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heli0s-writes · 4 years

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Eat the Rich*

Summary: You’re just a girl in a bar way above your tax bracket and Ransom really doesn’t care for what you’re wearing.

A/N: There are no spoilers for the movie. But, there IS... Smut. Dirty talk. Class warfare in the form of hate-fucking. 2.9k words of FILTH. I need to be exorcised for this. Thank you @evanstarff and @tropicalcap for sending me straight to hell.

The entire lounge seems to turn when you enter. Eyes slide back and forth your way, mid-conversation mouths dipping into low frowns. Amidst the old-money frat boys from Cambridge, Beacon Hill Barbie socialites, and Downtown business young bloods, you’re a flagrant contrast in ripped jeans and an old hoodie.

A favorite hoodie. An incendiary hoodie.

The kind of hoodie that is worn with pride around these West End parts. Even the group you arrive with tried to hackle you out of it— bachelorette party decorum, they cried, will you please take that thing off?

Your cousin might be marrying Silverspoon Asswipe and stringing herself up pretty next to all his call-girl friends, but you are a Jamaica Plain girl through and through and you will not stuff yourself into a glitzy cocktail dress before this hoodie.

She waves her hand at the hostess to distract her from your outfit, rustling the satin sash over her glossy sweetheart neckline, “Reservation under Prentiss; it was booked this morning?” And then a sharp look at you as if to say, you made the reservations, right?!

Duh. Your eyes respond when the hostess begins to lead your party back. You follow the tail end of the throng, veering off towards the bar; the miasma of Chanel perfume is enough to gag, and the cigar smoke is only a tiny bit better. Not like they’d care or even notice.

“Do you have PBR?”

The bartender stutters and before you can make him any more uncomfortable, a deep voice from beside you nips it in the bud.

Broad shoulders turn until you see his face. Amused, with a single raised eyebrow, mouth just barely tilting up at one corner. Mid-thirties and extremely well-groomed. Slicked back brown hair and classic Ray Bans hang from the collar of his sweater. Too handsome for his own good with the unmistakable swagger of someone grown up filthy rich.

“She’ll have the Glenfiddich. Neat.”

Certainly smug enough to butt in like you’re old friends.

“Will she?” You ponder defiantly at the pursed lips nestled over a strong jaw.

His own thick crystal glass is easily tipped into his mouth when he takes a too-large swig. Signet rings on two left fingers glimmer, and with a low exhale bordering a growl, he hisses through his teeth, “Yeah. I think you will.”

Bold blue eyes roam over your top and the statement printed there for a second before he scrutinizes your face. Then, purposefully—and knowing that your eyes are on him-- he looks back down to the swell of your chest.

A hum of approval before he faces forward again, only giving you his side profile.

“Wow,” you scoff, “Dick.”

The grin that splits his mouth for a second looks angelic if angels could be full-grown men with full-grown egos to match. “Close. It’s Ransom.”

Amber sloshes when the bartender returns, and you chance a sip because even your pride isn’t stupid enough to pass on a free glass of Glenfiddich.

The whiskey bites for a second before rolling smoothly down your throat. There’s an inherently superior taste to these luxury drinks, but you pull a face all the same, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Ransom chuckles, head turning just a tad as he looks to you from the corner of his eye.

“You making a statement with that thing on, or what?”

“You’re the one making a statement with that ladies wool scarf from Drake’s.”

Ransom jerks to you fully now, attention snatched by your wit as he leans in, “Where’d you come from, little girl? Not everyone walks into Carver’s dressed in rags.”

He really is a piece of work. When you tell him your neighborhood, as expected, he snorts with disdain, but his eyes fall back on you again, highly intrigued. “There’s more to you, isn’t there? My scarf, that attitude. Someone taught you a thing or two, didn’t they?”

The single-malt mouthful is singing in your veins and if your confidence was thinking about simmering down for a second, it’s forgotten itself inside the furious swirl. The hand around your empty glass clutches just a tiny bit tighter.

“Oh, come on,” Ransom waggles two fingers for another round, “Let’s see, I’m thinking… blue-collar parents, siblings, maybe with shared rooms in your dilapidated Jamaica Plain home?” A tap of his finger to that pink bottom lip too damn pretty to be on his wretched face, he pretends to mull a thought over.

He looks you up and down, taking just enough time to where you feel violated under his gaze, “I know: Public college. Two-year community. Working a day job in Back Bay made you bitter, didn’t it? Hence, statement piece.”

“Asshole,” you snap, unraveling at the seams with rage, and the bartender quickly flits away again, “Full ride to Northeastern, four years with honors. Back Bay can’t fucking afford me.”

You don’t know how he does it, but his derisive silence incenses you even more. He couples it with a slow flick of his tongue over teeth, flagrant staring, and the piercing blue of his eyes spotlight a trail—across your shoulders, down your arm, jumping from your fingertip to your thigh, and then it dips between.

Every inch of your body prickles alive with reaction, so naturally, you spit, “Fuck you.”

Ransom’s smile grows until it nearly looks genuine, but then the sharp points of his canines sink right into your gut.

“When?”

There is something ugly and incredible simmering behind his thick curtain eyelashes. A clear ocean grows stormy, sizzling like a cruel tempest rushing to life. The yellow gaussian blur from dim scone lights suddenly cast shadows over his sharp nose.

He slaps too many bills on the polished ebony and the swish of his scarf flicks over your knee when he stands. Ransom towers over you, light pink flush of inebriation and excitement growing hotter on his sculpted cheeks. He leans in, the open flaps of his overcoat falling around your shoulder, threatening to swallow you inside all his dark.

Low timbre and dusky spice goads, “Put your money where your mouth is, scholarship; that sweater’s not all talk, is it?”

Dick!

Big hands yank the hem up over your head for a second before something changes his mind. The heavy steel door is latched twice over and he’s pushing you into it with his imposing frame. Your skull hits the metal as his knee parts your thigh, leg shoving itself up in-between until you’re on your tip-toes, with nothing to do but land on him. The heat of it rushes all the way up to the top of your head, pouring from your mouth in a choked mewl.

Ransom rucks the top over your breasts until the words scrunch up at your collarbones and you think it must bring him some masochistic satisfaction to know their unforgiving glare:

Eat the Rich

His warning chills your spine.

“I’m gonna fuck that line from your brain. Fuck it right out.”

He yanks everything south of your waist to your ankles and pulls himself free from his pants, effortlessly tearing a condom from inside his leather wallet and slipping it on. Between the time he gets your bare ass on the counter and the sound of the rubber snap, he’s already branded a purple streak onto the side of your neck and you’re embarrassingly wet.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you see his length rising from beneath his cable-knit. Bright pink and angry, and so goddamn thick it makes you whimper. Ransom smothers it with his demanding and hungry mouth, impatient at being empty, stinging with whiskey and force. He’s probably never waited on anything in his life and within a short fifteen minutes of meeting him, you know that to be true.

Not a care in the world is given as goosebumps break out all over your arms.

He spins you into the sink countertop and then the two of you are staring at each other in the mirror’s reflection. His hands return to your hips with a bruising clutch and those thick fingers begin to rub the slick between your folds all over your thighs. Fucking A-- It’s good. Idiot rich boy does have the Midas Touch.

One long leg kicks your jeans completely off, sole of his shoes stomping all over them. He’s unforgivingly large and he knows it because everything about Ransom Drysdale is a statement: his clothes, his attitude, his dick. There’s a joke in here somewhere about him being the very epitome of it, but he’s glaring at you with that pretty bottom lip stretched between perfect white teeth and maybe you can forgive the fact that he’s leaving boot marks all over your jeans and bruises in the shape of fingerprints on your back.

“Tell me,” he teases, slipping one finger in, the metal of his ring pressing up against your clit, “Tell me you’ve had it like this before.”

A slow roll of his hips against your ass, letting the weight of his cock pressed hot and tight between his body and yours. You find yourself inching higher, micro-movements attuned to his, staring but unseeing at his face, buzzing with the raw need to be clenching around more than one finger.

“Not like this, not off Glenfiddich, in Jamaica Plain…”

And without thinking, because there isn’t much to think about, you hiss, “Oh, fuck you!”

Ransom chuckles into your ear because your voice breaks just a tad and he’s going to win this fight. Claws and teeth out sharper than knives, he bites down on your shoulder and slips in another finger. The distinct sensations—soft, slippery, strokes and the sting of his teeth—are scrambling your brain.

He grips himself tight, pushes in with uncharacteristic restraint, and you’re so desperate and aching for it all you can do is push back and pray the sound you might be making isn’t loud enough for everyone in the damn place to hear.

You stifle a grunt with his next languid stroke and Ransom raises an eyebrow, “What? You suddenly shy now?”

It might be just a restroom, but it’s one of the nicest places you’ve ever been inside. Carver’s cigar room’s private single occupancy nook and he’s usurped it to screw you senseless. As if reading your thoughts, he rolls his eyes and continues, glaring at your half-lidded reflection.

“Who gives a shit?” Then, another smirk, “If you’re gonna scream, get my name right.”

Your belly is quivering from the pressure, holding yourself together as best you can before he takes you to pieces. The grooves in his rings cut into your skin. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers crawling up your chin to shove inside your mouth.

Like everything else he’s ever wanted in his life, he’ll own this, too.

And then it’s only punishment. Ransom twists your hair around one fist, other forearm pressing like an anchor on your sternum, wrist shoved through the neckline, hand splayed open and clutching your throat and it goes nearly all the way around. The reflection of your panting mouth and bouncing breasts matching his every thrust is lewd and vile and so goddamn good.

“I bet you fuck on top, don’t you, scholarship?” He releases your throat to pinch your cheeks together, tipping your head derisively, making you nod yourself stupid—awful and humiliating but it unexpectedly thrills.

“Bet you’re too proud to ask.” He makes you nod again, “Bet you want someone to fuck you open just like this—all filthy and sloppy—“

And he doesn’t have to make you agree that time, you’re already limp in expectation and your reflection, damn her, she nods.

He’s still fully dressed, coat swaying to cocoon the both of you in what is probably a hundred thousand dollars. His watch, his rings, his fucking boxers. That stupid cable knit sweater.

A yelp leaks out with your orgasm- unexpected and high and quick, like a wounded animal as you tip your head back onto his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, even for a second. Ransom thrusts deeper, and on the cusp of your second undoing, he licks an errant bead of sweat down the back of your neck.

“You got one more. Yeah, that’s right— one more— God, your pussy loves it. Squeezing me fucking good.” He’s sick. He’s sick and Jesus Christ, aren’t you, too? “Yeah. Push back on my cock. Fuck yourself with it…”

He guides your fingers to your clit with his free hand and begins to rub in motions. Your eyes flutter when he breathes into your ear, “There you go, scholarship, you’ll never get dick this good again—so go ahead and be selfish. I wanna see you all fucked out, fucked stupid, coming all over my dick.”

With two fingers sluiced with your spit, Ransom crams them up next to his cock and you can’t believe how he did it so easily but maybe you can. Yes, filthy and sloppy and never like you’ve had before. Your hands grip the counter top so tightly the tips look white and bloodless and the strained coil inside snaps clean in two.

“Fuck! Oh fuck! God!”

You slump backwards, fingertips to toes shocked tingly numb, boneless and empty of all thought, but he holds you up with ease. Ransom shushes your gasps, paws your breasts and fluttering sternum, runs his hand over your face and throat. The pinch of his fingers returns to your cheeks and he drags his other hand from inside your pussy up into to your mouth. Slick and dripping, a little rubbery from the condom, but otherwise just like yourself.

“Well, look at that. Aren’t you just…”

He pauses to view your blissful face, covered in a sheen layer of sweat, head resting on his shoulder, slanted just enough so that the tip of your nose brushes his jaw. A quick laugh, strangely knowing and a bit sweet or maybe you’re imagining it in your delirium, before he turns cold again.

“Make good on your slogan. Get on your fucking knees.”

His hand looks ridiculous, big and strong and wrapped around the best part of him, completely filthy with you smeared over his fist and you slide to your knees, forehead resting briefly on his knee. His pants have fallen around his ankles, boxers still midway, and you’re so exhausted you can hardly do much more than give him a light kiss to his inner thigh—God knows why—before you peel the rubber off.

It lands into the toilet and you obediently stick out your tongue, still panting to catch your breath as Ransom aims toward your open throat. “There you go,” he groans, fisting himself, “That’s it. Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

And you don’t.

“So,” your old mentor asks, familiar low drawl of his voice crackling with the tone of a lifelong smoker, “What do you think?”

A hum passes through from your end as you think about all the ways Ransom Drysdale Thrombey pulled you apart and in all the ways you’ll probably think about for at least a couple of months.

“He’s exactly who you think he is.” You rock back and forth on your feet near the curb, “Disrespectful…” Scholarship, Ransom’s voice sneers, “Selfish…” Who gives a shit? “Manipulative.”

Well look at that… aren’t you just… And the glimmer of those big blue eyes half-crazed with lust and control, drinking in your reflection in the mirror, makes you clench up right there in the parking lot.

“You think he’s a killer?” Blanc asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” You reply, “Depends. He takes what he wants when he wants it… Could care less if he burns the world down with him. You divine the rest.”

Benoit Blanc’s frustrated sigh is all the response you expect him to give. This case with the Thrombeys really has gotten him all twisted up. He wouldn’t have called you for a favor if it didn’t. Of course, when he asked you to check Ransom Drysdale Thrombey out, he’ll be at Carver’s tomorrow around ten, he probably had other scenarios in mind…

“Well,” he mumbles, “Thanks again. These people sure are hell to be around. Give the new Prentisses my best, won’t you?”

You say your goodbyes and tuck your phone back into your pocket, shifting with a wince when the soreness between your legs throbs again. With a sigh into the dark autumn night, you shove your hands inside the center pouch of your hoodie, keeping your head low but still wary enough to find your Uber.

Ransom left you in the restroom about ten minutes ago, sitting on your haunches, still trying to remember how your lungs work. Right before the door shut, he had turned around and gave you one last smirk, pointing right at your top with glee. “How’d I taste, baby?”

Blanc needs to be careful, not that he isn’t— because he always is, as nutty as his brain works, he is. But Ransom is the only Thrombey you’ve met and if there are ten more of them… Blanc would do good to watch his ass and maybe get some extra help.

A jangle disrupts the quiet when you begin to play with what you’ve taken. Jagged metal edges. Heavy iconic insignia laying benignly in your palm before you tug it out.

Idiot. Good dick or not, an idiot is an idiot is an idiot— especially his kind. Didn’t even notice you slipped these right out of his coat pocket. You swing the ring around your flexed pointer in swift, angry circles, keys clanging together before your hand shuts it up.

With a hard wind of your arm back, you fling the set long into the night, satisfied when it lands behind a building some distance away.

Ransom Drysdale, you think, enthusiastic smile growing on your face as your ride pulls around the corner, have fun looking for those tonight.

Dick!

Ransom tags: @mermaidxatxheart @dumbubblegum @sapphirescrolls @gothambrat @southerncross47 @bubblegumpeeeach @fiercephantasmagoria @saliarheva @amberakawolfie

Perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave

#knives out #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #smut #fanfiction #reader insert #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale thrombey #ransom x you #eat the rich heli0s

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writing-with-chaos · 4 years

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[Your OCs Backstory] First Love

HELLO! =D

I didn’t get to post this last weekend, but I wrote it anyway and it’s MY FAVORITE. If nobody reads it, I don’t care. I gotta have it on here.

This got so much longer than I intended, but I was having a lot of fun with it ;p Honestly, I just love any excuse to write scenes with Sabin, since I get to a lot of that in within the actual WIP. I love my soft boy so much T_T

I hope y’all like him (and the story) just as much!

Ariana Salem

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//watch things on VCRs

with me and talk about big love

i think we're superstars

you say you think we are the best thing...//

"What the hell do you mean you've never baked chocolate chip cookies?"

"You can't bake very easily without an oven, Ria. Or a house to put it in."

"Okay, but you're telling me nobody's ever made them for you? None of the people you've stayed with?"

"No?"

Sabin tilted his head at her curiously. He always looked so cute when he was confused, like one of the bright-eyed stray dogs he always had with him. The latest one, a German Shephard he named Dimitri, slept in the corner by the fireplace. They both kept huddled in the living room themselves, wrapped in a nest of blankets. The fire was the only source of heat in the cabin. Despite its lack of basic utilities, it was Sabin's favorite place. The one luxury he allowed himself. When it was off-season and the owners were gone, he could pretend he finally had a place of his own, tucked away in the middle of nowhere where no one could find him. When he was here, he was just like everyone else. A boy and his dog, watching movies with the girl he adored. Sabin was always paranoid, but this was the only time Ariana ever saw him somewhat at ease. Because of that, the cabin was her favorite too.

The cookie bomb dropped while they were in the middle of said movie.

"I've had chocolate chip cookies before. Does that not count?" he asked.

"No! Baking them is like a whole new experience. It's like a childhood right of passage," said Ariana.

Sabin scratched at his neck and smiled bashfully. "I guess that would be why I didn't then."

She paused at his declaration, determination slowly filling her eyes. "When you pick me up tomorrow, I'm bringing ingredients."

It was sort of an unspoken rule of their relationship. Ariana used to wonder why he bothered to hang out with someone like her, especially before she awakened her powers, until she realized. They each gave each other what the other was lacking. She gave him a glimpse into the teenage normality he could never have through her talks of going to high school, shopping for the right clothes, hating her mom, and in exchange he offered her adventure, freedom, an escape. In the end, that's all either of them wanted. Since then, she leaned into her role hard. Anytime Sabin so much as mumbled about an experience he missed out on, she'd do her best to give it to him. And she'd go all out. It'd be easier if he ever let her ask 'Drea for help, but she stopped trying to push the issue. He was being swayed by a stubborn ego, but it must've been rough to consider asking for help from the very creatures he was created to destroy. God knew she struggled with it enough.

The next night, she carefully snuck what she needed throughout the day. One at a time. A couple eggs in a tupperware, milk in a thermos, everything else in sandwich baggies, and her mom's recipe. Plus the stuff she usually nabbed, like snacks and whatever they'd need for dinner that night. She had to rearrange her overnight bag quite a bit, but eventually everything fit. Even a goofy, frilly apron and burned a CD, perfect to set that Baking-on-a-Sunday-Morning vibe. Sabin came to her window at midnight when the house was asleep, like he had since they were little kids, and warped her away. It was still daylight at the cabin. Her sleep schedule was always a mess when he was around. She didn't mind--it was a good excuse to take naps together.

"Okay. You read this to me--" Ariana plopped the recipe card in his hands while tying the apron. After she struggled with it a couple times, Sabin slipped behind her and tied it himself. His fingers at her lower back made her breath catch in her throat, and she forgot what she was saying for a minute. "Um. And then I'll do...that stuff."

"The baking?" He said with a laugh, completely oblivious of his effect.

"Yeah. That."

For the rest of the time, Sabin kept to his own corner near the table, so she could clearly focus. The atmosphere was exactly what she wanted. A bubble enveloped the room in a kind of bliss you only found in memories. A kitchen filled with laughter and life's latest tales. The dog at her hip, eagerly waiting for a morsel of cookie dough to fall to his level. A muffled radio filling the rare empty moments. It was like getting a glimpse of what could be in another world. Or maybe some kind of future. Her and Sabin coming home and cooking dinner together, or washing the dishes after. Him slipping behind her like before and wrapping his arms around her middle. His lips at her temple, then her jaw, and stopping delicately at her neck. And they would just stand there, silently drinking in their simple paradise. Safe enough to breathe. Stable enough to be careless, knowing there was nothing outside waiting for them to stumble. Free enough to be.

"I see why this is nice," Sabin said softly, while they rolled the dough into balls.

His face softened into a velvet smile that brightened the deep blue of his one eye, and made the firey red of the other glow like the embers in the wood-burning oven. Crystal clear of any fear or uncertainty. A rare moment, where he was completely present with her instead of two steps removed, the aura carrying him away to the same far away dream where nothing else existed outside of this moment. She'd kill to keep him happy like this.

Once the dough was in the oven, the only thing left was the clean up. Ariana lifted herself onto the counter and grabbed the wooden mixing spoon out of the bowl. She scooped some of the batter off with her fingers and ate it.

"This is the best part," she said slyly. "My mom never lets me do this at home."

"You can hang out with genocidal monsters and freak hybrids all day, but you can't eat cookie batter?" Sabin teased.

"Well, she's a lawyer. Monsters and freaks are expected, but she can't argue with salmonella."

He laughed. The full one that sounded like filtered sunbeams, lighting up the room. It was impossible not to mimic. She moved the spoon toward him.

"Want some?" He stared at the spoon for a moment. "Come on, it's not like we haven't swapped spit already."

Now the short, flustered laugh, always followed by a deep blush in the face. Pink, like normal, mixed with the silver shimmer of his Chaos Power energy. It was a satisfying bonus to teasing him. He was always so embarrassed whenever she brought up their kiss. It only happened the one time so far. She didn't press it, since admittedly she was a little shy about it herself, but she did her best to drop small hints and acknowledgments that yes, it did happen, and yes, she absolutely wouldn't mind if it happened again.

"You're never gonna let me forget that are you?" He said. He tried to start scrubbing at a bowl to distract himself.

"You didn't like it?"

It was enough for him to break his avoidance and look at her, if only for a second. She could see the tinge of color on his cheeks through the shade of his dark, thick curls. His voice quieted to a near whisper.

"I-I didn't say that..."

"Then why would we wanna forget it?"

"You're killing me, Ria," he said with a shy smile. His hand moved to the back of his neck to scratch it, but he forgot it was soaked in soapy water. Ariana laughed loudly. "See? Look what you do to me, I'm a mess. This--This was your idea! I'm trying to focus."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about dishwashing," she teased.

Sabin took a large chunk off the spoon and hastily stuffed it in his mouth, like he didn't trust what he'd say or do with it otherwise. Ariana smiled to herself. She took it as a win. Thinking she tortured him enough, she hopped off the counter and pulled her sleeve down over her hand.

"C'mere." She used it to wipe the soap from his face.

Chaos Powers ran much hotter than humans. Being a hybrid, Sabin was only a little warmer than normal. It was unnoticeable without being this close. Sometimes she thought his mahogany skin had the tiniest glow to it, drawing her closer like the moon's pull on the waves. It finally settled in how close this was making them. Ariana's thumb gently stroked along his cheek. He stopped, and finally turned to look at her. A twitch of his mouth formed into a small, soft smile. One that was at ease. Enamored. His fingers carefully reached up to graze along her hand. Whatever bubble they were put under had them oblivious to why they snuck around at all. For a moment, this was a good idea. For a moment, it was impossible that it could be anything else.

And then the oven's timer went off. Its harsh sound broke something in the air. The bubble popped. They both remembered where they were, what reality waited for them. Most importantly, Sabin remembered. His eyes fluttered, like waking from a spell, and just as quickly as it left the far away panic she was so used to seeing in his eyes pooled back into its rightful place.

"That--That means it's done right?" He said quickly. He didn't wait for her to answer and was already at the oven.

There was a pang of disappointment in her chest, but Ariana didn't bother trying to bring it up again. It was only a few minutes, and already she grew so attached to a fearless Sabin. But this was their reality. The only reason she had Sabin in her life at all was because his fear helped him survive. Kept him one step ahead of the ever-watching Panacea, and their Seraphim soldiers waiting to bring him back into their clutches. Always their prized weapon, never her heart's true home.

They wouldn't have made it this far if she wasn't willing to wait. To fight. One day, that peaceful world would be theirs to keep. One day, they would never have to pick between safety and love again.

She would make sure of it.

#writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #writblr #writers #my ocs #writeblr ocs #yourocsbackstory #The Writing #cynical chaos #Ariana #Sabin #Sabiana

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chaeinedup · 5 years

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Just an unusual day (smut)

(i do not own this gif, chaekkung does)

06:00pm

I was extremely nervous, I mean it's my first day working here. But nothing could go wrong........Right ?

I was walking in with my head hanging down so no one would talk to me. When I got to the changing room to put on my uniform I heard a voice behind me. I turned around shyly to face the male presence, it was Yoo Kihyun A.K.A the boss.

Kihyun: Hi! You must be the new girl, we talked on the phone but it's nice to see you in person.

Y/N: Oh yeah! And hi it's so nice to see you in person.

If I could, I would hide and never come out again, I can feel my red face. I'm pretty sure I'm matching with the walls around us.

Kihyun: Are you okay ? Are you sick ?

He got closer and put his hand on my forehead.

Y/N: I'm fine, don't worry about it - I smiled lightly.

Kihyun: You have a pretty smile - he said looking straight into my eyes.

I swear if it wasn't for the random girl walking in I would've melted there. I was being to approachable, he's my boss, I can't be like this. Is he like this to everyone ? He was being really nice but maybe that's because of other circumstances.

While I was in my thoughts he had already left.

I changed and when I was about to leave the girl talked.

R/G: You must be special.

Y/N: Me ?

R/G: Yeah you. You know he's not like that usually, he keeps everything professional.

And before I could say a word she left.

12:05am

Having the night shift is not easy. The restaurant fills so quickly everything is done 10x faster and if you couldn't keep up you were fired. That's what I learned from my last job.

I changed back into my normal clothing. I was ready to leave when someone hugged me from behind. I was startled by the tight feeling. I escaped from those surprisingly comfortable arms and looked back.

Y/N: Wow horsey! What do you think you're doing ?

Kihyun: C'mon are you honestly going to pretend that the scene earlier didn't left you wanting more ?

Y/N: I'm not any girl. Just because the others used to fell for it doesn't mean I'm gonna be the same.

Kihyun: You're still fisty, I like that a lot.

Y/N: You went from being nice to being a jerk. You can really do it all.

Lets be real what he did earlier did have an impact on me but I wasn't going to be that easy.

Kihyun just looked at me.

Y/N: What do you want ? I have to go home.

Kihyun: Well I can take you home.

Y/N: No need I can walk.

Kihyun: I wasn't asking. Now go to the grey car in the parking lot and wait for me, I'm just gonna close this.

So I did as he said, I hate that he was bossing me around but it was too cold for me to walk home.

Five minutes later and he finally came out.

Y/N: I thought something was off, what took you so long ?

Kihyun: Were you concerned ? Wow I didn't expect that.

Y/N: Ah Ah Ah very funny now can we go ? I'm freezing.

We got in the car and everything was fine until he turned down the volume is the radio.

Kihyun: Are you really going to ignore the fact that you've known me for years ? Like I'm someone you just met ?

Y/N: Look I remember you but what I remember I would rather not to. You know, seeing you dating my best friend was heartbreaking, you knew I liked you why would you do that ?

Kihyun: To get close to you! I liked you too but Changkyun liked you and then on summer break he asked you out and you said yes. I was loosing all my hopes so I decided to date Seulgi.

Y/N: You know that doesn't make the situation any better right ? You used my friend.

Kihyun: I know and I'm not proud of it, but I was so desperate it seemed like the only option left.

Y/N: Don't think I'm gonna forgive you ever.

Kihyun: I'm sorry okay, I was a teenager I was stupid. I'm sorry.

He put his hand on mine. I looked at him and he had tears in his eyes. It was a sincere apology.

We finally got to my house and it felt like an eternity.

Y/N: You want to come inside ? I kinda feel bad.

Kihyun: Yeah okay.

Y/N: But don't think Im gonna forget this, I'm still mad.

Kihyun: Yes mam.

Y/N: I hate you.

I opened the door, went straight to the kitchen to make popcorn while he sat down and choose a movie.

I got back to the couch with the now hot popcorn.

Kihyun: Salty ?

Y/N: You know it ahahah.

02:00am

When the movie ended I was almost falling asleep.

Kihyun: Are you alive ? He caressed my cheek.

Y/N: Yeah! I'm awake but that movie was terrible you suck at picking movies.

Kihyun: Wow you really went there ? Thought you were better than that.

Y/N: Sorry did I hurt your little ego ?! That must really hurt. - I said while pouting - My turn to pick movie

Kihyun: Another one ??

Y/N: Yeah lets do a movie marathon, we don't have work tomorrow it's Monday, our day off.

Kihyun: You right. How do you know ?

Y/N: I applied for the job, I read the information ahah.

Kihyun: That's true. I'm just not used to having you work for me.

Y/N: Don't say that, it sounds bad.

Im gonna change to something more comfy you can start the movie without me.

I went to the bedroom, changed into a big sweater and just my underwear. Went back to the living room and sat down next to Kihyun.

The movie I choose was "fifty shades of grey" it felt appropriate for the occasion. After all this years I still have feelings for him. He is not easy to forget.

The movie was playing, the air was getting hotter, hands were getting touchy. He had his hand on my thigh and mine was in his hair. As the movie ended, the innocent hands were not so innocent anymore, his was coming up to my hip and mine was coming down to his chest. He quickly placed me in his lap.

Kihyun: I knew it! - he started to rub the inside of my thighs with his thumbs - you know you haven't changed a bit. Not wearing shorts ? I love how innocent you seem to be and how people believe it. You're a natural at this.

Y/N: That's good right ? I started grinding on him.

Kihyun: It's so good, I don't have words for it.

I started kissing and sucking on his neck. Meanwhile he was pulling my body to his so he could create more friction.

Kihyun: I'm gonna make you mine babygirl.

Babygirl. That word. I widened my eyes and shivers were sent down my spine.

Kihyun: Don't be surprised I know your weak spot. Call me what you want but maybe you should've kept your voice down while you were talking about your kinks that night in your dorm.

He pulled me for a kiss.

Y/N: You are a terrible person you know that ?!

Kihyun: Still you're sitting in my lap ? How ironic.

Y/N: You sure do know how to ruin things.

I got up heading to the bedroom, Kihyun followed me.

Kihyun: Stop being a brat babygirl, you're gonna suffer.

Y/M: Maybe that's my plan. - I lay down in my bed.

Kihyun: Well lets see how you behave when I do this.

He got closer to the ledge of the bed and started taking his clothes. I looked to the side to admire his body, this boy was even better then what I remember. My hands started to grab the sheets. He wanted to make me beg for him.

Kihyun: Oh you're trying to resist ?! That's cute.

He opened my legs, looking at my light pink lingerie for a few seconds before taking them and tossing them to the ground. He got on his knees at the end of the bed, pulling me closer to his face, his lips dying to dive in.

Kihyun: Already this wet ?

I jus moaned in response. I need his mouth but I wasn't going to crack.

He placed his cold hands on my thighs kissing the inside.

I put my hands on his hair and as soon as I did that he stopped me.

Kihyun: That was quick ready do beg ?!

Y/N: No

Kihyun: Than no touching, moaning or cumming without my permission.

He was ready to make my night hell. I grabbed the sheets, bit my lower lip and closed my eyes. I knew what was coming.

He started licking and kissing my folds, seconds later he was tongue fucking me like no one ever did before. My body started twitching under him.

Kihyun: You know you want to touch me, just say it.

Y/N: Ke-ep going.

And he did. I could feel how close I was I knew I had to lose eventually, there's no way he would let me cum without saying a word.

Y/N: I'm close. Don't stop.

Kihyun: Say it!

Y/N: I NEED YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW AAAHHH

Kihyun: That's my girl.

He dived right in, going faster and faster, also adding his thumb on my clit and playing with it.

I finally came, I moaned his name so loud I bet the neighbors heard me.

He let me rest for a few minutes.

Y/N: Sit!

Kihyun: I thought you were done for the night - he said with his stupid smirk.

Y/N: You thought wrong.

He took his pants and boxers off before sitting he knew what I was going to do.

I sat myself in his lap placing his length in my entrance. I looked him in the eyes while I was riding him, he placed his hands on my hips to guide me. The only sounds in the room were our moans and our skins slapping together.

He came first but that just made him go faster, he wanted to please me as much as I pleased him.

Once I came I rested my head in his shoulder.

Kihyun: You did so good babygirl.

#kpop oneshots #kihyun #monsta x #multifandom #oneshot

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littleshebear · 6 years

Text

Destiny fanfic; Unbreakable

My writing muse totally deserted me for a bit there because I was having trouble with this piece but I finally got it done. I feel cleansed. Maybe I can get to writing other stuff now too. I’m back on my Steelponcho bullshit.

Hawthorne left the triage station in a hurry with the metallic tang of blood in her nostrils. She resisted the urge to run, there was enough fear and misery to go around without the refugees seeing her like that.

She reached her quarters and slammed the door. She stripped off, pausing for a moment when she realised her poncho was torn at the sleeve; one of the injured had grabbed on to her and refused to let go until he had finally passed out. She decided she'd clean it up and patch it later, she was too tired and heartsick to bother mending it tonight. She tossed it aside and headed for a tiny shower room which was cordoned off by a ragged curtain. She turned on the water, the pipes shuddering and groaning in protest before a weak spray of water emerged. She gasped as the freezing water hit her skin. She forced a slow breath from her lungs, making herself adjust to the cold. The water gradually became a bearable lukewarm and she relaxed. She had bathed in far colder during her time in the wilds, this was comparative luxury.

She pressed her palms and forehead against the stall’s tiles and she closed her eyes, replaying the evening’s events. How she had sat by the radio, waiting in vain for her scouting party to report in, how she had removed herself to a viewpoint above the Farm to watch for their return. How she had to swallow down panic when she saw what was left of them being brought in on sparrows, by Guardians who had obviously intercepted their cries for help, cries that had been dampened from wider broadcast by the Cabal.

She opened her eyes and watched the water swirl around the plughole at her feet, gradually turning from pink to clear as the last of her colleague’s blood was rinsed from her body. She gave in to the tears that had been threatening since she’d seen her friends, her charges, laid out on those operating tables, bleeding their last. She had hoped it was safe in here, that the water could disguise her weeping but the angry, frustrated tears ran far hotter than the shower.

After drying off and getting into some clean clothes, she scrubbed the bloodstains out of her poncho as best she could then made her way to the firepit on the edge of the farm. She spread out her poncho to dry, wrapped herself up in a blanket and set to drinking a jar of bathtub gin. The denizens of the farm all had the good sense to give her a wide berth. All but one.

She knew it was him without looking around. Dev knew to leave her alone, Cayde would have led with a well-meaning but misplaced quip and Ikora would have got straight to the point. The hovering at a distance and the polite throat clearing could only mean him.

‘What do you want, Zavala?” She asked before taking a swig of the burning liquor.

‘We have some information on the arm of the Red Legion that attacked your people. I thought you might be interested.’

Hawthorne took a deep breath and tightened the blanket around herself. ‘Go on.’

He approached slowly and spoke in a gentle tone of voice that dripped with sympathy. It made her grind her teeth. There was no need for this sort of kid gloves treatment, she wasn’t that delicate.

‘The description your scouts gave before they…” He paused.

‘Before they died,” Hawthorne filled in for him.

Zavala sighed and closed the remaining gap between them. ‘May I sit?’

‘It’s a free farm,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m not stopping you.’ The alcohol was most definitely having an effect. What was left of her sobriety knew it was unfair to speak to him so harshly. None of this was his fault but she was angry and he was there. The increasingly intoxicated part of her justified it by saying he should have known to leave her alone.

“The descriptions your scouts gave match reports we’ve been getting about a Red Legion general who calls himself Thumos The Unbroken.”

‘The Unbroken?’ She snorted derisively. ‘Someone’s got an ego. What do the reports say?’

‘He’s one of Ghaul’s blood guard, high ranking, ruthless.’ He paused, looking between Hawthorne and the jar of moonshine in her hand. ‘That’s the gist of the communications we intercepted.’

‘What do they say?’ Hawthorne fixed him with an icy stare.

‘I’m not sure the details are-’

‘Tell me.’

‘Hawthorne, please don’t take this the wrong way but how much have you had to dr-’

‘Don’t coddle me, Commander!’

Zavala sighed deeply. ‘As best Cryptarchs can translate from the transmissions we discovered? He heralds his arrival with something like this: Hail Thumos, you who are fated to fall.’ He paused before finishing his report. ‘And then there’s just screaming.’

Hawthorne nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore the lump in her throat that was making itself known again. She kept nodding, as if that would stave off any need to address the other physical reactions that what she was feeling right now. ‘I see.’ She took another quaff of her drink. If any more tears appeared she could blame them on how strong the booze was. ‘Is there anything else you needed, Commander?’

‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘Oh yeah, i’m fine,’ she replied, her lips curling into a snarl, ‘An entire scout team is dead because of me but yeah,’ raised her glass to him in a mock toast, ‘I’m just dandy, thanks for asking.’

‘This wasn't your fault.’ He held her gaze for an uncomfortable beat.

‘I gave the order, I sent them out there,’ she grumbled, turning away to stare at the fire again. ‘Let me guess,’ she snapped, ‘You’d have done things differently? Did you come here to impart your wisdom, tell me what I did wrong?’

‘No,’ he replied, sounding a little taken aback. ‘No, not at all.’ She shot him a baleful look and he shrugged, ‘I…’ He hesitated, ‘In actual fact I’m impressed by you. I’ve nothing but admiration for what you’ve achieved here.’

‘People died because of me,’ she said before turning away again. ‘I don’t expect you do understand. You’re a -’

‘A Guardian?’ He interjected.

‘Don’t pretend you know what’s like, because you don’t! Dying over and over but coming back every time isn’t the -'

‘That’s not true.’

‘Dying over and over but still coming back isn’t the same as-’

‘It’s not true.’ Zavala didn’t shout but there was something in his voice that overruled her desire to interrupt him again. ‘Are you a student of history, Hawthorne?’ He asked after a tense silence.

‘No,’ she shrugged, ‘I didn’t pay much attention at school.’

‘Look up the Great Disaster, when you have time. The Battle of Mare Imbrium.’ There was no acrimony in his voice, just regret. ‘We lost hundreds in that one sortie. I know what it’s like to lose people, I know what it’s like to lose them on my order, believe me.’ he looked on her not with anger but compassion. ‘That’s command, Hawthorne. You make judgement calls. The ones that go well, you never think about but the ones that don’t work out…’

‘How do you deal with it?’ She whispered.

‘Try to learn from it. That’s all you can do. You did the best you could, there’s no point in punishing yourself. It changes nothing.’ Hawthorne looked at her feet. ‘But you will, I’m guessing. It’s what I always do,’ he said after a brief pause, that normally sonorous voice of his coming out as little more than a defeated rumble. ‘That’s command for you. When you start to stop caring that’s probably when you should step down.’

Hawthorne looked up at him with bleary eyes and felt her lips twitch into a faint smile for the first time that day. “Sucks, right?”

Zavala didn’t smile in return but he nodded. “It surely does.” He gingerly rested his fingertips on her wrist and said, ‘Do me a favour and don’t drink any more? It’s not a healthy way of dealing with this.’

‘You’re not the boss of me,’ she protested, pulling her hand away from his, sloshing some of the liquor over herself in the process.

‘Hawthorne, please.’

‘Fine,’ she acquiesced but held back from giving him the glass. ‘On one condition.’ She stared him down, holding the jar between them. ‘You have a drink with me. Then I’ll stop.’

He rolled his eyes and took the glass from her. ‘One shot. And then that’s it.’ He tipped the jar up delicately, as though it were a crystal champagne flute rather than a scuffed old jam jar. ‘To absent friends.’ He took a drink and screwed his eyes shut, before swallowing hard. He coughed and spluttered. ‘Well. That’s certainly. Something.’

‘Good huh? We make it out back,’ she gestured toward the barn.

‘I’d have more but my ghost is significantly weakened. I fear if I went blind, she wouldn’t be able to heal me.’

‘Wuss,’ she sniggered. ‘Okay…’ She got to her feet, swaying a little as the full effect of the drink hit her. She got a corner of the blanket caught under her feet and staggered backward right into Zavala.

‘Easy,’ he intoned, gently grasping her upper arms and righting her. He rucked the blanket up around her shoulders to keep it away from the ground.

‘M’poncho,’ she looked around, knowing she’d left it somewhere nearby to dry but couldn’t quite remember where.

‘I have it,’ Zavala reassured her. She stumbled along beside him, gripping on to his arm for support.

She couldn’t remember much about their trek across the farm, she didn’t remember anything about how she got back to her room and into bed. She woke the next morning with a bone dry mouth and what she could swear was a Cabal drill pounding inside her head. She sat up, waited for the dizziness to abate and reached out for her shoes and poncho with shaking hands. Her poncho. She stared at it in confusion for a few moments. It was clean, sitting neatly folded on a table beside her bed. She picked it up to see the tear had been expertly sewn up. If she didn’t already know it had been there, she probably never would have noticed any evidence of a rip.

When she finally ventured outside, she made a beeline for the command centre in the barn. Zavala looked up from his maps and reports when he heard her approach.

‘How are you feeling?’ He asked, glancing at the bottle of water she had clenched in her hands. She was grateful for him keeping his voice down, anything louder than a whisper would have set that Cabal mining crew in her skull off again.

‘Been better,’ she whispered. ‘Listen,’ she glanced around to ensure they had a modicum of privacy before speaking in a stilted, staccato manner. ‘Sorry. About last night. Had no cause to talk to you like that.’ She flicked her gaze up at him then immediately away again. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ Zavala replied in that low baritone that Hawthorne’s delicate senses suddenly found soothing. ‘You’d had a bad day. Happens to the best of us.’

‘Did you,’ she hesitated, her confused and alcohol impaired brain feeling the need to make two attempts at the question. ‘Did you mend my poncho?’

‘Yes, I did, I noticed it was ripped,’ he answered simply.

Hawthorne raised her eyebrows and felt laughter bubbling up. “You...embroider? You?”

Zavala didn’t smile but there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “Crochet is more my speed but I have a basic understanding of needlepoint.”

‘Oh. Okay.’ She scrambled through her addled memories trying to piece together what happened after they left the fireside. Since seeing him again this morning, a dim memory of him helping her take her shoes off and getting her into bed began to coalesce. She stared at him, suddenly remembering how he tucked the covers around her but more than that she remembered what he said to her before leaving her to sleep, that’s one thing she remembered so clearly.

‘He’s Thumos the Unbroken. Not Thumos the Unbreakable. We’ll get him, I promise.’

Zavala frowned at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah!’ She replied a little too quickly. ‘Just zoned out for a second.’ She gave a brief, self deprecating laugh. ‘Hungover. I’ll be fine. See you around. Thanks for…’ She tugged the sleeve of her poncho.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ she mumbled, turning away and heading for the steps that lead to Louis’ perch. She told herself that the dizzy, off-kilter sensation she felt every time she thought of his words to her was just the hangover, nothing more.

#destiny fanfiction #my writing #commander zavala #suraya hawthorne #zavala x hawthorne #steelponcho

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