tenth day, after Maggie had gone to work, you came downstairs and slumped on the living room couch. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so you had opened all the windows and the front door to let the draft in. You prayed the fresh air would take away some of the ache in your chest. Or maybe a murderer would walk into the house and put an end to your misery.

You were starting to doze off when you heard a knock on the front door. You started, and sleepily called out “It’s open”.

Silence, as if whoever stood outside hadn’t quite made up their mind to come in yet. You yawned, scratched your head. The sound of a cane tapping on the floor filled the hall.

For a second you felt you were about to faint. Then your body sprang up, eyes wide-opened, heart pounding in your ears.

You sat down on a nearby chair facing the door. Ran a hand through your hair, straightened your clothes. You waited.

Tap. Tap. The sound of her cane brought tears to your eyes – for how you had missed it. Not so much the sound itself but the promise that came with it, seeing her, being with her. Love and happiness and everything that mattered in the world.

The tapping stopped. You raised your head. Your racing heart leaped out of your chest straight into her hands, like a fledgling that had left its nest too soon and flew back trembling and terrified to the safety of home. How stupid you had been to leave at all.

She stood in the doorway more beautiful than you remembered her, because so painfully missed, so hoped for, so loved.

She looked tired, but fine – not exhausted, not starved, not over-worked. Thank God. Some of the tension that had been building in your shoulders vanished. You searched her face for signs of emotions and truth behind her facade, but could find none. Even her eyes were inscrutable.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds you both stayed silent, glaring at each other, both of you too proud to lower your eyes or look away first. Then Wilhemina took a breath and opened her mouth, and your body leaned towards her in expectation.

“Your productivity at work this past week was astonishing,” she said.

Right. You straightened in your seat, and crossed your legs.

Wilhemina waited, but as no answer came from you she added: “Do you intend to get fired?”

“If you’ve come here to scold me, you can leave now,” you mumbled. Your hand started rubbing circles on your knee. “I’m not interested.”

Another pause. You picked a book on the coffee table and stared intently at it. The silence was painful. From the corridor came the ticking of the clock hung on the wall. You could just make out Wilhemina’s purple shoes and pale ankles out of the corner of your eye.

When the silence became intolerable, you tilted your head just enough to shoot her an angry glance and snapped: “Why are you here?”

Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor. That didn’t faze you. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” she said in that low, slow voice she always used when she was mad, “as your superior and as Kineros Robotics’ HR manager, to remind you that you have a job and that you are expected to actually show up at your workplace.”

Was she getting enough sleep? Only now did you realize that she was leaning on her cane a bit more heavily than usual. Was her back hurting her? Did she even take her pain medicine? On several occasions before she had refused to, as a form of punishment against her disability. You had had to coax and beg for her to finally agree to swallow the pill.

“I expect you to answer me when I talk to you.” Wilhemina’s voice, sharp and angry, brought you back from your thoughts. You glanced up at her again.

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“If you do not go back to work tomorrow I will have to dismiss you.”

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“Your unjustified absence is quite simply intolerable.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated.

Another pause. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Anger and irritation had subsided and been replaced by a sort of numbness that still had an aftertaste of want. You stared at the book, your fingers still rubbing circles on your knee as you listened to the ticking of the clock in the corridor.

Wilhemina spoke, and this time her voice wavered on the last word. “When are you coming back?”

She meant to work, of course. You lifted your head, met her eyes. She meant come home.

“I’m not coming back,” you answered, keeping your voice casual to hide the fact that your heart was breaking yet again, small pieces drifting away and colliding with each other.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilhemina cried, her eyes widening in exasperation. “Crawl at your feet and beg for mercy?”

She barely ever raised her voice. Her anger and contempt were always expressed in a dangerously slow and low tone. A high, raised voice meant she felt cornered. It meant her self-control was slipping away. It meant her facade was breaking.

You leaned towards her in your seat, hope seeping in your veins.

“How about you start by apologizing to Pat?” you said, as casually as before.

“Who’s Pat?”

“My co-worker and friend you so kindly slapped in the face last week. And to Eva, whose fingers you threatened to clip off one by one because she had the audacity to touch my hand. And to Maggie. You called her such terrible names when all she did was being there for me. Do you see the problem, Mina?”

Your little speech had made you angry again, bad memories flooding your brain, so it was a surprise when her nickname slipped out of your mouth. It seemed to quiet her for a second. Her shoulders relaxed. She even took a tentative step towards you. But then her face hardened again, and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“I will do no such thing,” she snapped, tapping her cane on the floor. “All those idiots you mentioned had it coming.”

You sighed and slumped back into your seat. You knew what she was doing. Suddenly you were brought back to the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of you. It had been one evening in the second week of your relationship. She had had a bad day, and her back was hurting her, and the only way she had found to express that – the only way she had known how – had been by snapping at you for overcooking the pasta. You had been about to snap back, when an apology had slipped out of her. Soft and unexpected. You had fallen silent in surprise. Her hands had started to fidget, and she had looked angry with herself, couldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t find anything more to say, couldn’t stop fidgeting. So you had hugged her, run her a bath, made love to her, brushed her hair until most of the tension had left her body.

Snapping was her way of protecting herself, you knew that. But still – it hurt, and you had had enough.

“Well then, please, leave,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and raising one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So you can be in the delightful company of Maggie the Cat?” she snapped.

“Oh for God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you sighed, but she didn’t seem to hear you.

“Sweet, sweet Margaret,” she sneered, taking one more step towards you, her hands shaking. “With her sweet maiden face and her cheerful disposition. So charming, so lovely. She’s part of that disgusting group of radiant fools who will lead the world to its demise with their shallowness and their stupidity.”

You jumped to your feet. “Maggie is my friend,” you growled, planting yourself a few inches from her, your whole body hot with anger. “If you loved me as you claim you do, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn’t say such things about her!”

Something on her face changed at your words. You couldn’t tell what exactly, but a feeling of dread suddenly came over you.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor, raised her chin and hissed, “Maybe I don’t. Love you, at all. Maybe I only used you for company.”

You took a step back, reeling as her words echoed in your head. You knew she was lying. What you two had shared had been too strong to be fake. She had trusted you with things and parts of herself she had never told or shown anyone before. She had let you love her and trusted you would not hurt her.

In a better world you would have been able to control your anger. You would have taken a few deep breaths to calm yourself and put your hands on Wilhemina’s shoulders and told her for the hundredth time what she obviously still needed to hear – that in your heart, Maggie did not hold a candle to her. That Maggie was your friend and you loved her, but not the way you loved Wilhemina. That you would go to Hell for her and beat Lucifer’s ass if it meant keeping her safe.

But this was the real world, where battered souls keep hurting each other. Anger burnt in you like a fire and filled your brain with smoke until you could no longer think. Only fight back.

“Maybe I did, too,” you snarled.

You saw her hesitate. You saw her snarky retort die on her lips as she took in your words. And for a moment it felt great. To know you could still affect her, still peel off her layers and press the pads of your fingers on bare skin. But you had only ever stroked before; never scratched.

The tap of her cane on the floor surprised you, for it sounded weaker than usual. It did not bounce off the walls but fell at her feet like a weak preemie and died.

“If you do not show up tomorrow at 8 then don’t bother coming back at all,” Wilhemina commanded. “Kineros will do just fine without you.”

She was staring at something above your left shoulder, and she was breathing too fast, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. When she felt your gaze on her face she briefly shifted her eyes to yours. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mina,” you started, taking a step towards her. She raised one hand to stop you.

“That will be all,” she said, and wiped the tear away.

You let her turn on her heel, walk down the corridor and close the front door behind her. You stood as if petrified in the middle of Maggie’s living room, until something in you broke. You grabbed the book on the coffee table, hurled it at the wall, and screamed.

When Maggie came home that evening, she walked into your room with a moody, “What happened to Virginia Woolf?” She waved the battered book at you until you turned and she saw your face.

“Oh, babydoll, what’s wrong?”

She held you as you sobbed and wailed. She stroked your hair and whispered sweet-nothings to calm you down. It only made you cry harder, for it reminded you of all the times Wilhemina had comforted you. How she, too, had held you close and tried to find the right words to stop your tears. But Maggie was taller and stouter. Her body did not fit yours as Wilhemina’s did. When you eventually took a long breath in through your nose, her perfume smelt wrong. Too sweet, too floral.

You didn’t show up at 8 at Kineros the day after. It had been hard to care before, now it was simply impossible. You stayed in bed, wishing you could disappear into the sheets. You ignored Maggie’s encouragements and reproaches. You didn’t care.

Maggie brought you water and food, which you nibbled at mechanically. Time passed. You dozed often, but never slept.

Time kept on passing. You waited. You weren’t quite sure for what.

On the third day your phone rang. You reached out for it, and accepted the call without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice raspy from disuse.

“Oh, Y/N?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jeff.” You closed your eyes. “Look,” you started, “I know I haven’t – “

“What have you done to Venable?” Jeff cut you off.

Your eyes opened. “What do you mean?” you asked, your grip on your phone tightening.

“She hasn’t shown up for the past three days.” There was a loud noise at the other end of the line, then Jeff’s voice again. “Last week she was even more bitchy than usual, and now she’s gone. I don’t know where the file I need is, I missed all of my appointments and what’s worse, we’ve run out of coke. I can’t be a genius if I’m not high. Y/N?”

You barely heard him call your name. You could barely breathe from fear.

“Y/N, you still here?”

“Yeah, I –“ You swallowed around the lump in your throat.“Are you sure she’s not at Kineros?”

“I’m at Kineros, Y/N, and Venable isn’t,” Jeff answered, annoyed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let your sapphic affairs ruin my company.”

“I – “You stood up on shaky legs. You had to move, you had to do something to keep the panic at bay. It wasn’t like Wilhemina to miss work. She’d rather die than shun her responsibilities. And three days in a row? Something must have happened to her. Your brain started making up all kinds of dreadful scenarios in which she had been hurt, hit by a car, abducted, in which she had locked herself up in her room without food or water, jumped from a bridge, bought a plane ticket to some faraway country where you would never find her.

“Y/N?” came Jeff’s voice, interrupting the mad race of your thoughts.

“Yes, I – “You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Venable isn’t my responsibility,” you heard yourself say.

“Look, Y/N,” Jeff retorted, his voice growing angry. “You’re expendable, Venable is not. We need her. I don’t care what you do, but you better make sure she comes back tomorrow.” And with that he hung up.

For a few seconds you stood petrified with your phone still pressed against your ear. And then you jumped into action. You dressed, grabbed your handbag, flew down the stairs and in your haste nearly collided with the door of your car. You forced yourself to drive under the speed limit on your way to your house. Dying wouldn’t help.

Part of you realized that it felt good. The life pumping into your veins again. You felt like you had finally woken up.

You parked on the sidewalk in front of your house, too impatient to maneuver your car up the driveway. You ran to the door and knocked on it. You closed your eyes as you waited, panting. You sent a prayer to whomever you could think of – please let her be okay. You didn’t care how mad you were with her anymore. Just, let her be okay.

The door opened. You looked up.

Wilhemina was wearing an old, faded lilac sweater and a pair of black cotton shorts. Her hair was down. She had no make-up on. When her eyes met yours, her face didn’t harden or fall or change at all; she merely held your gaze, as if she were too tired or too numb to react.

“You’re here,” you breathed out in relief. You could have burst into tears of joy at the sight of her alive and safe.

“I only own one house,” she said dully.

“Right, of course, I know.” You scratched your head nervously. “Er, Jeff called. He’s, er, worried about you.”

Wilhemina watched you unblinkingly. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It was all you could do to stop yourself from collapsing into her arms and kiss her senseless.

“He said you haven’t been to work for three days,” you tried.

“And why,” she said, “do you care?” There was no trace of animosity in her voice. In fact, there was nothing at all. No emotion. No life.

“He asked me to come check on you.”

Shit. You could have slapped yourself. Wilhemina’s face did harden, then, and she made as if to close the door, but before she had time to you cried out: “No, wait, that came out wrong. Please.” You held up a hand. Wilhemina waited. “He told me you hadn’t shown up in days, and I got worried. That’s why I came. Not because he asked me to.”

She watched you for a few seconds more, then lowered her gaze. Her left hand came up to fidget with the hem of her shorts. She looked so small in those clothes, so young and so fragile. Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

“Can I come in?” you tried.

Her eyes met yours. Please, you begged her in your head. Please, let me in. Please, give us this chance to make it right. Your heart was beating so fast it was starting to hurt.

Eternity passed before she finally – oh what bliss! – stepped aside to let you in. You brushed past her, got a whiff of her perfume mixed with the faint smell of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair nervously, leaning slightly away from you to close the door.

The house was exactly as you had left it, and yet it looked so different. Quieter, somehow, and a bit battered, as if it had just come back from the battlefield to rest and mourn its departed friends. Your footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor as you walked to the living room. You took off your shoes and shoved them in a corner. To make a point. That you didn’t mean to leave until you had talked things through.

Wilhemina stopped in the doorway and waited.

“Um, thank you,” you mumbled. “For letting me in.” As if it weren’t your house, too. But that wasn’t the point.

Wilhemina nodded. Silence fell. You looked around the room nervously, at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” you finally blurted out. Wilhemina glared at you. “Right. Sorry, stupid question.” You swallowed hard. “Have you, um, have you eaten? I could make something.”

“Who am I to stop you?” Wilhemina answered flatly. “We both know how you need to keep yourself busy when you’re nervous.”

“It’s not about me,” you countered. “I was wondering when you last ate, that’s all.”

She held your gaze for a few more seconds, then proceeded to walk around the room to rearrange things – a candle on a shelf, the cushions on the couch, anything. You watched her, noticed the slight shaking of her hand, how tightly she was gripping her cane. Her hair fell over her eyes as she leaned forward. She briskly pushed it back.

When there was nothing left for her to tidy, she sat on the couch and opened a book.

You stared at her profile, your hands twitching at your sides. Wanting nothing more than to reach out. Sit by her side. Hold her close. Sink into her warmth.

You cleared your throat, and went into the kitchen.

It did help, having something to do with your hands. It relieved some of the ache in your chest. You were too preoccupied to be creative, so you settled on frozen Yangzhou fried rice and an endive salad. Substantial, but easy to eat. In case she was feeling as nauseous as you were.

You were cutting the endives when you heard Wilhemina call from the other room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” you called back, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the door. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

You listened to the sound of running water as the rice thawed out. Thought of the right words to say. Part of you wanted to forgive her without further ado and pretend nothing had happened. But that would only buy you more time. Until the next insult, the next fight. Anger swelled in you like a wave as you remembered Pat’s perplexed face, lifting a hand to his cheek where Wilhemina had hit him. His own outburst, “What the hell is wrong with her?!”, Wilhemina’s cold, unreadable expression. The fear in her voice when you had slammed the door behind you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The only way you could think of to make things right was to have Wilhemina truly, fully open up to you. Convince her that sharing her fears with you would be better than lashing out on other people. Make her realize, and trust, that there was nothing you wanted in the world more than a future with her.

You turned off the heat under the rice and sat at the table as you waited for Wilhemina. Half an hour had passed since she had disappeared in the bathroom. She loved to take long showers, but she hated being late even more. You had told her she had twenty minutes; any other day, she would have made sure to be ready in fifteen.

You waited ten more minutes before you started to get truly worried. You walked to the foot of the stairs and called out her name. There was no answer. You called out again, louder. Silence mocked you.

You hurried up the stairs, your heart in your throat, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mina? Are you alright?”

And still there was no answer. And you were starting to grow angry again, at her silence, at her shunning you, when you heard it. Faint and muffled, but unmistakable. A sob.

You opened the door and rushed into the room.

Wilhemina was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub and her face hidden in her hands. Her wet hair was dripping on her lap, soaking the purple bathrobe she was wearing. She must have dropped her cane, for it lay on the floor under the sink a few feet from her.

You rushed up to her and dropped on your knees.

“Baby,” you called, reaching for one of her wrists, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to gently pry her hands away to get a look at her face, but she didn’t let you. If anything, she stiffened and buried her face deeper in her hands.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle the low, painful sobs that wracked her frail body. You gently brushed her hair back as you waited for her to calm down, not daring to wrap your arms around her, but dying to offer her comfort.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and soft hiccups, and you asked her again what had happened.

“I dropped my cane,” came her answer, weak and muffled. “As I was getting out of the tub.” A shudder ran through her.

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “This…” She lifted one of her hands, then, to gesture at her body, and you caught a glimpse of her face, red and coated with tears. “You deserve so much better than this. Please, go back to Maggie.”

You blinked at her words, at the pain and anguish they expressed. How had it come so far? How blind had you been? Not to realize how insecure she was, how convinced she was she could never be enough. To the point that she had agreed with herself to let you go.

You shook your head sadly. “But Maggie’s not the one I want.”

She let out a small, pitiful noise at that, and dissolved into tears again. This time, you didn’t think. You scooted over and gathered her into your arms. She sank into you, her hands coming down to clutch your shirt, her face pressing against your chest. There was no restraint anymore. No trying to stifle her sobs or hold back her tears. She let it all out, sobs shaking her body as she sank deeper and deeper into you, as if she were desperate to make one, to leave herself behind and become part of you.

Her sobs grew louder, and she seemed to have lost all control on her breathing, a gasp in and out and out again without inhaling. She was working herself up in quite a state, so you did the only thing you could think of to help her calm down. You tipped her head up. Captured her lips with yours.

Her mouth was wet and hot and salty, but you didn’t care. You wanted so much more of it. It tasted like home, and love, and safety. You had missed it so much, kissing her, feeling her. Your hands came up to cup her face, fingers pressing on her drenched cheeks as you pulled her closer, humming softy into the kiss.

It did quiet her. Her breath hitched, her shoulders tensed, but then she was kissing you back fervently, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. You didn’t know anymore. You were only aware of the sweet warmth of relief coursing through your veins and making your head spin. And of something else, something that ached and throbbed – want. It frightened you, this level of want. Your whole body was burning and tingling with it. It wasn’t so much lust as merely wanting to hold her. To feel her again. Love her freely and endlessly.

Again it hit you how stupid you had been to think you could ever live without her.

When you broke the kiss for air, she let out a whine and immediately chased after you. She was still crying, hiccups rippling into your mouth, drenched skin rubbing against yours. She circled her arms around your neck and bit down on your lower lip, hard, as if to mark you hers. A vampire bite, to contaminate your blood with hers and make sure you and she were the same.

After a while she broke the kiss and slumped into you. She was practically sitting on you now, arms tight around your neck, face buried in your chest, hip digging into your lap. You ran a hand through her hair as you rubbed circles on her back, humming a soft lullaby as a few last tremors shook her body.

It had started to rain outside. You suddenly became aware of the patter on the roof. You leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” came her voice, raspy but soft. “What I said the other day. I do love you.”

You hummed, dropped a kiss on her hair. “I know.” A pause. “I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. You leaned in to kiss her burning eyelids. You kissed her forehead, a magic kiss, to soothe the throbbing in her head.

She met your gaze, bit her lip. You gave her a smile.

“Come on, get up,” you urged.

You waited for her in the living room as she cleaned her face, dried her hair and dressed. She put on the pajama set she always wore when she wasn’t feeling confident: baggy pants and a shirt that was too big for her. It didn’t cling to her body. It hid her body completely from view.

You managed to convince her to eat some of the rice. You ate in silence, watching her as she chewed and swallowed. She was sitting perfectly straight in her chair, head held high, eyes on her plate. When she was done, she delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin, which she then folded on the table.

You waited. She stared at her empty plate for a moment, and then frowned.

“Look,” she finally said, “this is hard for me. I don’t know where to start.”

You nodded. “I know. That’s alright. Take your time.”

“I don’t usually… talk – “Her voice faltered. She glanced up at you, eyes dark and still rimmed red. You smiled in encouragement.

“Your friends,” she went on. Paused. As no other words came out, you got up from your seat, kneeled in front of her, and reached for one of her hands.

“I don’t hate them,” she said very quietly, staring down at her plate.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You have a very peculiar way of showing it.”

Her lower lip quivered and her brow pushed up as if she were about to start crying again. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Hey, none of that. Talk to me. What really bothers you about my friends?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard. You waited. When she opened her eyes again, they were shining with tears.

“I – “She shook her head, let out a sad laugh. “I don’t – “Her voice cracked. Her eyes met yours. “Please don’t – “

“It’s okay,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to cup her cheek. ”I’m staying. I’m listening.”

A tear dropped from her eye, crashed between your thumb and index; and then she inhaled shakily and it all came out of her at once, words stumbling out like a panicked mob out of a room on fire.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone better than me. All those kind, healthy people, I’m afraid you’ll truly see them one day and realize you could have so much better, so much more.” A breath out, as her face crumpled. “I don’t – I can’t – “A sob pushed out of her throat, and her breath hitched, and when she tried to inhale again she let out a noise as if she were choking. “I don’t – I don’t think I can ever be – be enough for –”

“Okay, you’re okay,” you cooed as her breathing grew frantic. “Mina, you’re okay.” She shook her head, her body slumping as fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat. “Hey,” you breathed, blinking back your own tears. You let go of her hand to cup her face.

Her cheeks were burning. You ran your thumbs over her cheekbones, catching her tears as they fell.

“Mina, I know you’re hurting,” you whispered. Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Baby, I want to be here for you.”

She nodded, hiccupping as she tried to wrestle her emotions back under control. One of her hands came up to wipe sloppily at her nose.

“Let’s move to the couch, ok?” you suggested. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

She didn’t let go of your hand on the very short way to the couch, her palm clammy against yours. She always did that, always had to be touching you: her ankle pressed against yours, her hand resting on your arm or on your waist, her shoulder brushing yours.

You sat down, and she hesitated before she snuggled up to you. She rested her head on your shoulder and reached for one of your hands in your lap.

There was a quiet moment, silence only broken by Wilhemina’s sniffles, and then you shook your head and teased, “What am I going to do with you?”

You felt her stiffen against you. “Because it’s such hard work and you never do a stroke of work,” she snapped.

“Mina,” you warned.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

You dropped a kiss on her head. “Okay.”

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. Automatically your hand started playing with her hair.

“You know,” you went on, “it’d have been easier if you had just told me how you felt instead of taking it out on my friends.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. From now on, you be honest with me. Whenever the bad thoughts come, whenever you feel like you could never be enough, you tell me. It doesn’t have to be with words, if that’s hard for you. We can decide on a code. Like this,” you poked her hip, and she jumped and let out a chuckle,” or this,” you leaned in, blew raspberries on her shoulder, “or this,” you stuck out your tongue and licked her cheek.

“You’re gross,” she laughed. She raised one hand to keep your face away from hers, but you dodged it and gently blew into her ear.

“Y/N.” She had meant to sound firm, but laughter rang in her voice.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?” you teased.

“I think the real question is, what am I supposed to do with you.”

“Um.” You pretended to think that through.”Love me.” A kiss on her shoulder. “I think love me is good.”

She looked up at you with a wistful look in her eyes. Her hand came up to touch your cheek. She smiled, soft and tender and fond, the smile she only ever gave to you. “Love you is good,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth. You leaned in to kiss her, pouring tenderness into her mouth. When you pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as if she were about to fall asleep.

She rested her head on your shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” you whispered back.

It still rained outside. You listened to the patter on the roof. Leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s.

She fit so snuggly against you. She made you feel entirely safe, entirely you. You drank from her warmth the solace you had not been able to find in the peach-scented sheets or in Maggie’s reassurances and embrace.

After a while, you felt her nudge her nose on your shoulder. She drew a shaky breath, and asked, “So you’re not leaving?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability and fear in her voice.

“Um, no,” you answered. “I’m giving you a second chance.” A kiss on her forehead. “How long I’ll stay is entirely up to you. And Mina, please believe me when I say I hope you’ll give me reasons to stay forever.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be content with forever,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

She shifted against you, moved her head to plant a lazy kiss on your neck, draped one arm loosely around you. Her hand slipped under your shirt and she dragged her nails on your skin, across your belly, down the curve of your waist.

And then you felt it. A poke, on your left hip. Like a question.

You grinned. “Just like that, my love.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #fics

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ghost-party · 3 years

Note

hi~ o/ for your follower event, I'd like to request *covers Gojo's eyes* Sukuna on either Office Coworkers, or Villains prompt; whichever tickles your fancy more. (look at what your AU!Sukuna has done to me, requesting him instead of Gojo... I am going to go put myself in time out now). Grats on 200 again ♥ and thanks for doing something for us on it! ♥ ♥

Aww, thanks for the request! Your secret is safe with me. 😂🤐 Gojo never has to know!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of losing parents/family, some spicy content A/N: Sukuna and the reader work at a company that produces corporate events. (That was my last experience working in an office, so... 🤷🏼‍♀️)

• • •

Sukuna + Office Coworkers

It’s your first day at your new job, and you’re currently hiding in a bathroom stall, certain that one of your coworkers already hates you.

When you arrived that morning, your boss walked you over to your cubicle, with its dual monitors, already-worn-out swivel chair, and short walls. She waved at the man sitting on the opposite side, hunched over his laptop.

“Sukuna! I want you to meet Y/N.” As she rattled off bland introductions, you barely heard a word, focused instead on the sharp gaze now locked onto yours.

At first glance, he was handsome, with a lean build, strong jaw, and dusty pink hair that somehow suited him. You also noticed a few empty piercing holes in his ear lobes.

But that expression... Why did he look so annoyed? You hadn’t even said anything yet. Maybe he was in the middle of something important, you reasoned, repeating the same cheerful “nice to meet you” you had given everyone else... only to be met with a soft grunt.

And it only seemed to get worse as the day went on. While you were on the phone with IT, going through the process of setting up your database login, you looked up and found Sukuna staring at you over the top of your joined cubicles, his eyes slightly narrowed.

When you tried to print your new hire forms and the paper jammed, there he was, standing behind you with a bored look on his face, uttering a simple, “Move,” before popping open the front of the machine and quickly resolving the issue.

At lunchtime, you both ended up in the kitchen, just the two of you, him microwaving something and you half-heartedly poking at your salad. Before you could even attempt benign conversation, he punched a finger at the keypad, removed his meal, and strode away without even sparing you a glance.

You stood there, feeling painfully awkward, until you managed to finish eating and retreat to the bathroom to calm your nerves.

Maybe he’s just not a people person, you think, biting your lip as you finally emerge from the stall and face yourself in the mirror. But the least he could do is be nice, right? Geez... Does he treat all the new hires like this?

After a short mental pep talk, you nod at yourself and make your way back to your desk. As you sit down, you avoid eye contact altogether, instead directing your attention to your email inbox.

Nearly half an hour passes before Sukuna asks, “Do you drink?”

You blink up at him. “I’m sorry...?”

His head is resting on his hand as he stares at you. “Do you drink? We usually take newbies to the bar across the street on the first day.”

“Uh... Yeah. That sounds nice.”

He makes a noise of acknowledgement and looks away — until you ask, “Who’s ‘we’? Everyone?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Whoever wants to come, but it’s usually the office events committee. We organize that kind of stuff.”

“You’re on the events committee?” The idea of this man planning birthday parties and fun, team-building activities is honestly baffling.

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No offense, but you just... don’t seem like the type.”

“And what type do I seem like?”

Before you can think better of it, you blurt out, “Rude.” Panic quickly sets in as you watch his eyes widen. But then... he laughs. It’s a low chuckle, but even just seeing his stern mouth lift into a smile fills you with a strange sense of relief.

“You’re honest. I like it.” He leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Sorry if I’ve been a dick today. I’m a bartender on the weekends. Had to stay late last night and didn’t get much sleep.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m sunshine and rainbows on a good day,” he warns, sitting forward in his chair.

“Duly noted. It’s just nice to know you don’t hate me.”

“Yet.” He’s still smiling, but it’s a wicked, crooked thing that has your face heating up.

• • •

Over the next few months, as your division preps for events season, you spend more time working closely with Sukuna. You learn that there’s not a huge difference between him on a good day and him on a running-on-caffeine-and-no-sleep day. He doesn’t talk much in meetings, but his facial expressions say plenty — though you’ve learned that he sometimes looks annoyed when he’s really just... fine. It’s confusing, to say the least.

Along with his piercings, he has at least a few tattoos on his forearms. It’s hard to tell how many, since he keeps them covered while at work. But you noticed them while having dinner with the team one night. He sat beside you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a frozen margarita as he argued with someone from sales about marketing list sizes. You think about the mental image more often than you care to admit.

You’ve collected small details about him. He’s been tending bar for almost eight years, mostly as a side gig. He has a bad temper, which is why he was drawn to a marketing position — not nearly as many phone calls and general human interactions as you have to deal with in event production. He lives with his younger brother, Yuuji, who’s enrolled at the local university. They’ve been on their own since Sukuna was seventeen.

“He’s a good kid,” he says. You two are taking a brief coffee break in the kitchen, leaning against opposite counters. “Decent grades, working part time... He even has a girlfriend.”

“Wow.” You sip your latte, wondering how to ask the question on your mind without being painfully direct. But what comes out instead is, “Do you have a girlfriend?” because apparently your brain hates you.

Sukuna shakes his head. “Finding someone who can put up with my shit? Easier said than done.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.”

He smirks at you. “Is that so?”

You shrug and turn around, busying yourself with pouring a refill as an excuse to hide your flustered expression. “I mean... You’re still pretty annoying.”

It’s only when you feel him standing behind you that you realize he’s moved. “Don’t mind me,” he murmurs, reaching above you to grab a plastic lid from the nearest cupboard, his chest just grazing your back. You can’t help but freeze, your heartbeat erratic as you watch his shirt sleeve slide back, giving you a glimpse of the black bands of tattoos encircling his wrist.

When he pulls away, snapping the lid onto his paper cup, you glance at him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a knowing smile. “Annoying, huh? I’ll take it.” And with that, he walks away, leaving you scrambling to figure out what just happened.

• • •

“So... What do you think?” You swirl the ice in your glass and nudge Sukuna with your shoulder. “Your first live event.”

“I hate it.”

You’re both sitting at the hotel bar, having finally escaped the welcome reception upstairs. Although marketers don’t usually travel to your company’s events, a team member’s sudden illness left you in a lurch. Sukuna had begrudgingly agreed to accompany you to help with on-site prep and operations.

“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” You take a sip of your drink, already feeling pleasantly buzzed. “Is it the pushy attendees, the boring presentations, or the thrilling nightlife?” You gesture around at the exclusively 50+ clientele, along with the stuffily-ornate lobby full of classic artwork, antique carpeting, and gold everything.

“Yes.” You laugh, and when you look up at Sukuna, he’s staring at you thoughtfully. “But the company’s not too bad.”

“You should put that on the post-event survey.”

“Definitely ‘exceeds expectations.’” He drums his fingers against the bar top. “My room’s not bad, though.”

“‘Not bad’?” you tease. “I made sure you got the nicest one in the staff block.” When he looks surprised, you glance away. “It’s the least I could do — as a thank you for coming.”

Sukuna chuckles. “You’re always too nice to me. Might give me the wrong idea one of these days.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “Or the right one...”

When you end up in his room, the both of you fumbling to unbutton and remove clothes as you kiss, his mouth soft yet insistent against yours, you tell yourself this is enough. As he pushes you down onto the bed, strong arms caging you in as he bites and sucks the tender skin between your neck and shoulder, you tell yourself this doesn’t need to be anything serious.

But afterwards, when his hard, lean body curls languidly around you, bare skin warm and smooth against your own, it’s hard not to imagine more — waking up beside him every morning, having breakfast together, straightening his usually-crooked tie while he pokes fun at you... You want all of it.

For now, though, you settle for his deep, steady breaths and the way he sleepily pulls you closer, arms tight around you.

• • •

When you wake up the next morning, Sukuna is propped up beside you, dark eyes unreadable.

“Watching me sleep?” you ask, voice slightly hoarse as you roll over to look at the clock beside the bed. Six o’clock. Plenty of time to get ready for another day of work.

“Creepy, I know.” His tone is flat, but he looks gentler than usual, with his bed head and placid expression. In the early morning light, you can see the full extent of his tattoos, bold, wide lines that trace across his body. They suit him, but you can’t put your finger on why.

“Look, can we... talk? About last night?”

You stiffen, mentally preparing yourself for what comes next.

“This was fun, but we’re better off as friends.” “We can do this again, but I’m not interested in anything serious.” “This was a mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

But instead, what Sukuna says is, “This wasn’t just sex for me. I’m not really into that. Well, not anymore...” He runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh... Like you?” It comes out as a question, and his brow furrows, looking agitated. “I’m fucking this up.”

He must not expect your laugh, because his eyes widen at the sound. But you’re just so relieved. “I like you, too, dumbass.”

“Dumbass?” He playfully shoves at you. “So romantic.”

“What, you’re gonna change your mind?”

His hand moves from your shoulder to your face, stroking your cheek. “Nah... I knew what I was getting into. But the romantic thing... I think I can fix that.”

“Oh yeah?”

He grins. “You. Me. The huge, fancy bathtub. Room service. Does having mimosas with breakfast count as drinking on the job?”

You turn your head and press a kiss to his palm. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You’re bad,” he growls, leaning over you, his breath warming your upturned lips. “When did that happen?”

“When I met this guy. He’s smart, sexy, kind of a jerk —” The rest of your words dissolve into a breathy gasp as he kisses you, teeth nipping against your bottom lip.

“Yeah, yeah... Less talking, hm? Now, how about that bath?”

#200 followers event #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #au sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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mellometal · 3 years

Text

ATTENTION: This is some recent information about the current events with Chris Chan that I've been able to find, plus additional information that I couldn't find anything on that is now public knowledge.

ALL videos about any updates will be linked so you can watch them for yourself, if you wish.

Again, OBLIGATORY trigger warning: This post will be going into very sensitive subject matter, including r@p3, s3xual assault, elder abuse, and inc3st. I will also be mentioning the site Kîwî F@rm$ and the person who runs it (Null). DON'T go onto Kîwî F@rm$. Just stay away from there. It's like 4chan (another site full of REALLY fucked up shit, depending on which forum you go to), but worse.

If anything I mentioned is triggering for you or makes you otherwise uncomfortable in any way, you don't have to read this post. It's not worth putting yourself in a bad state mentally. Take care of yourself, please. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

ALRIGHTY, LET'S GET TO IT. Because there's quite a lot of bullshit that happened since the first post I made about the current events. And some more information that will most likely be the nail in the coffin for Chris. I'm patiently waiting for more updates as they come and I'll share them here as soon as possible.

The person Chris was in a call with was revealed to be a troll under the name "Bella". The screenshots of messages and the audio from the call have all been confirmed to be real.

It's also been revealed that Chris confided in Null about her having a girlfriend, having s3x with her, all that. Here's a list of things to describe this "girlfriend" below, which I will compare to Barbara in bold:

This woman is "in her over fifties". (Barbara is eighty years old. Most people would assume that someone's in their late fifties when this terminology is used. Eighty is well over fifty.)

Her favorite person was the late Adam West in the 60s, as it was "for her son back then". (I don't know if Chris is referring to her half-brother Cole Smithey [he does movie reviews, and he's most famous for being one of the only people to give Toy Story 3 a negative review] here, or if she's referring to herself before she came out as trans. I'm adding this here anyway.)

Chris has known this woman "for a long time", offline and in-person. (OBVIOUSLY she's known Barbara her whole life, since she's, AGAIN, HER MOTHER! DUH.)

They've been having s3x "every three nights". (Like how Chris admitted to doing to her defenseless mother. PRETTY FUCKING FISHY, IF YOU ASK ME.)

They began having s3x on June 27th. (The same day that Chris admitted to doing to Barbara.)

This woman was an accountant when she was younger. (Barbara's job was EXACTLY this.)

Chris said she feels grateful to "enlighten" her girlfriend with s3x play that she (the woman) "missed from even her exes". (I didn't mention this in my initial post, but if you chose to watch the videos that were linked, Chris mentioned that Barbara's boyfriends and ex-husbands "have never been able to make her 0rg@$m" like Chris did. SHE EVEN MENTIONED HER LATE FATHER. THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING AND DISRESPECTFUL.)

Chris has been "keeping her girlfriend safe" too. (She had been "taking care of Barbara" since Bob, her late father, passed away. This right here is proof alone that she was talking about HER MOM!)

Her girlfriend "didn't want to do it at first", it was "very painful" for Chris's girlfriend in the beginning, and it took a few tries for them "to get going". This included Chris doing it FOR her because she thought her girlfriend would "feel better" due to her lack of mobility and lucidity. (Chris said all of this exact stuff TO "BELLA" during their call.)

Null initially thought that Chris was lying about sleeping with her mother to cover up the fact that she had a girlfriend and having s3x with her. Why? Because apparently people would believe Chris would have s3x with her mother than some other unknown woman. Chris told Null to keep her girlfriend's identity secret because she was afraid her girlfriend would get trolled and she'd end up losing her.

What Null realized was that what Chris told him completely matched the description of Barbara. Note that before he looked into this, he was unaware of the context Chris was giving him about her "girlfriend".

It's extremely possible now that Chris admitted to s3xually assaulting Barbara to Null and "Bella", but she wanted Null to keep it confidential. Chris wanted NULL to keep the fact that she admitted to committing a VERY serious crime A SECRET.

If Chris WAS actually lying, she'd use a lot more CWCisms (her own phrases) or say that she was "using her psychic powers" to have s3x with Barbara's fictional counterpart in another dimension. But no, Chris was VERY straightforward and talked about it casually like if you were to talk about the weather.

Chris, according to Null, slept in a parking lot in her car the other night. At least for a few hours, though I don't remember where the FUCK else she slept (maybe a hotel room eventually), considering she had -$200 in her bank account. I believe some people who are in contact with Chris sent her some money to get food too.

Null revealed that he set up a GoFundMe previously for Chris to attend a Brony convention, which was a test to see how Chris would be able to handle commissions. The GFM was successful, to say the least. Chris fulfilled commissions successfully, DESPITE NOT WORKING ON THE FUCKING COMIC. Y'KNOW, THE THING SHE'S PAID FOR ON PATREON TO DO!

Well, due to recent events, he has since taken down the GFM and is refunding all the money to all the donors. He was debating on sending Chris money (the GFM money, since Chris isn't able to go to the Brony convention), but he decided not to do so. He told Chris to sleep in her car, spend the night under the stars, and reflect on her current situation until the morning, when Null would help her find a temporary roof over her head until August 5th.

Barbara tightly manages Chris's finances. Those are Null's words, not mine. You want to know why Barbara's been having trouble with the house and shit? CHRIS HAS BEEN STEALING MONEY FROM HER FOR YEARS. HER CREDIT IS ALL SORTS OF FUCKED, SHE'S BURIED IN DEBT, AND IT'S CHRIS'S FAULT. THE PERSON WHO'S SUPPOSED TO BE TAKING CARE OF HER.

How did we find out about Chris recently getting more money, specifically $750? Well, Null has had access to Chris's emails for the past few years (Chris knows this), and he found an email that Barbara had sent Chris money.

That's a violation of the EPO (Emergency Protective Order) that was put into affect for Barbara. Chris was NOT supposed to contact Barbara in ANY way, shape or form.

Null asked Chris about this and told her that this was a violation of the EPO. He asked her if her mom sent her money. Chris denied it at first, and then went into the whole goddess bullshit she goes into. She then admitted to accessing Barbara's banking account online and wiring the $750 to HER account. Chris also said that she'd pay her back the $750 after receiving the $1000 that Null was supposed to send to Chris. Null was obviously upset with what Chris had done. Who wouldn't be?

Guess what Null did in reaction to what Chris told him? HE BLOCKED CHRIS AND REPORTED HER TO THE POLICE. I'm honestly surprised he stuck with her this long. He genuinely wanted to see Chris become a better person.

It's only a matter of time for Chris's arrest. With all this information that's out there now, more information probably coming very soon, plus people close to Chris confirming all of this....I feel it's safe for me to say that Chris did s3xually assault her mother.

I don't feel bad for Chris anymore. I have no sympathy for Chris. Any ounce of respect for this person has been long since gone. I don't feel comfortable even referring to Chris as a person. She's a monster.

I talked about Chris a few times a few years ago on Instagram, and I got yelled at for tearing this motherfucker apart. Because apparently I was an "ableist bully" for having my grievances with Chris, despite the fact that I'm autistic too and I've never "bullied" Chris for being autistic. Not even once. My grievances had more to do with Chris using her mother and their animals to exploit them for her own monetary gain INSTEAD OF TRYING TO FIND A JOB. I've even tried to suggest that she go work through a temporary work industry and get paid daily. (At that time, I didn't know that trying to interact with Chris wasn't a very good idea. I've since learned, obviously.)

Here's a link to Gibi's video:

youtube

Dillon Thomas's video:

youtube

The stream with Null:

youtube

Geno Samuel's stream:

youtube

Here's Rogue's video and live stream he did about the situation. Rogue is one of my FAVORITE YouTubers, as edgy as his content is.:

youtube

Thank you for your time.

#mello speaks #tw chris chan #chris chan #anti chris chan #tw sex assault #tw r@pe #tw elder abuse #cw kiwi farms #cw 4chan #chris chan is disgusting #justice for barb #gibi #dillon thomas #rogue the internet man #geno samuel #josh null #Youtube #tw inc*st

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salemwritesxx · 3 years

Text

our days together

↳ paraplegic Bakugou x hero Reader

summary: Snippets of Bakugou’s and Y/n’s lives, including a proposal.

w.count: 2.5k

content warning: fluff, baku in a wheelchair

------------------------------------------------------------

“Oi!”, you called out and laughed, “You cheater!”

“Phh, yeah right, not my fault you’re so slow.”, Katsuki also laughed as he rolled across the field and threw the basketball – getting it in effortlessly and with that, winning the little game.

Turning around with his wheelchair, a big smirk on his lips, he approached you, who was sitting on the ground and panted, and then stopped in front of you.

“You know, I know I’m like… really fucking hot, but like, you cannot always collapse whenever you see me.”, he teased you with this shit-eating grin on his lips that made you snort and roll your eyes in a playful way.

“Okay, how about this? One more? And the loser has to cook dinner?”, you asked and stood up, immediately meeting Katsuki’s ruby eyes staring at you with that glint in them.

“Okay. But don’t cry into my chest when you lose, okay?”, he grinned and rolled away to get the basketball, your “Yeah, yeah, you and your big mouth, be cautious or I’ll roll you off a hill.” making him laugh.

If anyone would have listened, maybe they would have been a little taken aback by how you talked to each other, but the truth was, it was harmless bickering and teasing. Never would you have hurt your boyfriend in any way, shape or form and both of you knew.

“Hah, fat chance.”, was the last thing he said before throwing the ball into the air for one last game.

Rolling through the big, automatic doors, Katsuki was gasping a bit as he had rushed into the hospital as fast as he could with his wheelchair, until he finally reached the information table and he could ask for “L/n Y/n” completely out of breath.

“May I ask who you are?”, the nurse asked back, since she didn’t want any stranger into a hero’s room and even though Katsuki wanted to snap and growl at her, he gulped down his rage and took a deep breath before he said, “Bakugou Katsuki. Y/n is my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”, she then said and smiled, “Yes, yes, L/n-san had mentioned you briefly before they had to bring him into the surgery room.”

“Surgery?”, he barely croaked.

“Yes, he needed surgery as both of his bones in his arms were broken. He is already in room 193 and should be awake.”, she said as if she was talking about the weather, even though it sounded horrible that both your bones were broken to the point you needed surgery.

Thus, he only nodded and with a quick “Thank you.” he rolled away and into the next elevator.

Bakugou had found out barely an hour ago. You had your night patrol, hence why you were admitted to the hospital at around 4 a.m. while Katsuki was asleep at home in the warm bed. To say he felt awful was an understatement. He was sleeping soundly at home, he literally had to pee at around 7 a.m. and being in a wheelchair, he was definitely awake enough to notice his phone vigorously blinking, but instead he chose to ignore it and went back to bed. All while his phone was silently going crazy from the texts and phone calls your friend, that was on the patrol with you, had left with your phone on Katsuki’s.

And now it was 11 a.m., because he was stupid and a lazy ass and he hated himself for sleeping in. Hence, when he had looked at his messages and the voice notes that were left on his phone, he panicked. Bakugou called his mother right then and there to come pick him up, not caring if she had to work, because this was an emergency and he didn’t have a car, let alone a driver’s license. He had never needed one until this day.

Once the ping signaled him he was on the right floor, he rolled outside and looked around to search for the rooms 160 to 200 and in the end, even after asking a nurse because my God that hospital was just way too big and confusing, Katsuki found room 193.

As he opened the door after knocking, you sat there, one arm in a cast and staring at the TV, looking bored and a little uncomfortable, however, the moment you saw him, your face lit up, “Katsuki!”

The two other patients in the room also turned their heads to see who was intruding.

Thankfully, you were on the bed closest to the door, hence he only pushed himself a little further until he faced your bed sideways and he could put his breaks on to scoot a little closer to the edge of the wheelchair so he could lean on your bed.

“Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t come sooner.”, he immediately grabbed your free hand to squeeze it, ruby eyes lightly shimmering.

Though you simply shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against your boyfriend’s.

“It’s okay. I even told them to not contact you because I wanted to call you myself. I’m sorry they made you panic.”, you also apologized, thumb soothingly drawing on the back of his hand.

“No, you don’t understand!”, he barely whispered, “I was awake at 7 because I had to piss. I could have been here … far sooner, instead. My fucking sleep was more important, I didn’t even look at my phone, even though I knew you were out on a patrol, I should have… I should have looked. It was going off like crazy, but I just turned it around… What if it would have been more serious? What if… you were on the brink of death and instead of coming here as quickly as possible, I just slept at home and I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye?”, he deeply sighed, feeling awful and just… terrible for being such a shitty boyfriend.

However, once more, you shook your head and then let go of his hand to bury it in his hair instead, softly massaging his scalp and pulling him in for a soft kiss, just to mumble against his lips, “It’s okay. Don’t think about the “what if”, Baby. I am here. And I only had a broken arm. And you are here now too, so… isn’t that the most important thing?”

And slowly, Bakugou nodded and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’m just so… so fucking relieved you’re okay.”, and with that, he leaned in to connect your lips.

“My, my, young love.”, made both of you however wince and turn around to look at the elderly woman who was snickering behind her hand and looking at the TV again, both of you then blushing lightly but also smiling at each other.

“Ah!”, when he suddenly heard a small sound from his pocket, Katsuki pulled his phone out. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“It’s Mom. She says if I don’t come down immediately she is going to rip the nurse to pieces because she won’t tell her your room number for security reasons.”, which made him playfully grin again and you snicker.

“Then you should better go and help her confirm she is welcomed. I don’t want Mom to rip the staff to shreds.”, you snorted and giggled, once more showing how close Katsuki’s family was to your heart since, after so many years, it was natural to call Mitsuki and Masaru Mom and Dad as well.

“But… don’t you think she can wait juuust a little bit longer?”, Bakugou grinned and put the phone onto your bed, before pulling you back in for another kiss, letting Mitsuki wait for just a few moments longer while he was simply relieved you didn’t have a horrifying accident while out on patrol like he once had.

“Seriously, where are we going?”, Bakugou asked once again when you opened the car door, his eyes blindfolded.

“Shh, will you shut up already?”, you giggled and leaned in to peck his lips, making him wince, then grin a little. “It’s a surprise, you don’t want to spoil your surprise, right?”, you softly took his arms and positioned them around your shoulders.

“But I don’t feel so good when I can’t see. I feel like a doll being dragged around.”, he then sighed when you picked him up and carried him over to the wheelchair, this time letting you handle everything in order to not ruin the surprise.

“I know, Baby. I promise, it’s over soon, just this once, let me surprise you. Trust me, okay?”, you gently squeezed his hands and then placed them into his lap.

“You know I trust you with my life. As if I would let anyone else blindfold and carry me around.”, and even though it was true (he did trust you with his life) Katsuki’s heart was still hammering wildly in his chest, being a bit nervous, but also excited. He didn’t like being so helpless, since he wasn’t. He could very well take care of himself, though Bakugou was also okay with letting you lead him this time even if he was a bit uncomfortable, he wanted to be surprised by you.

Another soft peck against his lips later, he heard you shutting the car door and then, he felt a soft push, telling him you were now starting to walk.

“You can probably already tell where we are, right?”, you snickered and Katsuki frowned for a bit as he took in the surroundings, smelling the salty air and hearing seagulls and waves in the background.

“The ocean? You don’t want to drown me, do you?”, he snorted and laughed, which only got him a soft flick against the back of his head as you said, “Don’t say that. If anything were to happen to you, I would go crazy.”, which successfully made him close his mouth and blush a little.

For a few moments, you walked in silence and pushed him along, Bakugou waiting in anticipation, wondering what you were going to show him. A sunset?

“Okay… We’re here.”, you put his breaks on and then walked around his wheelchair to kneel down in front of him, “I’m going to take off the blindfold, okay?”, and once he nodded, you reached out your hands.

Once the fabric wrapped around his head was loose and gone, Katsuki blinked a few times before looking around, a soft smile immediately sneaking onto his lips as he watched a beautiful sunset and the waves and ocean glistening.

“What do you think?”, you asked with a hushed voice while gently taking his hands and squeezing them, still kneeling.

Slowly, he turned his head, ruby eyes sparkling as he gifted you one of his rare smiles whilst quietly saying, “It’s beautiful. But that’s not everything you wanted to show me, right?”

“Haha, how did you know?”, you shyly chuckled, though Katsuki simply squeezed your hands and said, “Your hands are shaking.”

And even though he didn’t want to think about, Bakugou has always been a pessimist, looking at the worst case scenario, which could be you bringing him to a beautiful spot to watch the ocean just to break up and softly tell him you couldn’t be together. Though, even he knew that would be a bit of a reach and yet, when he could feel your hands shaking, he inevitably got a little anxious himself.

After a few seconds of silence, you then looked up, your e/c eyes shimmering a little and a soft smile on your lips as you whispered, “You know I love you, right?”, Katsuki immediately nodding and welcoming your lips as you had leaned in to kiss him, just to mumble an “I do. And I love you, too.” back.

Letting go of one of his hands, Bakugou watched when you pulled something out of your pocket, just to feel his heartbeat increase when it was a small jewelry box, his mind racing.

“We have been together for almost 6 years at this point.”, you then started and looked at him again, “I love you. And with every passing day I love you more. Back then, I was just barely out of High School when we met, my friends had urged me to not see you again, because they were embarrassed on my behalf that you were in a wheelchair.”

“Fucking asshats.”, he growled and clenched his teeth.

“Ha, you can say that again. Safe to say I ignored them and looked for new friends afterwards. Because if I would have ever listened to them, I would have never got to know you. I would have not been so happy. I know you sometimes feel like a burden to me, even if you try to conceal it by joking.”, and that was certainly true as Katsuki instantly blushed a bit and glanced to the side, feeling called out.

“But, Baby. I hope you know I have never once thought you were a burden. I love you. And if you ever need me, I will help you, even though I know you can handle yourself all alone, because you are so amazing and strong, you can count on me – always. And…”, then you finally opened the little jewelry box, his eyes already dangerously glazed, “if you let me, I want to be there for you for our whole lives. As your husband and best friend. I want to make many more memories, I want to experience growing old only with you, that’s why… Will you marry me, Katsuki?”

Gulping lightly, he had to look to the side for a few seconds, before turning back, a small tear already dripping from his eyes, hence why he quickly wiped them away, chuckling an “Oh fuck!” in embarrassment and to hide his feelings, just to nod and whisper, “I will.”

“Katsu…”, smiling brightly and with your own little tears shimmering in your eyes, you took the ring out of the little box and slipped it onto his ring finger, fitting perfectly, thus you wrapped your arms around him, Bakugou’s arms also immediately slung around your shoulders as you hugged and kissed him.

“I love you. I love you so much.”, mumbling it against his lips, he chuckled and held on even tighter, whispering sweet nothings back, only to softly gasp when you suddenly grabbed him around his hips and pulled him up, almost looking like you were both standing, though you were holding his weight securely.

“Oh fuck, don’t let me fall.”, he croaked under tears yet still with a joking undertone, though you very seriously answered him as you pecked his lips and quietly muttered, “I would never. I am here to catch you, always.”, which made him tear up again as he teasingly punched your shoulder and mumbled a “So cheesy.” though capturing your lips in the sweetest kiss afterwards while the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon eventually.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: a very sad headcanon of mine is that Bakugou, barely 2 years into his hero career, gets paralyzed due to a villain attack and is bound to a wheelchair ever since. i don’t use this headcanon often cuz well, it’s just really sad :( but for today, i thought my headcanon’ed paraplegic baku deserves a little happiness <3

#salemswriting.#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x male reader #bnha x male reader #bottom bakugou #bakugou x you #paraplegic bakugou

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aiiwa · 4 years

Text

LET HIM KNOW — SAWAMURA DAICHI.

✗ REQUEST: can i please make a request of jealous daichi ( a fic if it’s possible). this thought has been living in my head for the past week and i just 🤰. so basically daichi gets jealous of a boy talking to you and flirting with you and just grabs you by the throat/jaw and just tongues you down right then and there. a college au would be great too!

— sawamura daichi x fem!reader

⤷ genre: college au

⤷ warnings: suggestive content, cursing, jealous (?) or rather possessive daichi, boy who disrespects relationships and doesn’t know when to give up

⤷ word count: 1.7k

— a/n: hi! i just wanted to announce that i actually reached 200 followers yesterday and i am extremely grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, like, reblog my content and for those who even message me! i appreciate everything, thank you so much! 💖

out of everything you prepared in celebration for your four-year anniversary with your boyfriend, sawamura daichi; the last thing you expected was to spend it tutoring in the hour right before your date.

you had spent months prior planning this special night for the two of you. from having dinner at his favourite restaurant which served the best shoyu ramen, to the rose-petalled bubble bath surrounded by the pine and vanilla candles he’d gifted you last month; and then, of course, ending it in the best way possible with him buried balls deep inside you and fucking you til dawn.

it was while you were getting ready for your date that you received a panicked text message from haru, the sweet freshman you’d been tutoring for the past five months, asking if you could help him today. you tried to schedule a session for tomorrow, but he was insistent almost begging you; and with a discontented sigh you relented, telling him to meet you at the library in twenty. he’d replied with a quick - “thank you y/n-senpai! <3” - and the love heart attached at the end was purposely ignored, as you headed out of your studio apartment.

daichi was less than pleased when you had phoned him, informing him of the last minute tutoring session.

“angel, tell me you’re not serious right now.” his deep voice was clear-cut, despite the sounds of traffic in the background; a tell-tale sign that he was in fact already on his way to meet you.

“i’m sorry, dai. it shouldn’t take too long, haru-kun said-”

“haru? that little shit?”

sighing internally, and making your way towards the red-bricked building with the click-clack of your thigh-high boots against the pavement, you nodded your head as if he could see you. “yes, it was haru-kun who requested the session.”

“you know how i feel about that brat.”

daichi had been more than supportive when you first started tutoring to earn some money on the side, and even though most of your tutees happened to be boys, it didn’t bother him much since they would take one look at him and give up on trying to win over your affection. haru was different. he was the furthest thing from subtle when it came to his crush on you, but you could handle his endless compliments and his attempts to take you out on a date; your boyfriend on the other hand, couldn’t. as intimidating as daichi was, haru had all but given your boyfriend a lazy once over before scoffing and mumbling about how you could do so much better.

that was the first time in a long time that you had seen daichi almost lose his cool. since that day, any interaction between the two of them had been borderline hostile; with your boyfriend hissing whenever haru’s hand would brush against you, and in turn the younger male would complain about how daichi must not be treating you well enough whenever you had chosen to walk home instead of having him pick you up.

“i know, baby, but the session shouldn’t be that long.”

“y/n.” the baritone slivering through his voice had you faltering in your steps. “you know he’s doing this on purpose. that kid has no respect for our relationship, or me- he needs to know his place.”

“daichi…i’ll talk to him today.”

“hm.” he hums in response, his side of the call silent for a beat. you could hear the blinking of his indicator before he asks, “are you at the library?”

“yeah i am, haru is probably waiting inside for me already. i’ll message you, okay?”

“alright, i’ll see you soon.”

the call had been disconnected almost half an hour ago, and you found yourself zoning out for the umpteenth time while haru busied himself by yapping away next to you. flipping your cellphone in the palm of your hand, your brows furrowed, thinking about how daichi hadn’t ended the call with his usual - “i love you, angel.” - perhaps he was mad you? it didn’t happen often, but flashes of you writhing beneath him as his hand cracked against your ass after heated arguments, had you crossing a leg over the other; thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve some of the tingling pressure.

“y/n-senpai~!” haru waved his hand in front of your face, forcing you to blink away the less than innocent images playing in your mind. “are you okay? i’ve been calling out to you for a while, i have a question.” haru almost whines.

“i’m fine, haru-kun, sorry. please repeat your question for me.”

manicure fingers brushed over the exposed flesh of your plush thighs, between the hem of daichi’s favourite pleated mini skirt of yours you decided to wear for him and the ink coloured boots that wrapped around your calves and past your knees. you hadn’t realised the already short skirt had risen up, and as you tugged it down it was hard not to notice haru’s gaze watching the action intensely. maybe it was time to talk to him.

“haru-kun, i think we should talk.”

his eyes lingered on your legs, slowly dragging themselves past the dip of your waist, over the curve of your breasts, before they met with your own.

his eyes are wide, smirk less than innocent, as he shifts his whole body to face you. “really? about what yn-senpai?”

“about my relationship with daichi.” at the mention of your boyfriend, haru’s expression morphs into a scowl. “listen, haru-kun.” you start, deciding to ease into it. “i’ve been with daichi for a long time, in fact today marks the anniversary of our fourth year as a couple...”

“and you’ve finally realised that he isn’t worthy of you.” ‘worthy of me?’ you think to yourself, completely taken aback; haru nods his head in understanding, as if he didn’t just completely misinterpret what you were trying to say to him.

“no, that’s not it-”

“come on, y/n-senpai, let me treat you how you deserve to be treated.” he rests his arm on the back of your chair casually. “i could give you everything he can and more. you just have to give me a chance.”

“that’s not going to happen, haru.” dropping the honorifics, tone snappy. you crossed your arms tightly across your chest.

“and why not?” he bites back. “what does he have that i don’t- did you tell him to come here?” he questions accusingly, staring over your shoulder.

“no…? i didn’t...”

swivelling in your seat, your breath hitches at the sight of your boyfriend heading straight towards you. each purposeful stride of daichi’s long legs, had the smooth material of his dress pants tightening around his strong thighs, the silver of his belt buckle glinting under the harsh library lights. his navy blue dress shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, first few buttons popped open to reveal his smooth, tanned skin underneath.

daichi stopped right by your seat, so close that you instinctively pressed the palm of your hand against his hip, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin cotton material. you were instantly surrounded by the sweet and familiar woodsy scent of his cologne, wafting around you and sending your senses into overdrive.

looking up at him, his pretty mouth was pulled into a devilish grin, pearly whites peeking from the corner of his lips and a single dimple poking through his cheek.

“hi, angel.” his voice was low, dripping in honey that washed over you; goosebumps prickling across your skin.

“daichi…?” a whisper was all you managed to get out. “h-how come you’re here...?”

“you look so fucking beautiful, y/n.”

haru’s scoff goes ignored, yanking his arm away from behind you and grumbling to himself in the background.

a warm flush rose in your cheeks as daichi continued to smile down at you, walnut coloured eyes appreciating every curve of your body; searing gaze lingering on your skirt, before he released an airy chuckle, almost kin to a growl. you could feel the heat pool between your legs, unconsciously leaning against his towering frame.

“i’m here because we’re gonna let him know…” daichi starts, loud enough for the boy to hear.

one arm flexes against the strain of his sleeves, sliding behind you to grip the back of your chair; the other reaching a large had to press against your cheek. the callouses on his palm are rough against your skin, thumb rubbing lazy circles before trailing down to the pout of your lips. dragging his thumb across your fullness of your bottom lip, your pink tongue darts out to taste the saltiness on the pad of his thumb. halting his ministrations, releasing a heavy breath out through his nose, he grabs your jaw, grip tight, and tilts your face to meet his as he leans downwards.

“...let him know that you’re mine.”

and then his lips are pressed against yours. it starts off sweet, sighing softly into him for a fleeting moment, before daichi deepens the kiss. it becomes sloppy, extremely possessive, and borderline nasty as drool at the corner of your mouth dripped down your chin; moans trapped down your throat. the lewd sounds of his tongue swirling around yours sensually, exploring your mouth, clouds the thoughts in your mind.

your body has a mind of its own, right hand tugging at the tufts of dark at his nape, while the left moves from his hip to trail across his navel. you grin when he bucks against your touch, yet gasp as sucks on your tongue. he consumes you entirely, and you’re all too willing to abide.

when he moves away, a string of silver keeps the two of you connected. you’re a whiny mess, mewling at him for more, and tugging at his sleeves for attention; while he sets his gaze on the sulking figure by your side.

“we’re leaving now. good luck studying, kid.” daichi calls out, smug look on his face.

he doesn’t even wait for a response, tugging you up and into his chest, while leading the way out of the library. stumbling a bit on wobbly legs, you grip his toned arms to steady yourself, as he holds onto your waist.

“dai.” you murmur, pushing up against him. “are we going to dinner now?”

“dinner?” he repeats, staring at you from the corner of his eyes. nodding your head, you feel the coil in your tummy tighten as his hand trails down to trace the underside of your ass. “forget about dinner, angel, i’m ready for my dessert.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #daichi x reader #daichi imagine #sawamura daichi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu college au #sawamura daichi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #daichi #haikyuu daichi

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mobagehelllewds · 4 years

Text

“rather be”

POLY REQUEST WITH THE FISHTRIO!!!!!!!!!

- From Anonymous

A/N: *vibrates in her seat* ANON... THANK YOU... I CAN FINALLY FULFILL MY POLY AGENDA. I literally squealed when I got this request haha. I shall now shut up. Please enjoy!

PS: I got halfway into this thinking it won’t end up spicy... but my hand slipped and I accidentally used too much paprika. Whoops. In my defense, I was originally going to make them play uno.

PPS: As I wrote this, I got 200 followers, so... happy 200 followers y’all!

PPPS: Please practice safe sex

all characters featured are depicted as 18+

warning: explicit content below cut--nsfw. foursome. dry humping. dirty talk. oral sex. nipple play. fingering. double penetration. unprotected sex.

-- MORNING

When you heard a knock on the door, your head snapped up and a smile spread on your face as you hopped up to you feet. Behind you, you could hear Grim huff, but you were way too excited to see who would pick you up this morning.

You pushed open the door, and practically leapt into Jade’s arms--who caught you with an ease. You giggled lightly as he twirled you once in the air before letting you down on your feet. He kept both of his hands on your waist, and you had your arms wrapped around his neck. You tilted your head back a little further so you could see Jade’s glimmering eyes and wide, close lipped smile.

“Good morning Jade!” you beamed at one of your lovers.

“Oh my... good morning to you too, flower.” He lowered his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you kiss back happily, your hands playing with the short hair at the back his head. When he pulled back, you let out a soft mournful noise because you could no longer reach him. He chuckled softly at that, and gave you a bunch more butterfly kisses on your lips.

“Now now flower, if I kiss you anymore, you will never be able to get to class.” he promised, as he raised a gloved hand and used his thumb to trace your lower lips. His eyes flickered mischievously, and you instantly blushed at what he was implying.

“Alright.” you pulled back, and just before you completely removed your arms from around his neck, he caught one of your hands and pressed a kiss on the back of your hand, then moved to kiss your wrist--right above your pulse. He felt the way your pulse leapt up at the kiss, and he gave you an amused smirk in response.

“You guys are disgusting.” Grim complained, and you turned around to glance at the monster who was staring at you--unimpressed--from the ground. “Are you really leaving me with Ace and Deuce tonight?”

“Yes I am Grim.” at what was probably your nth time explaining this to Grim. “I’m having date day... and night, with them--right, Jade?” you gestured to Jade, who had easily maneuvered you so that your arm was wrapped around his elbow.

“Yes, my flower.” Jade nodded, “Spending as much time as possible on date days are very essential for budding relationships such as ours.” he laughed gently.

“You guys hang out all the time, though.”

“Aaa.” and you became wary as Jade’s tone had changed too-- “but there are certain things that cannot be done together in public, Grim.” he smiled. You choked, and looked straight at his smiling expression that didn’t give away anything.

“Like what?” Grim eyed him suspiciously.

Jade only gave him a close eyed, close lipped smile. Meanwhile your face had flamed up. The moment Jade opened his mouth again, you jumped and clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Jade! No!” you pouted, and he chuckled softly in response.

“Alas, my lover desires that I do not tell you.” His eyes met your gaze, and your face heated up further at the intensity of his stare. “I will say this much... That is for us to enjoy, and for you to never find out.”

“No fair.” Grim turned to you, “What are you not telling me Prefect? What are you doing together?” Jade snickered into his palm, and you shot him a despaired glance.

“It’s our secret.” you finally settled on that, hoping that it would keep Grim from pestering you about what you and the Octavinelle trio did together during date days. You tried to jab Jade with your elbow, but he simply blinked at you, with the same, wide smirk.

Luckily Grim had gotten tired halfway through the walk, and just sulkily sat on your shoulder until you arrived at the hallway where your classroom was. The monster leapt off your shoulder and trotted off to your classroom, whilst you and Jade took your time.

Apparently, no one had gotten over the Mostro Lounge incident, because the moment Jade stepped into the hallways--all your year mates pressed themselves against the walls and practically stopped breathing. When you took a peak at Jade’s face, it gave nothing away--though you could swear that an aura of smug superiority was coming from him.

Once you arrived at your classroom, you turned around and look expectantly at Jade. He gave you a pleased smile, and leant down to kiss your forehead.

“Floyd will be with you during lunch,” he said, “while Azul will pick you up after class.”

“I’ll miss you Jade.” you pouted.

“Come now flower, it will only be for a few hours.” his lips curled in amusement. “I will see you later tonight, alright dear flower?”

“Alright.”

He leant down and allowed you to press a kiss against his soft lips. You gasped in surprise when he suddenly nibbled your lower lip, and when he pulled back he couldn’t help but be pleased at the red that bloomed across your cheeks.

“Have a good day, flower~”

-- AFTERNOON

You were barely out of your classroom when you were immediately picked up and spun around. Grim let out a startled shriek as he slipped off your shoulder.

“Shrimpy~” Floyd beamed at you as he spun you around in the air. You let out a gasp before you giggled at your second lover.

“Hi Floyd!” As he let you down on the ground, he quickly wrapped his arms around you waist and held you tight as he pressed a rough kiss on your lips. He pulled away briefly, only to quickly bite on your lower lip.

“Oomph!” You gasped in surprise, Floyd smirked as he gave you one final kiss. He admired the way he easily bruised your lips, though he’s pretty sure he’ll get hell from his brother and Azul.

‘Worth it.’ He thought joyfully.

“You! Are! In! Public!” thundered a voice that suspiciously sounded like Sebek, and as you ducked your red face into Floyd’s arm, the taller student turned his head and shot a glare at the onlookers.

“Mind your own business.” Floyd hissed, and everyone immediately looked away and started shuffling off. Then Floyd looked down at you, and instantly cooed at the way you buried your face in his arm.

‘Good, your cute red face is only for our viewing pleasure~’

“Shrimpy~ Shall we go eat now?” He patted your head gently.

“Ungh... let me calm my heart down, please?”

“Shall I kiss it better?” you shot him a glare, and he gave you a sharp grin.

“That’s not gonna help!”

“That’s the point!~” Floyd giggled, as he bent down slightly. You stared at him in confusion, only to squeak as he proceeded to pick you up in a bridal carry. “Let’s go~”

“Wait, Floyd, let me down!”

“Hm~ but I thought you couldn’t?”

“No! I can! Please! It’s embarrassing enough!”

“I don’t really care Shrimpy~” you hid your face in your hands and groaned. “There’s no point in trying to hide who you are~ You’re the only one we spoil this much, you know~?” Floyd laughed happily.

When you had arrived at the cafeteria, some people shot you stares, but quickly looked away when they met Floyd’s eyes. Floyd casually walked over to a table, where an Octavinelle student stood by. The student met Floyd’s gaze, trembled, then placed a packed lunch on the table--after which he darted away.

Floyd sat down, and placed you on his lap. You tried to move away, but he wrapped his arm around you and shot you a grin.

“Nope.” he said, making a popping sound. “Now come! Eat!”

“What’s the food?” you decided to peer curiously at the lunchbox set.

“I don’t know, but Jade made it.” Floyd’s face fell in realization. “It might be mushrooms. Yuck.”

“They don’t taste that bad, Floyd.” you let out a soft giggle at his grumpy (but cute) expression. You moved your hands forward to begin unpacking the lunch, only for you to see, that it is, in fact, mushroom risotto.

Floyd groaned in response, and burrowed his face in the crook of your neck. His arms around your waist tight. Used to his temper tantrums, you proceeded to eat the hot risotto slowly.

“Mhm~ It tastes pretty good. Don’t you want to eat, Floyd?” you felt him shake his head.

“But you need to eat. Don’t you have basketball later?” you asked, and you felt him lift his head so that his lips were pressed to your ear.

“I’d rather eat you~” then he proceeded to nibble at your earlobe.

“--! Floyd!” you yelped, startled, and pulled your head back to see him smirk at you again. From the look in his eyes, and the way his hand slid to your thighs--you knew he was actually really planning on pursuing it.

“Floyd, no.” The serious look on your face made Floyd sigh and slump against you again.

“Hngh! No fair, Shrimpy...” you felt him pout against your neck.

“Come on, I’ll feed you.”

“Mouth to mouth?” This--! He had the gall to cheekily ask?

“No!”

“D’awww...”

You and Floyd managed to finish the lunch that Jade lovingly prepared. At which point Floyd escorted you back to the classroom. With the lunch bag in his right hand, he twined the fingers on his left hand with yours. As you walked back, he swung your hands back in forth while he hummed.

Once you arrived at your classroom, Floyd unlaced his hand from yours to cup your neck and pull you in for another bruising kiss. There was little point in trying to deny Floyd, so you just enjoyed it instead. When he pulled back, he hummed in satisfaction at the way your lips are bruised.

“Uhgh... how will I hide this in class?” You raised a hand to your lips, and felt how bruised they were from the countless make out sessions Floyd had initiated in your one and a half hour lunch break.

“Heheh~ Don’t hide it Shrimpy~ The point is for everyone who looks at you, will know you belong to us, Shrimpy~”

“I still have all my afternoon class--mhmp!” he happily pulled you into another kiss.

“Mr. Leech.” Floyd pulled away, and you looked in the direction of the voice to see Professor Divus Crewel arch a brow at the two of you.

“Fine fine.” Floyd couldn’t resist though, and leant down to whisper a “see you later~”, gave your ear a light nibble before he skipped off in the direction of his classroom. You lifted a hand to your ear, and when you looked back up at your professor he only gave you an amused look.

“Fix yourself up, then join us in class.”

“Yes sir.” you said meekly, before you rushed off to the closest washroom.

-- EVENING

“Thanks for watching Grim for me.” you shot Ace and Deuce a smile.

“I still don’t understand, what exactly are you going to do that Grim can’t be there--?” Deuce cocked his head.

“Yeah same.” Grim huffed. Ace shot the two of them exasperated look.

“Man, you two are dumb.”

“What?”

“Say that again Ace!”

You on the other hand, were already distracted once you caught sight of a certain someone...

“Azul!”

The last of your lovers was leaning against the opposite wall of your classroom with his arms crossed. Azul looked up and gave you a pleased smile.

‘He looks very cool.’ you thought, ‘when that’s not true at all--he’s such a cutie.’ You wondered how much Jade and Floyd would tease Azul about it if you chose to tell them...

Azul straightened up as you approached him--he chose to ignore the scheming look on your face that was starting to resemble Jade’s. He moved to kiss you, only to pause at the sight of your lips.

“Was it Floyd?” he sighed, as he pulled a lip balm out of his pocket, uncapped it, and gently began to apply it to your lips.

“You think Jade would do it?” you arched a brow, and he gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah, I know. Jade would totally do it too.” Azul rolled his eyes at the thought of the two other people in your relationship before he concentrated on spreading the balm across your lips.

“That should do it.” he pulled back, satisfied. He closed the lip balm and tucked it back into his pocket. When he turned back to you, you were looking at him expectantly.

“Where’s my hello kiss?” Azul’s face pinked, and you smiled--satisfied that finally--you were the cause of the embarrassment and not the other way around. He sighed, exasperated and fond, before he leant down to press a warm kiss against your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut, appreciating Azul’s gentler, calmer approach to the hello kisses.

When he pulled back, he offered you his arm which you happily took.

“What’s the agenda today?” you asked.

“I have some paperwork to do at the lounge.” he peered down at you as you nodded. “You can sit with me in the office. Do you want any snacks--?”

“Hm. Something sweet?”

“Alright.” He agreed. “I took a glance at my paperwork and it shouldn’t take me too long... but I could’ve missed something.”

“It’s alright~” You moved your hand to lace your fingers together. “I have some homework that I want to do first, so I don’t have to think about it later. If I have questions--?”

“No problem.” Azul smiled smoothly. “I don’t mind helping you out... for a price.”

“So what’s the deal?” you grinned at him, having an idea where this was going.

“Perhaps a kiss... or two, depending on the level of difficulty?” Azul gave you a tender smile back, the blush on his cheeks, a deep red, at his own statement.

“It’s a deal~!”

-- NIGHT

After several soft kisses with Azul as the both of you finished your work, the two of you finally retreated to his bedroom.

You had managed to convince him to take a long, hot bath with you, before you finally moved onto the bed. You were laid out on top of him, dressed in one of his old, pale colored dress shirt. Arms wrapped around his neck, the two of you kissed slowly, softly. You had removed his glasses and laid it onto the bedside table

Your hearts pounded in sync as your kisses grew more heated and wet. Azul’s fingers played with the line of your underwear, but he didn’t venture any further. He pressed one of his legs onto your entrance, and your whole body shuddered at that soft pressure. With a soft mewl, you pressed yourself harder against his thigh, and he let out a shaky breath as he felt how damp your underwear was.

When he opened his mouth, you eagerly pushed your tongue in, and sought out his own. Your tongues intertwined, and batted at each other. You hiked yourself up, your chest pressed up against Azul’s, his thigh that was in between your legs helped push you up against him further. You removed one of your hands from around his neck, and slid it to the front of his pants. His breath hitched, as he felt your hand palm his hardness through the thin material of his sleeping pants. He moaned into your mouth, as your kiss intensified. So caught up in the moment, neither of you noticed when the door is pushed open, then closed.

“Ohoh? It seems our lovers have decided to start without us. We came right in time, hm, Jade?”

“Yes, Floyd.”

You pulled back and there was a thin trail of saliva connecting your mouth to Azul’s. However, now that this was private, you were far from ashamed. The two of you turned to look at the Leech brothers, who stood there with their glowing eyes fixated on both of you.

“You two... are late...” huffed Azul, a little breathless from your lengthy make out session. You only smiled in response.

“Join us...?” you panted out, and Floyd immediately began to undress himself. Jade chuckled lightly, and from his pocket he slipped out a bottle of lube. He handed this to his brother, before he began to slip out of his jacket, and laid it on the back of a chair. He sat down, and met your gaze. His eyes were heavy lidded, and his smirk widened as he begin to unbutton his gloves.

“Floyd, why don’t you touch that space between their legs?” Jade suggested in a soft, silky tone.

You felt the bed creak, as Floyd moved above you, his hand instantly reaching for the apex in between your thighs.

“Oooh, is the little Shrimpy turned on?” Floyd chuckled, as he teasingly tugged your underwear up. You let out a mewl, your heat twitched as the pressure between your thighs intensified.

“Azul, [Name].” you both turned to look at Jade who had just slipped off his necktie, and was just beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. “Kiss.” he said, and the two of you turned to each other.

Azul lifted his hands, and cupped your face, before he pulled you back in for a searing kiss. This time, he bites gently on your lower lip, mindful that it was still very much bruised from earlier. You moaned in response, and he slipped his own tongue to play with your own. Your hear Floyd mess with the bottle in his hands, uncaping it, and you heard the tell tale sound of a squirt.

“Lower your leg Azul.” you heard Jade call from his seat, and when you flickered your eyes his way, you noticed that he had his right hand cup his cheek, and his other hand palmed the tent in his palms. “Floyd.”

“O~kay~” seeming to know what was on his brother’s mind, you felt Floyd slide your underwear off. When you felt yourself exposed to the cool air, you shivered. You felt Floyd slide a cool finger across your heat and you let out a soft cry against Azul’s lips. As your lips parted from Azul, he ducked his face to the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses against your jugular. When you felt a puff of air against your core, you tensed in response, and in the next second, you felt Floyd’s tongue press against your core.

“--Aa!” You felt your cheeks redden up in response to Floyd’s ministrations. Azul continued to pepper kisses across your jawline, down to the base of your throat.

“Go on Floyd.” Jade encouraged, “give them one of your fingers.”

You practically whimpered as Floyd slipped a finger inside your slick hole.

“Ah... Jade... it feels so good...” Floyd pulled his mouth back from your core, “they’re so tight~” you felt yourself quiver, and Floyd let out a delighted laugh. “they’re quivering~ how cute~ do you want more?”

“Yes... yes please.” you moaned, your eyes heavy lidded, and your mouth open as you panted. Azul let out a soft laugh as he got a clear look at your expression, while the twins chuckled darkly in response.

“Alright Floyd, give them more.” Jade said, and Floyd acquiesced. He slid another finger into your entrance, and you choked out a moan in response. You felt Floyd rise behind you, and you let out a soft yelp as he bit your ass.

“[Name],” when your eyes flickered up to meet Jade’s, he smiled at you--gentle--as if it you weren’t about to be fucked so hard you wouldn’t be able to move tomorrow. “touch Azul, won’t you? He’s looking neglected.”

Azul grunted in response as the still hand against his cock finally moved. You palmed him gently, and you pressed a finger at the head of his cock--which made Azul moan against your collarbones.

“Azul, go take off the blouse? It’s ruining an otherwise perfect view.” Azul raised shaky hands to obey Jade, as he unbuttoned the dress shirt you were wearing. With a little help from you, you slipped off the blouse, and were now completely naked. “Why don’t you take off your clothes Azul? [Name], help him with his pants.” You began to help the merman beneath you remove your clothes, all the while feeling the way Floyd’s fingers pumped, scissored inside you. The merman behind you rose, and he easily arched over both you and Azul. While Azul and your lips would occasionally meet and get into heated kisses, when your lips parted from one another, you would mewl at the feeling of Floyd’s fingers. Now that he was arched over you--the way he began to nip up your back, on your shoulder, and finally on your neck--made you make even lewder sounds.

Eventually the three of you were completely naked--when you shifted your eyes to Jade, you noticed that he was still partially dressed--except his cock was now out of his pants, standing tall and curved toward his stomach. He was idly playing with the slit at the top. You felt your mouth water, and when Jade noticed your gaze, he moved his hand aside so you could see his pre-cum glisten at the top.

You yelped as you felt Floyd sink his teeth into your shoulder.

“You can stop glancing at my brother, you know~?” His fingers rubbed a certain spot inside you that made your head spin. Azul swooped down to give you a sloppy kiss.

“Is... Jade, not... joining us?” you asked between kisses.

“I’m enjoying myself watching you three.” Jade chuckled softly, “Floyd, won’t you make them cum?”

At the suggestion, Floyd’s fingers began to pick up in speed. You practically collapsed against Azul. You both moaned as your chests were squished together, and your soft thigh pressed against his hard cock.

“Why don’t you help Floyd, Azul?” When you felt Azul’s fingers reach for your heat, your grip on his cock tightened, and he hissed. He rubbed gently at the top of your entrance, and you mewled. As he pushed his finger in, you let out a gasp, and you felt tears prickle at the edge of your eyes at the pleasure Azul and Floyd were giving you.

“I think they can take another,” Jade mused, “put another one in, Azul.”

When Azul slid another finger into your core, he brushed against a particular area in you that made you see stars. You moaned into Azul’s ear, and he groaned in response as you came. You panted in exhaustion, and the boys pulled their fingers away from your thoroughly wet hole. Azul raised his fingers to your mouth, and you eagerly lapped at them--Azul letting out a mewl of his own at the sensation of you sucking on his fingers.

“Mhm~ I wish I had this earlier.” you heard Floyd hum in pleasure. You couldn’t see him, but you were pretty sure he was licking his own fingers. Beneath you, Azul nudged at your thighs, and you instinctively part them. Your other hand, that had been stroking his cock, easily slid the head of his cock against your core. Just the press of your heats has both of you shuddering in pleasure. Azul lifted his other hand, and began to twist your nipple in one hand, at which your body shook above his.

You both raised your gazes to look at Jade, who smiled, pleased, at that silent acknowledgement of him.

“Put your cock inside them Azul.”

“Eh~? But what about me?” you could hear Floyd, as he resumed marking your ear, neck, and shoulders.

“Patience, Floyd.” Jade chided his twin, as you slowly sank down onto Azul’s length. You both let out a loud moan, and when you looked at Azul’s face--he was completely red in the face. He panted slowly, as tears escaped his eyes at the pleasure. You lifted yourself slowly, and moved to kiss his tears away, before you trailed down, slowly, and reached his chest. Azul shuddered in response, and when you used your tongue to tease his nipple, he moaned loudly. His own hand, that had been playing with your chest, fell, and landed on your hips. You lightly grazed your teeth against his nipple, and Azul whimpered loudly. With every blink, his lashes would catch his tears.

You felt Floyd rest his head on your shoulder as he peered at Azul.

“Crying again~”

“Shu--shut up!” Azul stuttered, until you clenched your walls around his thick cock, and you felt him throb in turn.

“Come now, [Name].” Floyd hummed into your ear. You felt him grab Azul’s hands on your hips, and lace their fingers together. Floyd lifted you up, and down slowly, until you began to do it yourself. You shuddered every time Azul’s cock would push open your heat to fit its head.

Eventually you began to gyrate your hips, and Azul’s moaning went wild. One of Floyd’s hand moved from your hips and up to your chest, playing with one of your nipples, his other hand played with the entrance of your heat. His lips left bite marks across your back. Meanwhile, you were busy leaving your own love bites across Azul’s collarbones.

“Floyd.” Jade’s soft command, made you shiver in anticipation, and you could feel Floyd perk up. You paused in your movement, and Azul whined. Floyd pushed you forward, and moved his finger away. You inhaled sharply as you felt the head of Floyd’s cock brush against the entrance of your heat, and push in slowly. As he pushed all of his cock in, Azul moaned as your slicked hole grew tighter.

“Ah... this is a good squeeze~” Floyd moaned against your own ear.

“[Name].” you didn’t even realize that your eyes had slid close, but you felt a hand gently brush against your lashes. When you look up, Jade was looking down at you with an incredibly calm expression--except for the lightest flush of red across his cheeks. “You took them in so well, what a good flower you are.” you moaned in response.

“Are you okay to move?” you’re pretty sure you answered in gibberish, so you hastily nodded your head instead. Jade’s smile was both affectionate and amused. “Alright.”

His eyes flickered upward, to meet his twin’s, and you know this because Floyd instantly began to move, slowly dragging his cock out of you then, pressing it back into your warmth. In front of you, Azul looked breathless, his eyes were shut, he was biting his lip, as he barely prevented himself from groaning. You slowly began to move your hips, and you felt Azul’s cock throb inside you.

“How adorable.” Jade suddenly spoke, and when you looked up at him, you saw him lean down, to give Azul a rough kiss on the lips. One of Jade’s hand was still playing with his cock, and his other one was tweaking Azul’s nipple. Eager to join in, you leant down and took Azul’s other nipple into your mouth. Behind you, Floyd was moaning loudly into your ear as he began to speed up his thrust, his own cock throbbed alongside Azul’s.

“Jade--” Floyd huffed, and Jade moved up, to glance at his brother. Azul whined, at the loss of the Leech twin’s lips, but you felt Floyd press down on you from above, and suddenly you could see him give Azul the same bruising kisses you got earlier. You gyrated your hips with any space you had left, whilst Floyd and Azul thrusted into you heat. You felt fingers wrap around your jaw, and you see that Jade had lowered himself so he could occupy your mouth with his own lips. Like his brother, he bit on your lower lip, and forced his tongue into your mouth, goading your tongue to play with his.

When Floyd adjusted his hips to thrust into you, you felt his and Azul’s cock head press against a part of you that had you tightening up immediately. You moaned, you felt your eyes roll back into your head as you felt yourself come apart. With the intense heat surrounding him, Azul threw his head back and moaned loudly, as he came inside you. With a grunt, Floyd joined the two of you in your orgasm.

You exhaled, when you looked up, Azul was blinking wearily at the ceiling. Floyd’s face was tucked into the crook of Azul’s neck, exhausted. Behind you, you could feel a mixture of your essences slip out of your hole. Your eyes slipped shut, tired, when you felt a hand pat your head.

You blinked slowly to see Jade’s smiling face.

“Jade you...” you panted. “you didn’t...”

“Don’t worry pretty flower~” he cooed, as he stroked your hair. “We have all night~”

EXTRA:

Grim slammed his hands on the table, and everyone around it flinched in response.

“What the hell, Grim?” Ace yelled.

“I got it! I can’t find the uno deck! They were playing uno!” Grim said, triumphant.

“Oh! That’s what they were doing?” Deuce gaped, while Riddle nodded.

“That would make sense.” the Heartslabyul dorm leader nodded.

“They totally aren’t.” Ace muttered. Cater and Trey shared an uncomfortable glance.

#aithirsts #thats right i sniffed the belial perfume... again #I STAND BY WHAT I SAID JADE IS THE DOM FLOYD & MC ARE SWITCH AZUL IS BOTTOM #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #jade leech #twst jade #floyd leech #twst floyd #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #aiwrites #aiscenarios

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