#she melts my brain actually. ohh the fucking thing ever

[upathosarts]

been in such a karen mood lately

#she melts my brain actually. ohh the fucking thing ever #karen aijo #aijo karen #revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #revstar #starira #karen aijou #aijou karen #my art

[the-fiction-witch]

Seventeen P21 - P30

Media TMR AU

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating

Seventeen Series

"I don't think I've ever been this scared" I whispered

"Scared? Newt are you okay?" Y/n asks sounding genuinely worried

"Ohh uhhh I uhh Excuse me" I told her leaning the other way "I don't think I've ever been this scared and I just told y/n that"

"Then be brave" Thomas chuckled pushing me away so I was faced with y/n

"Are you okay?"

"Uhhh just nervous"

"awww me too"

"Okay, now the weak have left, I will tell you now my most hated thing in all theatre is callbacks and cast lists so when you audition I will give it to you or get you go ensemble, no waiting just straight acceptance or rejections. So Is there anyone brave enough to audition for Veronica?" Mrs Mary asked 

Not a soul moved I looked and could tell y/n wanted to but she was too nervous and scared, she glanced at me and I used all of my bravery to give her a warm encouraging smile and she stood 

"I would Mrs Mary"

"Y/n Y/l/n? Anyone else?" she offered but nope no one moved "Alright get up here" she said heading down to her desk "Do you know the soundtrack?"

"Yes Mrs Mary"

"Alright give me 'fight for me', from the top." She demanded setting up the music 

It was obvious she was nervously holding her hands tightly in front of her waiting for her Cue, we briefly made eye contact and I did my best to give her a smile 

"Why when you see boys fight, Does it look so horrible, Yet... feel so right? I shouldn't watch this crap, That's not who I am, But with this kid... Damn. Hey, mister no-name kid, So who might you be? And could you fight for me, And hey, could you face the crowd, Could you be seen with me and still act proud, Hey, could you hold my hand..."

Her voice was angelic, almost too good for the song, even her fellow cheerleaders seemed shocked and surprised by her performance I did my best not to let my jaw drop as she often glanced at me as she sang, she sounded so perfect I actually got teary 

"That's enough Miss Y/l/n" Mrs. Mary said shutting off the music "Congratulations, You are Our Veronica Sawyer" She said offering her the script from the pile on her desk

"she did it!" I whispered shaking Thomas's arm

"Now you have to kill it as her JD" He said

"Ohh no. I can't be beside that. That. that was actually good, it'll bring the whole production down if she has to sing with... me." 

Y/n grabbed her script and ran down getting hugs and congratulations from the cheer team she came over sat in her seat and gave me a big hug

"Uhhhhh...." I stuttered a little in shock but I was not wasting this I melted into her wrapping my arms around her sweet body and inhaling her sugary cherry scent "You did amazing, I knew you would"

"Thank you, I need to get learning" she smiled already opening her script 

"Okay, so we have our Veronica. let's find her Jason Dean. If you wish to audition for JD Please stand up" She said

I knew I couldn't wait, I couldn't be a little bitch about it, even if I did think she deserved a better JD than me but I stood noticing I wasn't the only one as Aris had stood to him immediately giving me a dirty look as had Ben. Ohh fuck. I'm gonna die. 

I nervously looked at y/n and she was surprised as she glanced at ben and aris before she turned and noticed I too was stood our eyes met and her cheeks went a little red I couldn't help blushing too 

"Alright all three of you on stage" she demanded so we all headed up standing in a line with ben aris then me 

"Mr Smith you do understand this will run into your track team time"

"I know, But you know art and shit," Ben said winking at y/n

"I take it you all know your script?"

"Yes Mrs Mary" Aris and I nodded

"Uhhh no can I just take a look?" Ben said

"You didn't prepare a song to audition with?"

"No, this was a kinda spur of the moment thing"

"use your phone" she glared "I want to Freeze your brain. You can start Mr. Smith"

"Okay" He nods getting his phone and literally googling 

'heathers musical Freeze Your Brain lyric' 

as the music began 

"I've been through ten high schools, They start to get blurry, No point planting roots, Cause you're gone in a hurry" he sang 

Ohh my god- I think my ears are bleeding, he wasn't in tune in fact so far out of tune if he had a map tune wouldn't even be on the map, like it tune is London bitch is in Tokyo not helped by his terrible attempt at on the spot choreography and karate actions so much so-

"Stop! Stop! Mr smith. if you are not going to take this seriously then please stop wasting our time."

"I wanna be Jd Mrs Mary"

"Sit down Mr. Smith. If you wish to audition I'd recommend a non-singing role" she warns 

he left in a huff giving me a glare as he did 

"Mr Hall if you would, from the last line," She asked

"My dad keeps two suitcases packed in the den, So it's only a matter of when I don't learn the names, Don't bother with faces, All I can trust is this concrete oasis Seems every time I'm about to despair-" He sang it made me feel even worse, he was good, really good, I mean it makes sense he was danny in grease and has been almost every male role in Le Mis, he was so good, and honestly he's the JD y/n deserves, they would sound great together and you know not to make the production a laughing stock,

she stopped the music again "Lovely very lovely, now let's hear Mr. Newton continuing on if you wouldn't mind" she says 

I was beyond scared my feet were like needles, my legs jelly, my voice caught behind my throat, and butterflies in my tummy, as the music began and I missed the cue 

"Some time today Mr Newton," she says restarting it 

I honestly thought I was gonna hurl but I saw y/n her script on my chair looking eagerly as she smiled at me much like I did for her, and I just thought - 

fuck it! I imagined my bedroom, when I'm home alone, like I'm in my underpants with my hair brushed singing to a screenshot of y/n's Instagram 

"There's a 7-Eleven right there, Each store is the same, From Las Vegas to Boston, Linoleum aisles that I love To get lost in, I pray at my altar of slush, Yeah I live for that sweet frozen rush!" 

I was... not that bad. 

I was better than Ben but worse than Aris, I'm not as bad as I thought I was, I had performance energy, and passion as it were, and honestly, my bedroom must have some bad acoustics because on a stage I don't sound nearly as bad as I thought I did. Maybe its the tall roof, or the anxiety, or maybe it's y/n believing in me. 

"Okay... that's definitely a tale of two JD's" she says checking her notes 

"No hard feelings Newton, you weren't half bad" Aris whispered "But we both know there are perks to being a drama rat, and you might have the gusto for one good verse but I have the stamina for this show. besides you couldn't handle Seventeen you need training"

Aris Hall, Theatre kid. Master of the stage. Kinda an artsy dickhole. He's been the lead in every production ever run and proudly so. Theatre is the only club he does, the only part of his personality that anyone has ever known. He took the word theatre brat as a compliment and annoyingly he had the skills to back himself up. He even took drama and theatre theory as electives. 

"I might not be as good as you but I would work every living moment for this show if I needed to, that kinda of passion can't be taught"

"It's called a hard on it goes down after a week Isaac" 

"I have made my decision" she said and the room sat on edge he's right, he's a theatre kid. he knows what he's doing y/n deserves to be beside him on stage, well at least I tried, maybe y/n will take pitty on me or just be impressed I tried

"Congratulations, You're our Jason dean Mr Newton," she said 

HOLY SHIT!

don't faint, don't faint!

"what!" Aris yelled "Mrs mary I have been in all the preoductions since I've been here"

"Exactly you've had your turn in the spot light, I did say you wouldn't get president for being a drama club kid" she explained "Mr Newton? will you take the role?"

"Ohh uhh yes, Yes Thank you mrs Mary" I smiled happily taking the script 

I climbed down and Thomas gave me a thumbs up I quickly came to my seat and she gave me another big hug so I happily smiled and hugged her close savouring every moment of our cuddle

"EEEEEEEE! We're gonna be acting together! I'm so excited!" 

"Yeah me too, it's gonna be really fun, guess we're gonna be spending a lot more time together"

"I think so" she giggled "I'm excited though,"

"Yeah me too, about the show and getting to uhh spend time with you"

"Aww me too newt" she smiled

"Right, now who what's to be a heather?" Mrs. Mary began "Let's start with Heather Chandler, Stand up" 

And two people stood up Teresa and Alexandra

"Alright up you go" She told them and the two girls headed up 

Obviously Teresa already kind of looked the part in her short skirt and socks and then Alexandra 

Alexandra Bolton, the top of the bottom row of cheerleaders in the hierarchy above y/n but well below Teresa, was a theatre rat or as much as a cheerleader could be given the track meets and other such stuff the cheer girls too but even so it was a well-known thing Alexandra was on thin ice for taking theatre more serious then cheerleading. But she was a pretty good actress if a little bit of a diva. 

"Alright, Miss Bolton give me candy store from the chorus" She says 

"Honey, whatchu waitin' for? Welcome to my candy store It's time for you to prove You're not a loser anymore Then step into my candy store" She sang 

"She's good," Y/n whispered 

"I know, she'd be a good Heather"

"I think so too" 

 "Be on my girlfriend's side. Or else" Thomas leant over

"Seems fair" Y/n nods

"Yep, Teresa for Heather." 

"Miss Agnes Chours again please" Mrs. Mary told her 

"Honey, whatchu waitin' for?, Welcome to my candy store, It's time for you to prove, You're not a loser anymore, Then step into my candy store!" 

"Hu," I said

"My girlfriend is not as good as I thought she'd be" Thomas sighed 

"I mean I didn't want to say it... but kinda" I told him 

"Interesting, you're both fairly good."

"Please Mrs. Mary I did ever so good as Fontaine" Alexandra pleaded 

"You did, however, we are looking for some new casting,"

"My dad will buy half the seats just to see me so he doesn't have to sit next to people" Teresa said

"Teresa, You're out Heather Chandler," She says handing over the script 

"Thank you" she smirked taking the script 

"Well done babe" Thomas smiled giving her a kiss 

"I look forward to killing you Teresa" Y/n smiled 

"Thanks" she sighed 

"Next Auditions for Heather Mcnamara," 

Alexandra stayed on the stage and Harriet went up and joined her 

"Okay, Lifeboat if you ladies don't mind."

Alexandra Began of course "I float in a boat In a raging black ocean Low in the water And nowhere to go The tiniest lifeboat With people I know" 

"Very nice," 

"She would be good again," Y/n smiled

"she would" I nodded

"She's not being my Heather Macnamara" Teresa glared

"Miss Toll if you would continue"

"Cold, clammy, and crowded The people smell desperate We'll sink any minute So someone must go The tiniest lifeboat With people I know" Harriet sang it was pretty good, I'd struggle to choose between them I didn't even know Harriet could sing 

"What do you think?" Y/n whispered

"I'm kinda going for Harriet."

"I would but I'm scared of Teresa" 

"That's fair she seems scary"

and we started giggling 

"Miss Toll, You shall be our Heather Macnamara" she says handing over the script 

"Mrs Mary" Alexandra complained 

"Miss Bolton, you can audition or you can sit down"

"Fine" she pouts 

"Alright auditions for Heather Duke" 

Alexandra stayed on the stage and was surprisingly joined by Brenda 

"Miss Young, this is not going to turn into another of your protest moments"

"I know, The guidance counsellor says I have to have something positive on my record or he won't let me graduate"

"Alright, Never shut up again Miss young if you can start"

"Heather choked, Bought the farm, She could not hack it, Now we need a strong arm, To run this racket, Heather's out, Who will rise? Gotta fill that vacuum, It's my turn, It's my prize, I spit lightning, Crack, boom!" Huu she's decent

"Miss Bolton continues"

"I bit my tongue so long, I learned to count to ten, My silence made me strong, I did my time and then, A house dropped on her head, The witch is dead! Ding dong!, Move bitch, this my song!, I will never shut up again, I will never shut up again, a Brand new day watching dreams come true, Well for me, not you Cause I'll never shut up again!" 

and of course, once again Alexandra was really good, 

"Heather Duke goes to Miss Young," she says handing over the script 

"Ughhh!" Alexandra left sitting with Aris as the two pouted 

This went on for a good while slowly casting the musical I had kind of given up now and got stuck into my script, and it kind of dawned on me as I looked at the script highlighted with all the JD lines. And it's uhhh it's just how much I have to learn in this script I mean I know the songs I'm not worried about that but I have so many lines. Until finally we cast the musical :

Y/n y/l/n as Veronica

Me as Jason Dean

Teresa Anges as Heather Chandler

Harriet Toll as Heather Mcnamara

Brenda Young as Heather Duke 

Ben Smith as Ram Sweeney

Minho Lee As Kurt Kelly

Alexandra Bolton As Martha Dunnstoke

Rachel Mason as Ms Fleming and others

Aris Hall As Ram's Dad & Others

Thomas Stephenson As Kurt's dad & Others

and Everyone else in the ensemble with various names like punk kid, new wave girl and so on. 

Honesrtly I think the best casting was Zart as stoner boy. He's gonna be doing some method acting I can tell. 

I finished up with classes today and started on the way home as we didn't have rehearsals tonight to give everyone time to learn at least the first few scenes in the script luckily I don't really come in till just before fight with me. but still, I had a lot to learn. Am I regretting this? already? but... she's worth it.

"Hi Newt" Y/n smiled as she came from her class coming over with me to hide under the cover from the rain, her script in hand 

"Ohh Hi y/n" I smiled 

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just uhhh nothing- eager to get home that's all y/n"

"Yeah me too,"

"Did you need a walk home?"

"No it's okay my dad's picking me up he'll be here in a minute"

"Ohh no worries"

"I could ask if he could give you a lift? We could run lines in the car"

"No no, it's ok I don't want to be a bother"

"Well if you're sure newt,"

"So uhh you got any plans this weekend?"

"No, just learning my script and of course, Sunday is the gym with the girls"

"You girls go to the gym together?"

"Humm on Sundays practice floor routine and keep in shape and all, what about you?'

"Ohh I have work this weekend, just Saturday though I'm open Sundays mostly for homework and I guess learning the script now"

"Yeah," she smiled and a car pulled in honking its horn "ohh that's me, what time do you work on Saturdays?'

"Oh nine to five"

"cool, well have a nice weekend newt" she's smiled

"You Have a nice weekend too,"

"Maybe I'll pop by for a slushie tomorrow" She smiled giving my cheek a little cherry-scented kiss and I almost collapsed or came or I don't even know anymore

"Ubhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-" was all that came to my mouth

"Sorry, I just figured we better get used to it. Right JD?"

"Uuhhhhhh yeah, uhh your right Veronica"

"See you" she smiled blowing me a kiss as she scampered from the door towards the car waving as she went I waved back to her and watched her climb into the car and drive away 

"YES!" 

I headed home through the stormy grey rain unable to stop smiling for a moment, blush had consumed my cheeks, my heart still racing, hugging my script in hand. 

When I arrived home, I smiled widely and saw my mum, dad and soyna at the kitchen table. 

"What are you so smiley about?" My mother laughed 

"I. Am. Jason Dean!" 

"Hu?" Sonya asks

"You changing your name?" My dad asks

"Awww I like your name, Isaac, We picked it out" My mother sighed 

"I-I'm not changing my name" I told them

"You're trying a new personality? I'd recommend it. this one is shit" Sonya says 

"Sonya! don't be mean to your brother!" Mum warned 

"I got cast," I told them

"They didn't beat you up again did they!" Dad yelled

"No, I got cast not A cast" I sighed "Look let's just start again, I have been cast as Jason Dean. in Heathers"

"What's a heather?" mum asked  

"Heathers the Musical the winter production at school"

"The winter production!" Mum smiled

"Ohh I didn't think you did drama club?" Dad asked

"I don't, But they needed more boys plus I love heathers"

"You nerd" Sonya snapped

"Ohh, needed more boys" Dad laughed winking at me "I get it"

"So who is this Jason Dean? in the production? is he in many scenes?" Mum smiled

"I uhh I'm in all of them. I'm the leading male role"

"Ohhh my goodness!" Mum smiled

"How the hell did you do that?" Sonya laughs

"Ohh and who's your leading lady?" Dad asks

"Y/n" I blushed

"Oh I get it" Sonya sighed

"That's great Isaac!" Mum smiled

"Good job Kiddo" 

I woke up a little earlier than usual, fresh from my dreams of performing beside y/n, of cuddling her and kissing her and however we're going to stage dead girl walking ummmmm I'm so excited. I jumped out of bed and went for a shower, putting the soundtrack on to listen to as I brushed my teeth, stripping off and climbing into the shower making sure to give myself a good scrub as I was going to work today.

"Shut your eyes tight till you vanish from sight, let nothing remain! Freeze your brain!" I sang as I scrubbed soap up and down my body and as I did my hands found my hard on and I couldn't help rubbing over it "ummmm..." I smirked I poked my head out the shower checking the time on my speaker, I got time. So I turned it up higher and stood under the hot steamy water loosing myself in my imagination as my hand stroked my shaft slow and steady at first

"Hehe why hello my sweet boy" her voice Cooes her fingertips stroking across my chest

"Humm hello my darling" I smirked pulling her body close "what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well I just wanted to make sure my lovely man was happy, ohh I see we have a big problem here" she smiled stroking my shaft

"Uhhh yeah we do baby-"

"Would my handsome boy like me to suck or would be perfer to go inside me?' She giggled turning to lean her naked body against the shower wall jiggling her ass at me

"Uhhhhh! Inside... you know I can't resist you darling" I growled kissing her neck and grinding myself against her-

"Uuhhhhhh! Uuuughhhhh!" I moaned my hips bucking forward my hand tightening as my erection softened and sent spurts of jizz down the shower drain "uhhhh.... Fuck" I gasped leaning on the wall to get my breath back, awww my fantasy was just getting good even my fantasy can't hold it together around y/n. I finished up my shower and headed to my room getting dressed and grabbing my stuff for work, heading downstairs seeing breakfast in the table for my mum and dad.

I grabbed some toast and a couple strawberries before giving my mum a kiss and my dad a hug

"Bye mum, bye dad. I'm off to work"

"What about breakfast?' She asked

"I'll grab a breakfast croissant at work" I told them as I scampered out the door and onto the street, I hurried my way to work having my strawberries and my toast before I got to work zart already here

"Till then trade?" He asks

"Deal" I nodded getting to sit at the counter while he stocked I just served customers felt with the hot food all of it literally just grab packet from box in the freezer but in heat lamp, or roller or whatever and just serve when ordered. We were busy for a while people heading off places grabbing snacks and breakfast stuff but of course by like nine it became a ghost town so I stocked all the hot food up, filled all the packaging bins, checked we had any deliveries and just sat in my chair listening to the hot roll roller whine in that way it always has.

I sighed trying to keep myself awake as even zart was now just checking slushie machines bored with little else to do

"Hi newt" I glanced up and immediately fell of my chair "oh god! Are you okay?'

I quickly got to my feet "hi y/n!"

"Hi" 

"I wasn't doing anything so I fought I'd come and visit you" She smiled

"Awww that's sweet" I blushed "It is nice to see you,"

"Great, I'll grab a slushie and be right back" she smiled 

When she picked out her slushie and came back we stood chatting for what felt like hours, but every so often serving the few customers that had come through, we chatted about everything and nothing about movies, shows, music, musicals and all sorts of other stuff but I couldn't help my smile unable to remove it from my face so much my cheeks hurt 

"I uhh I I'm sorry y/n, I wish we could keep chatting but my shift is almost over"

"Ohh well, I'd be happy to walk you home if you let me?"

"ughh- if you sure yeah, I uhh I don't want to be any trouble though," I told her 

"It's no trouble"

"I don't want you to go out of your way"

"It's okay I'm not doing anything, Unless you'd rather-"

"No no I want to I just don't want to be any trouble for you, I'd love to walk home with you." I smiled "Let me uhh just grab my stuff" 

I grabbed my stuff and headed out with y/n, we walked side by side down the street chatting about next week when we would start rehearsals for the musical together until we got to the outside of my house. 

"So this is me" I smiled 

"Ohh I hoped the walk would be a little longer"

"Yeah, me too. sorry for not living so far away" I smiled even if the moment I said it I realized how stupid it sounded 

"That's okay, maybe after rehearsals, you could walk me home?"

"Ohh yeah, absolutely I'd love too!" 

"I'll plan it in then" she smiled "I'll let you go I've talked your ear off enough"

"It's no problem, I love getting to chat with you but I should probably go. Unless you'd like to stay you're more than welcome"

"Awww thank you but I promised my dad I'd be home for dinner, He's making chicken pot pie"

"Ohh, I uhh I love chicken pot pie"

"Awww I'll have to have a word with him then maybe he can make it for both of us in a week or two"

"Yeah, that sounds nice."

"Ohh here, I forgot to give you this yesterday" she smiled getting a little sticky note from her pocket with a cute flowery border 

"what is it?"

"My number, so we can chat about rehearsals and all" She blushed

"Ohh yeah right course. I uhh I'll text you tonight"

"Great, Guess I'll see you at class Monday"

"yeah, are uhh are you busy Monday night? I thought maybe we could run lines?"

"Sorry cheer practice."

"It's okay don't worry about it"

"I'll see if I can get out a little early, just for you"

"That's sweet of you" I smiled 

and In a wave of confidence, I moved closer and gave her cheek a gentle kiss over almost as soon as it started and I turned as bright red as a rose but she smiled widely 

"What was that for?" she asks 

"to uhhh to pay you back for the one yesterday" I blushed

"That's very sweet newt" she blushed moving closer and rubbing her nose on mine I smiled so widely rubbing my nose on hers too "I'll see you Monday" she smiled moving back and heading off down the street

"Yeah see you Monday" I gleamed trying not to get teary where I was just so insanely happy 

"But I'll hear from you tonight?"

"You will, I'll text you I promise"

"You better" she waved 

and just before she disappeared completely I blew her a kiss and she happily blew me one back.

I scampered inside shutting the door and leaning my back against it but my knees went weak and I slid down until my butt hit the welcome mat tears of joy flooding down my face as I hugged the little note close to my chest 

"You alright?" My dad asks sitting in the kitchen with a coffee clearly just watched me do all that 

"I'm fine dad." I smiled "Y/n walked me home"

"Ohhh I see." he nods 

#tbs smut #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #tmr series #tmr au #tmr fandom #newt tmr #tmr newt imagines #tmr newt fanfic #tmr newt imagine #tmr newt #tmr newt smut #newt maze runner #maze runner newt #newt #newt imagines #newt imagine #tdc newt smut #newt smut au #newt smut

[lettrespromises]

PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin. 

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other. 

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told. 

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary. 

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds. 

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk. 

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself. 

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get. 

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen. 

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence. 

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire. 

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.” 

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect. 

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

 “You won’t need that, will you, love?”  He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet. 

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs. 

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids. 

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs. 

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier. 

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it. 

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank. 

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen. 

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic. 

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess. 

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper. 

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.  

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

 With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length. 

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world. 

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

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[bluejaytaco]

What up? it DND wit Jay!

(We return to the realm where we are standing in front of a giant gold gate. There's a dwarf standing in front of it with a clip board in their hand, just flipping through.)

Alabaster: (walks up) H-Hail and well met, my friend.

Dwarf: Names?

Alabaster: Oh! Um, I'm fine.

Dwarf, flipping through his clipboard: Fine.... Fine.... Nope, not seeing any "fine" here.

Art: (Walks up)....What about Ebony?

Dwarf, flipping through: Uh, yeah. We got an "ebony".... He's an orc. And considering none of you are Orcs, I doubt any of you are Ebony.

Art: Uh, that's racist.

Theodora:... Quite a detailed guest list...

Koejin: (Walks up and points at a random name) That's me.

Dwarf, looks down at the name: Your Grenadine Ceriph? High priestess in Calor? (Context: Calor is a Tiefling city. Koejin is human... well... was)

Koejin: Yeah, that's me.

Dwarf, getting sick of us: Look, I don't have tie for you people messing... (looks up at Koejin and goes silent).... You're not supposed to be here. This isn't your realm.

Koejin: Uhhh... Well, I have business with the man in charge.

Dwarf: I'm gonna have to call Pelor.

The entire group: (various ways of saying, "You do that" From "yes, please do" to "yeah, get that fucking bitch here! I wanna speak to the manager!")

Dwarf, mumbling into a sending stone before looking back at us: Is one of you named Theodora?

Theodora: Uhh.... Yeah.

Dwarf: You guys can go in. That's all I needed because now I know your names. But thanks for lying to me!

(The gates open and we all walk through. It's less blinding, but only slightly less on the other side of the gate. We see people walking around and just enjoying their afterlife. In the far off distance, there is a silhouette of a giant castle. We can also see the opening to a large garden where Pelor is standing with his arms crossed. Some of us see Alabaster's daughter, Eris, stomping on the flowers.)

Pelor, voice booming towards us: Everyone, front and center!

(All of us go with different levels of reluctance. Hennessy leads the way while Art and Jaquine kinda trail back.)

Pelor: So, what is it you need from me? (He's still standing over us while Eris continues to stamp through the flowers.)

(For a moment, we're all silent.)

Theodora: We want to speak to Thia.

Pelor: Thia is not in a place to speak. She is in my castle now, practicing her abilities for the Cleanse.

Hennessy: Is she okay? You don't have her locked up somewhere, hurt, right?

Pelor: Hennessy, my dear boy. Would you lock up a tiger in a small cage? No, you would respect the animal. Thia is in a place of comfort and has free reign.

Hennessy: She's got free reign? So she can go smoke in every room of the castle?! Even your room?!

Pelor: uhh....yes...

Hennessy: Ohh that just won't do. That smell of recreational drugs gets into the fibers and it can be a bitch to get out.

Pelor, suddenly giving off the impression he would like to hurry this along so he could go clean: It doesn't matter. She is my key to cleansing the world and making it all light. And I can save you all, if you kneel before me and accept me as your true god.

(No one kneels but Hennessy does raise an eyebrow at the "kneel" comment.)

Koejin: So how do you promise our safety.

Pelor: Well, you are excluded from this. Your friends, however, are protected because my followers will all survive.

Art: Don't you need the dark to have the light?

Pelor:... You would think that. Ticket Master would have you think that. And you, specifically, reek of him.

Art: Uh, rude?

Pelor: You know what he wants, don't you? He wants me dead so he can be the god of light. His best friend being the god of darkness would mean the two of them would take over everything. The two of them would rule all.

(Art was trying really hard to not say how he didn't see this as a bad thing, considering his bias. But somehow, as everyone was arguing against the cleanse, it was returned to the subject of Art and Ticket Master.)

Pelor: I think we've had quite enough of this talk.

Art: Yeah, let's stop talking about Ticket Master and the guy who may or may not have had sex with him.

(Pelor reacted in disgust which just turned into Art shouting "Sex with Ticket Master!" at the god of light. The tiefling was really aiming to make the god throw up.)

Koejin, joining in: There were definitely tentacles involved!

Art: Lots of tentacles! Sooooo many tentacles!!!

Pelor: Enough! All of you! (grabs Eris by the hair) If none of you will take this seriously, there is no longer a reason to speak with you.

Eris, punching at the hand: Let go! (turns to Alabaster) Daddy! I don't wanna go!

(They walk through a wall made of marble that Hennessy tries to reach through to grab for Eris. He just barely pulls his hand back before the wall solidifies again and he loses his hand.)

Vincent, rushing up to Hennessy: What did you think you were doing?!

Hennessy: The girl didn't want to go with the man! And when the girl doesn't wanna go, you don't let her go!

Vincent: You're gonna make such a great dad!

(behind the garden and before the castle there was a massive labyrinth. We walked up to see two different entrances. Koejin ends up smelling something familiar but can't really pick where it's coming from.)

Art: Hmmm (turns to Red) think you can turn into a dragon and fly up? maybe we can see where to go.

Red, not all that enthused by the idea: Uhh, yeah, I guess. Step back.

(Everyone stands back to give her enough room to transform. She flies up to the edge of the maze, but once her talons hit the edge, they shoot up another hundred feet and knock her back down.)

Red, turns back into her base form and glares at everyone: Well, that didn't help!

Art: (shrugging) well, my plans aren't ever without fault.

(Hennessy casts detect magic and, aside from nearly having his brain explode from all the god magic around, he discovers on direction is dark magic while the other is light.

We end up going towards the dark side because we figure that's where Thia might be hiding.)

(First stop is a room with a sword in a stone. Hennessy can sense that the magic is dark, but it isn't the source.)

Koejin: (climbs up and pulls the sword from the stone and holds it up in the air. She then hears the sounds of us screaming in agony.)

What we see: Koejin pulling the sword out and standing with it like she's posing.

Art: Uhhh.... what is happening?

Theodora: Koejin? You okay?

Koejin vision! Art: (melting away and falling apart) You killed us!!!!

Koejin vision! Theodora: (Also melting) You let us dieeeee!!!!

Koejin, turning to see all this: No! No, I saved Art's life so many times! (Turns to Theodora) I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

Art: Koejin.... we're fine!

Koejin: (runs up to start trying to put Art's face back together. To everyone else, she'd just smooshing his face while still holding the sword.)

Theodora: (dispels the magic from the sword and a little imp pops free)

Koejin: (can now see that everyone's okay and it still just kinda groping Art's face.)

Art:....uh, Koejin?

Koejin: Yeah.... sorry. You were melting just now.

(We talk to the little imp briefly to find that he is a prisoner in the maze. He asks if he's free to go but as soon as he does, he's struck by lightning.)

(We continue down the path for a little bit before Koejin figures out that we're going the wrong way because she can no longer smell the "smelly smell that smells." In that time, Hennessy incinerated some talking furniture which the DM disappointedly let us know that we wouldn't be seeing the IKEA Lich. I have a feeling the IKEA Lich might pop up in a future one shot.

But also, we got this exchange.)

Theodora: (casts a spell in attempt to sober Koejin.)

Koejin: (starts screaming as her skin starts to burn) Stop!

Theodora: (stops immediately) I... I was just trying to help..

Koejin: I'm the God of intemperance, Theodora! You can't just sober me up!

Theodora: What?!

(This starts into a fight about how this isn't the weirdest thing we've been through while she continues to talk about how she wasn't expecting to hear her daughter was a god.)

Red: If I may, I can see where Theodora is coming from here. Be it the weirdest thing or not, finding out your child is involved in some affair with the gods can be surprising. (Shoots a look at Art) Like your son being intimately involved with a tentacle monster god.

Art:.... you weren't supposed to know about that....

Red: You were shouting about it just before while I was standing there.

Art:... right..... forgot you were there....

Red: Either way; something for us to talk about later, Sweetie.

Art rolling his eyes, sarcastically: But Mother, I love him.

((Koejin's Player: And I have to remember to write proper notes about what everyone knows and doesn't know.

DM: Eh, it's all out now))

(We head from the dark part to the light part and find ourselves walking down a hall for hours. It gets to the point where Mrs. Red starts to complain.)

Red: Ugh... when is this fucking thing going to end? Doesn't anyone have a way to move this along faster?

Art: It's going to feel like longer if you keep bitching.

Red: I don't even wanna be here!

Theodora: None of us want to be here!

Art, agreeing: Yeah, and yet, here we are! So, how about you shut your mouth for a bit while we figure out how to get home and make sure there's even a "home" to go back to!

Red:.... Actually, Art. Considering that, I think this might be a good time for you and I to talk....

(Art is pulled off to the side by Mrs. Red, Reita following. Theodora tries to usher everyone a respectful distance away to try and ensure privacy. She does her best, but pretty much everyone is still eavesdropping.)

Red: I know I haven't been the best mother... In fact, I might be the worst... But know that I will try to make this all better and I'm just looking for your forgiveness.

Art:.... you might remember us as a nice, happy little family, but let me tell you what I remember.

Koejin: You tell her, Art!

Art, ignoring her and pretending he doesn't know people are listening: ....you slicing off Reita's face, blowing up Thia's bar, threatening the lives of my friends, destroying the lives of countless different people; I could go on! You barely get to claim the title "mother!"

Red: I did what I thought was best!

Art: You entrusted your children to the God of Death and Deceit!

Red: I didn't do that! (long pause)....I did do that.

Art: Yeah, you did. So, this is how things are gonna go. We're going to go through here and make sure there's a world to get back to, we're going to go to Calor and you are going to fix this. Then we can talk about forgiveness.

Red: ....That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about. I would love... to return to our people. I know I'm a tiefling, but I still feel the rage... of a red dragon. Someone would need to take care of our people.

Art:.... the people that treated me like a pariah....

Vincent, butting in: Like Hell I'm gonna let that happen! (storms over to them and looks at Art) Look Art, I'm willing to admit you are not evil. But do you really think you can run Calor? As soon as everything gets hard you run away! Hell, you abandoned your own sister-

Reita, with a surprising amount of clarity: He didn't... abandon me. He thought I was dead.

(The remaining three tieflings turn and look at her.)

Reita: And you're not exactly one to talk; you created weapons for a tyrant and turned a blind eye to the problems in Calor. We've all done things we regret, but we learn and grow from them. How can you stand there and judge him from running from a bad situation when he was a kid? Hypocrite (shoves a slug into her mouth)

Art, smiling and a little misty-eyed: I'm so proud of you! (hugs Reita)

Reita: Uhhh, yeah. Sure.... (doesn't push him away, though)

Red:.... You're not supposed to be talking like that... how are you doing that?

Art, pulling away: Yeah, that was going to be the next part. You feeling okay?

Reita, shrugging: I feel good.... Like, really good.

Red: (grabs Reita and rips open the back of her cloak to see the stone in her spine is not glowing) This.... this isn't working. It should be working.

Art:....We should keep moving. Put a pin in this for now.

(We keep moving ahead with different twists and turns leading into random encounters. One of which is a growing garden gnome that we put Wreybar on top of so she could see over the walls. She tries to say what she sees, but speaks in a way only Wreybar understands.)

Theodora: Okay, but now how are we gonna get her down?

Red: I could probably fly up an-

Wreybar, jumping: Catch me!

Hennessy: (rushes to cast feather fall on her.)

(She floats down and lands nicely on the ground as we hear Thia's booming voice "Giant garden gnome? Goodbye giant garden gnome!" And the gnome just vanishes.)

(Wreybar starts talking in her gibberish and Koejin asks for a translator. Reita steps in and kneels down to her, nodding along by what she's saying.)

Reita: Wreybar says there's a latter coming out of a hole on the other side. It's right next to the castle. How do you guys not get that, she was speaking clearly.

Theodora: Maybe to you. Not all of us can speak Wreybar.

(We ended up getting into a few more shannanigans. At one point, Art attempted to use mislead in attempt to move through faster only to have Reita get impatient and run ahead. Art and Reita had a quick little spat about that along the lines of "by the time we find her, she'll have destroyed everything already!" "We can't find her at all if we're dead! No running ahead!" There was also a bit with Hennessy and Koejin teleporting out of the maze where they met a murder horse and a weird inky blob creature.

At that point the latter was the literally the next turn. But possibly the worst moment.)

DM: You guys come to a dead end. The smell is still coming from over it.

Koejin: Shit....

(We all check the wall to find no traps. But then... Alabaster touches it and a had grabs hold of him. It pulls itself out with his resistance and Alabaster is looking at a marble version of... himself.)

Alabaster: O-oh! Hail and well met... uh, me!

M! Alabaster: Oh! Hail and Well Met! How are you, my fine friend?

Alabaster: I'm quite well, thank you! How... who are you?

M! Alabaster: Oh, I am what remains of you. The you left behind when you left the Pelor faith!

Alabaster: Oh, I see.

M!Alabaster: Have you killed your daughter?

Alabaster: oh, no. That is.... no longer apart of the plan.

M! Alabaster: (grabs hold of Alabaster) I will do it then. I will kill your daughter. She is born of darkness, thus she must die!

(Everyone around him tenses up, but he somehow knows if he looks away, the creature will fade from his sight and go to kill Eris. He can only stare at it to hold it in place.)

Alabaster: (puts his hand to the copy's mouth and uses Create or Destroy Water)

M!Alabaster: (starts to crack and burst under the pressure. The amount of water forced inside kills the creature.)

((Create or destroy water has been a running gag in the campaign. It's been used a few times, but nothing really dark. Not like this.))

Alabaster:....(Still holding his marble copy with a stunned look.)

Art:....(walks up and pats him on the arm) You did what you had to do... Eris is safe now.

Theodora, nodding: Think of it as... you made the right choice.

Alabaster: (nods to both of them and closes the creatures eyes)

Koejin:.... we should destroy it. Just in case.

(They then proceed to break the thing into dust and we continued on our way.)

( We found the latter that brought us up to the castle. As we walk around to the entrance, Pelor stands by the door with his arms crossed.)

Pelor:.... what are you trying to accomplish here? Do you really think you can stop any of this?

Theodora: We're here to talk to Thia. Where's Thia?

Pelor, sighing: Look, last chance before I wipe you out of existence; kneel before me or leave my land and accept your fates.

Red, arms crossed(as is usual for her): Yeah, I'm not one for bowing to people. People bow to me.

Pelor: This goes for all for all of you?

(All of us agree. There will be no bowing.)

Pelor:....then so be it.

(Before he can move in to fight us, he is turned inside out and sucked into a little stone. Thia then drifts down, takes the stone, and crushes it.)

Art: ....hi, Thia....

Thia, glaring: Shut up, Art.

Art, nodding: Hmmm, mhm.

Thia: (turns to Theodora) Go home, Theodora.

(for a moment, her powers work on Theodora, but all of us stop her. This turns into a conversation about why the wipe is unnecessary. Koejin leads the conversation, then turned and asked for someone more "charisma based" to lead.

Art couldn't speak. Probably for the best. He and Thia have never really gotten along.)

Theodora: If you wipe out all existence, we won't be learning from our mistakes. Everything will end up being repeated! The war will be repeated!

Thia: Not if I don't allow free will.

Theodora: And then what is life? that's not a world; that's a simulation.

Thia:... better that than allowing a kid to grow up in the woods all alone.

Theodora:.... Thia, we can make this world better. Create a place where something like that doesn't happen. But this.... this isn't the way.

Thia:....Do all of you agree? Should I.... give up my power?

(This was a major turning point in the story. Because this is where the end boss was decided. And we told Thia to give up her power.)

Thia, nodding: Alright... let's go back home. No reason to strand ourselves here. (she opens a portal)

(We walk through to find ourselves in the tavern Thia owns. She wills away her power, but it's no big ta-do.)

Koejin: Did it work?

Thia:.... I don't know.... Art, give me some money.

Art:..... no....

Koejin: It worked!

(We all celebrate before we all notice the portal hasn't closed. When we turn and look, we see Pelor's face.... on Ticket Master's body. He throws it away like a mask and grins at us.)

Ticket Master: Guess who's the new God of Light? (smiles and waves as the portal closes)

(Outside, we hear loud banging. When we run out, we can see darkness and light bouncing off of each other before they begin to swirl and spread. They head for us.)

Theodora: (hears the voice of Bahamut and an open blue portal) Everyone! We have to go!

(Everyone dives into the portal. Art takes a moment before diving in with the group.)

(There will be one last session and we can all really feel it now. I'm kinda sad that Ticket Master is now the BBEG, but we all saw that coming. There's just a lot to figure out here.)

#adventures of art the bard #tiefling #dnd #dnd bard #dnd barbarian #dnd druid #dnd paladin #dnd cleric #dnd ranger #dnd wizard #homebrew gods #dnd gods #Art and Reita had a Blitzo and Loona moment and I don't think it was on purpose #That contract on Art and Wreybar's gonna screw them #Well... also Art's gonna be kinda heartbroken by all this #I'm feeling bad for my boy if you can't tell #shut up jay

[kylorengarbagedump]

No Accounting for Taste (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

Word Count: 7100 (oops)

Warnings: Literally everything. This is NSFL. Rape, verbal abuse, literal torture, graphic violence, death. This is a Red Room fic.

Characters: Kylo Ren x (Fat!)Reader A/N: Hello, and welcome to the actual Worst Thing I've Ever Written. I went through this for a few reasons--one, just to prove to myself that I could, two, out of spite, and three, to gift this work to my beautiful friend @daddyrenn / @rosalinaballerina. She has listened to and supported me for like, years now, which is crazy, and I realized I never wrote her anything to thank her. So, here ya go, cupcake. I love you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this.

I also hope that whoever else enjoys gross nasty shit like this enjoyed it. It was really cathartic for me to write, so, I'm happy to put it out there for anyone else. Love y'all so much! Thank you for all of your support all these years. <3

laetus_lacrimosa: when’s the show starting?

blueeyeswhited: are you new here? he’s always late

laetus_lacrimosa: it’s been 30 minutes already

xwaifusayorix: yup

laetus_lacrimosa: i’m paying how much for some dickhead who’s always late?

mg3453: hopefully not as much as the rest of us

kyloren has logged in.

kyloren: Five minutes. Bidding at .52 btc begins now.

kyloren: Any other complaints will be addressed by me. In person.

kyloren has logged out.

A droplet of water hits your forehead, and your eyes open. The lights are still on, but you are alone. 

The roof is leaking, and not just over your bed, but in several spots across the room. You’re not particularly surprised--you hadn’t paid a fortune for the hostel, but to wake up to cold rain was still not an expected consequence. Sighing, you sit up, wipe your head, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Thankfully, your mattress is entombed in plastic.

Your brain spins. You’d wanted to sleep through the storm, but it doesn’t seem like that will be an option. And you’re not sure if you can manage sitting on your bed, alone, for the next however many hours. The last time you’d tried it, your legs ended up with a bunch of knife-slashes from the three-inch blade you keep in your backpack. The rest of your hostelmates have abandoned you, apparently, but there’s no surprise there. A knot in your throat grows thick. You can’t run away from your inferiority.

Planting your face in your hands, you draw in a deep breath, hoping the air will quell the burgeoning volcano in your chest. They left because you had said you wanted to sleep. That doesn’t mean you’re inherently uninvited from wherever they went. In fact, you could get up and meet them right now, if you wanted. And want you do.

You stand, shaking the jitters out of your fingers, and step through the sleeping quarters to the living area. Under the heavy rhythm of rain, you hear music, like a stereo blasting from inside a wave--and in its direction, flashing, rainbow lights. A party. A grin tugs at the corners of your lips. That didn’t sound like such a bad way to pass the time. Better than sitting in your room, alone. You snatch a hoodie from your bag and slip on your flip flops before darting through the storm, skipping over stone and sloshing in the tiny puddles already pooling in the grass. And after a few hops, you see it, beyond the curtains of rain: a tent, a safehouse by the shore.

By the time you reach it, your grin is erupting into a full smile, laughter eking out of you as you pull the hood off your head. You can’t remember the last time you’d run through the rain. And as the lights splash onto your face, you realize that you can’t remember the last time you’d danced, either. The music is spirited and electric, a classic reggaeton beat under lyrics in a language you don’t understand. Before you know it, you’re sliding further into the tent, looking for familiar faces, your hips rolling to the beat 

You spot a younger woman you’d shared a few light-hearted conversations with this afternoon--she looks totally trashed, but she’s definitely having a good time. Hopefully, being drunk allows her to be even more forgiving of your social awkwardness. But before you reach her, a hand on your shoulder halts you, and you yelp into the noise, whirling around to face the intruder.

“Evening,” he says, sounding as if he’d somehow whispered into your ear from feet away. “Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“Hey, yeah, I did!” You search his face, brow furrowed. It’s a handsome face--hazel eyes, dark hair, full, pink lips--and it’s on top of a tall, muscular frame. But somehow, you don’t remember him. You’re more self-centered than you thought. “I’m so sorry, can you remind me who you are?”

A tight grin crosses his face, and your name rolls off of his tongue in mock-disappointment. “Really? I’m hurt.”

“Aw, no!” Frowning, you latch onto his forearm, trying to placate him. It’s thick and firm in your grip, and a shudder crawls up your spine. “I’m so sorry! I’ve just been… kind of off. Remind me, please!”

Smiling, he tugs you closer, and your cheeks grow hotter. “It’s Kylo.”

You nod. “Ohh, okay! Hi, Kyle!”

“No,” he says, “Ky-lo.”

“What?” Your face twists, and you turn your ear toward him. “Kylo?”

“Yes,” he replies, and his breath brushes your face. “You’ve got it.”

Hiding an idiotic giggle, you inch back. “This is kind of cool, huh?” What you can’t hide is how your gaze travels his body. All he has on are black jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his thick chest and arms. Fuck, he’s built. “I mean, uh, the party.”

“The what?”

You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting over the music. “The party!”

“It is.”

Kylo stands there, staring, his eyes like voids, absorbing every flash of color in the tent. Under his gaze, your heart throbs, and in the back of your skull, the reptilian bit of your brain catches flame, screaming. But you can’t figure out what it’s telling you. Is it to run? Or to stay?

“Let’s dance,” he says, and barely waits for your nod before he curls one of his large, strong hands around yours and spins your back against his chest. Now you are on fire, your hips rocking with his, your face ready to melt when he leans his lips close to your ear. “Have you ever been to El Salvador before?”

“No!” Heat courses through you when you realize how loud you’ve been. The black-sand beaches of El Salvador weren’t your first choice for a runaway destination. But they happened to fit the three primary criteria: cheap, secluded, and U.S. dollar-friendly. Squeezing his hand, you tilt your head. “I mean, um, no.”

“Really? I come here all the time.”  Kylo tugs you closer. The air seems thicker, now. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think so too.” Your palm is slippery, and you adjust your grip again.

Kylo’s mouth scrapes the shell of your ear. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

Silent, you nod.

He leads you through the rain back to the hostel, through the living area and into the sleep quarters. You wait by the doorway as he saunters over to his bag, his shirt sticking to the rippling muscles in his back. Holding a sigh, you chew your lip. Kylo reaches into his backpack and pulls out a wine bottle--it’s wrapped and corked, brand-new--and urges you over with a nod. Lizard-brain wailing, you oblige.

“Where are you from?” Kylo is peeling the foil from the bottleneck while he speaks.

You glance at your feet. “The States.”

“Mhm.” The foil floats to the floor. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“What?” Head snapping up, you meet his gaze. It’s empty. “No, no. Not at all. What?”

“I meant where in the States.” His fist is tight around the wine. “Given your accent, though--New Jersey?”

“Philadelphia.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks.

“Really,” he says. “Say w-a-t-e-r.”

Your lips twist into a mock-frown. “Wuder.”

Something twitches on his face. A grin, you think. “Right.” Kylo twists the cork, easing it free. “What does your family think of you traveling alone?”

“Oh.” Your thoughts tangle. For some reason, you want to lie. “They, uh, they’re okay with it.”

“Hm.” A pause, and he locks you in his stare again. “They don’t know, do they?”

“Um…”  A swift twist and tug, and the cork pops out. You flinch. “No,” you admit. “They don’t.”

Kylo shrugs. “No shame in that.” He sits on the bed, beckoning you with a nod. “Sit. Have a drink.”

You gnaw your lip again, looking at your backpack. You consider grabbing your knife, just in case. He’s incredibly fucking hot, and you’d love nothing more than to hop on what you are sure is his massive dick, but something about it seems wrong. But you aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is real discomfort, or your own fucked-up brain working to deny anything good might ever happen to you.

“I don’t know… Something seems weird about a strange drink from a strange man.”

Kylo smirks. “You saw me open it. And besides…” He pauses to take a long swig, the knot in his throat bobbing with each gulp, and then pulls off with a short gasp. You find yourself wanting to swallow, too. “I hope that’s satisfactory.”

Sweat beads at your nape. “Uh…” Shrugging, you shuffle over and sit next to him. He radiates heat. After the rain, that seems particularly inviting. “Sure. Why not.”

You wet your lips and tip the edge of the bottle into your mouth, the lukewarm liquid spilling out. It’s tart and dry with a lingering salty tang, and you wince as you swallow, smacking your tongue against your palate. You pause for a moment, waiting for the inevitable wooziness and unconsciousness to hit--but they don’t. Maybe he isn’t full of shit. Warmth ebbs through you, and you look over at him, holding out the wine.

“Weird taste. What is that?”

His eyes scan your figure. “You didn’t like it.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. “That isn’t it. It’s just weird and salty. I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Hm.” Kylo blinks, gaze flitting to the bottle, then back to you. He takes it from you and has another drink, imitating you by smacking his tongue. “That’s what it is.” He does it again. “You’re aerating it. Don’t do that.”

You raise a brow. “Really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

He presents the bottle. “Try it.”

Pouting, you grab it, taking a long, slow drink, and pull off, fighting the urge to--how did it he put it?--aerate. But you still taste salt. Your brow furrows, and you look at him. The sirens in the back of your head are deafening, now, and you swallow, fingers starting to tremble. You glance at the wine, but the label is in Spanish.

“Um, hey, so… what… what is this? This wine?”

Kylo’s blank gaze meets yours. “Oh. Right. I forgot you asked.”

“Yeah. I did.” Your heart slams against your ribcage.

“It’s gammahydroxybutyrate.”

Shaking your head, you play it over in your head. “Gammahydro--what? What? Kylo--” You reach for him, but you miss. “What the fuck?”

He is flat. “Ecstasy.”

The next thing you remember is hitting the floor.

Darkness is torn from your face, and a matrix of light blinds you, pain leaking from you in gasps as your ears are swallowed by a shrieking whine. Groaning, you shift, attempting to jerk away from the brightness beyond your lids, but your arms stall, your body rocking into the chair. Wait--the chair? You kick, but your legs strain against the bonds around your calves. Wincing, you bow your head, waiting for the ringing in your skull to die before you even try to remember what the hell happened. Then, shade, interrupting the assault on your eyes, cooling your skin for a brief moment. A grunt escapes you; your lids flutter open. 

Light is a halo around shadow, the figure in front of you the shape of a man, if men are shaped how you remember. Your vision is water, the sound dull, like you’ve been plunged into a shallow tub. But as it clears, you make out details. He is tall, broad, muscled, wearing… black. A black tank top, black leather pants, black boots, all melting in the murky slime of your brain. The one detail you can’t discern is his face--because it is obscured by a mask. Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

“What? What are you talking about?” You want to shout, but every bit of effort you make to speak or move is tripled against the weight of your scrambling consciousness. “Let me go. Please. What the fuck is happening?”

He is silent. Your gaze darts around the room--the floor is dirt, the walls are blank, and there isn’t a single window that you can see. To your right, a large, flat screen displays text… lines of it, you think, discussing something. A chatroom. You see one of the names--kyloren--and your blood turns to ice.

El Salvador. The wine. Ecstasy.

Kylo.

Before you can speak, your gaze catches the lines on the screen moving, talking. And they’re talking about you.

laetus_lacrimosa: i love how fucking scared she looks

blueeyeswhited: it’s awesome. she has no idea what’s about to happen

gawinulim11490: what are the limits?

mg3453: are you serious?

xwaifusayorix: lol

Your stomach lurches, and Kylo moves, the light burning your vision again. You squint while your pupils adjust, and see that he’s walked to a terminal where a camera and laptop are arranged. The acid in your belly roars like a wave, eroding your esophagus and singeing the back of your throat, and your chin quivers, quakes resonating to your toes. Fighting your fear, you overcompensate, instead, and glare at the camera, hocking a thick wad of mucus and spitting it at your captor. It falls short, a glob in the dirt. Kylo doesn’t seem to even notice, but the chatroom has.

blueeyeswhited: she’s an animal

gawinulim11490: like every other female who doesn’t get her way. strip them of their privileges and they resort to this.

xwaifusayorix: lmao are you an incel

kyloren: Bidding begins at .29 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

As he types this, the screen explodes with chatter. From what you can tell, there are five people in this room, watching you. Bidding on something. They spit out different numbers, trying to one-up each other in a value you don’t recognize. .88 btc, 1.46, 2.19. The integers climb and climb.

laetus_lacrimosa: 2.93 to strip her and cut her fucking nipples off.

xwaifusayorix: oh shit 

mg3453: yeah i withdraw, i wanna see that lol

Breath flies out of you, and you choke. “What? What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

No other person speaks.

kyloren: 2.19 btc to watch. Beginning now.

Kylo clicks something, and the chatroom changes. One, two, three of the people who had been in the previous room appear in this one. Kylo appears to adjust the camera pointed at you and turns, pulling a knife from his belt.

You whip your head back and forth, straining at your bonds, toes digging into the dirt, hips twisting to rock the chair. “No, please, stop, what are you doing. Please stop. Kylo, or whatever your name is. Please don’t do this. Please--”

He doesn’t appear to respond, but grabs the back of the chair, stilling it while he slides the knife underneath your shirt. The metal is ice on your skin, and you shiver, whimpering as tears blur your vision. You can’t stop your chin from trembling, your heart from wanting to explode out of your chest. Kylo turns the blade to the ceiling and rips, standing to the side so the camera catches when your belly, chest, and breasts are uncovered. Noise wants to escape you, but it doesn’t--you can only whisper as the tip of the knife shreds the hem of your top.

“Please… please stop…”

If he is moved in any way by your display, his only reaction is to tear the fabric to the side, making sure the entirety of your torso is exposed for the three strangers watching you on camera. Snot slips out of your nose, and you whimper, a chill washing over you. Kylo stares at you--or at least, you think he is. The inability to identify any hint of humanity from his facade makes your blood run faster.

The pause is only brief, however. He grabs the chair again, and slips the tip of his knife underneath your shorts. You want to struggle, but the threat of a blade against your belly paralyzes your limbs. All you do is sob while slices open the front of your shorts, digging the knife into the fabric of your crotch until the mound of your pussy peeks out. You thank your stars that you’re fat enough that your belly sits on top of your thighs, but Kylo sighs.

“I forgot how fucking fat you were.”

Growling, he takes the knife and rips open the hems on your sides, tearing the fabric away so that your front is now completely naked to the camera. After that, he bends forward, working at the bonds at your feet, and for a moment, there is a tease of relief. The ropes--or zipties, or something, you can’t tell--come off, and your heart roars with adrenaline. You pitch forward, attempting to leap up, but the chair only squeaks, and Kylo’s head snaps toward you.

“Fuck you!” With a shriek, you try to drive a heel into his shoulder, but he snatches your ankle in a large, gloved hand, and before you even move your other leg, that one is seized, his strength so overpowering that you wilt in his grip, collapsing against the chair.

You realize that was his goal, now, all along, while he spreads your legs wider, revealing your cunt to the camera. Another sob wells up in your chest, and you wiggle in protest, feeling helpless as he rebinds you to the chair. Under his breath, you hear him laughing.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “It’s so much easier when you behave.”

“Fuck you.” Your breath shudders in your chest. “Please stop.”

Through your tears, you glance over at the chat--and immediately wish you hadn’t.

blueeyeswhited: christ she’s so fucking disgusting--her body is a fucking mess. has anyone ever actually fucked that? lmfao

mg3453: her tits are fucking embarrassing. she’s in her 20s and they’re already sagging to her pussy

gawinulim11490: are you kidding. her tits have looked like that since she was a teenager. her body is just fucked up.

laetus_lacrimosa: females actually do this to themselves

The terror and anguish inside of you boils, and you glance over at Kylo. You see nothing but a silhouette of darkness.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” You’re spitting, now, snot and saliva soaring from your face. “You’re all sick pieces of shit! Fucking sick misogynistic pieces of shit!”

xwaifusayorix: LMFAO

blueeyeswhited: “misogynist” is she a fucking feminist LOL

gawinulim11490: yes she is, but she doesn’t know the first thing about it. she’s a fucking idiot.

You hate that person in particular. They seem to know you. They talk about you like they’re an expert. You glare at the camera.

“Fuck you, whoever you are. I swear to god, when I get out of here, you will fucking pay for this!”

xwaifusayorix: lol

mg3453: well it makes sense that she looks like that now if she’s a feminist

laetus_lacrimosa: cutting off her nipples will be an improvement

Out of the corner of your eye, Kylo moves toward you, and you snarl. “Fuck you. Don’t even come near me.”

“You have no choice in that matter.”

He tosses the knife, catching it by the handle, and grips the chair again. Heart in your throat, you cry out, thrashing against your bindings, muscles tensing and untensing as words and spit fly, unfiltered.

“Please! Please, fuck no! Don’t do this! Don’t fucking do this Kylo please fuck don’t do this! Please!”

Underneath the mask, you hear a low, quiet laugh. Kylo stands behind you, steadies the chair against his body, and grabs one of your tits, pulling the skin of your areola taut. Your breath is rapid, drool streaming out of your mouth as you scream again, begging him to spare you. He brings the knife to your flesh, and you thrash, trying to slam your head back into his hips, hoping to knock him off balance.

Grunting, he crushes your breast in his hand, making you squeak. “Might not be smart to struggle while I have a knife so close to your chest.”

Face crumpling, you release a shuddering whine, tensing as you watch the knife pierce your flesh.

Searing pain streaks through your nerves, echoing in your fingers and toes, and you screech, throwing your head back in broken sobs while cuts through the layers of skin. A warm fluid spills down your abdomen, pooling in the crevices of your thighs and dripping onto the floor. Your teeth pinch your lower lip, lids shut tight as he carves through you, jolts of hot pain hitting you with each millimeter of skin removed. You can’t decide if you want to go to sleep or wake up.

Your breast flops against your stomach as the last bit of your flesh is removed, and you hear him toss it onto the ground. The thought of opening your eyes makes your stomach turn, but you find yourself cracking open a lid.

Blood has painted you in crimson buckets, and the fleeting pace of your heart is only making it pump out faster. Gasping, you feel faint, and close your eyes again, focusing on your breath, hoping to slow your heart rate so you don’t bleed out. Your entire body is pulsating, and you are trembling--you don’t want to go into shock, either.

Kylo clutches your other breast, tweaking your nipple in his fingers. Another laugh rumbles under the mask, and he cuts into your skin once more. The pain is duller, this time, your adrenaline still spiked and your brain focused on keeping calm. Yet you feel like a fish, filleted live on television, strands of hanging skin snipped and ripped from you, and you are bathing in warm fluid pumping from your own heart. Your second breast drops, and you groan, dizzy. It’s a lot of blood, leaving you--you don’t even need to look.

“That’s an issue,” says Kylo. His voice sounds filtered through water.

You hear rustling, and then the flicking of something--a lighter--and your lids pop open. Dread sinks into your bones when you watch him wipe his knife on his pants and hold it over an open flame. Whinging, you shake your head, the tears coming again.

“No, no, no no no…” You heave, swallowing vomit. “Please, no, no, we can do a tourniquet or something, please, no no no…”

“You’d rather bleed out?” His voice is dull, even under the modulator. “Besides,” he says, spinning the knife over the lighter. “We need you awake for every part of this. Otherwise it isn’t any fun.”

Vomit threatens again, but you swallow, shuddering. “Fuck you.”

Kylo releases the lighter and moves forward. Before you can even protest, he presses the flat end of the blade against your wound, and you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks, shivers wracking your body as blinding pain whites your vision. A sob crawls out, and then another, and another, before you are heaving, drooling, and wailing in desperation. You try to breathe, but can’t, gasping and whining for air--and you finally vomit, hurling onto your chest, the rest bubbling out down your chin in an acidic burble.

“Stop. Stop, please,” you wheeze. “Please, just stop.” A rare breath fills your lungs, and you cough. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The weight of his gaze heavy on your frame as he re-heats the knife over the flame. “Because someone paid someone to pay me.” He steps forward and cauterizes your other wound, and you screech again, agony wracking you as your skin sizzles and pops under the heat. The smell of burnt flesh permeates. You want to vomit again.

Finished, Kylo wipes the knife on his pants again and puts it back into the sheath on his belt. You are quaking with terror and pain, sweat has drenched your lower back and hair, and you are still trying to focus on your breath. Kylo clicks something at his terminal, the rest of the voyeurs are back in the chat.

blueeyeswhited: holy shit she looks fucked up

laetus_lacrimosa: dumb fat bitch lol

mg3453: this is exactly what all these commie cunts deserve

gawinulim11490: don’t compliment her by insinuating she knows anything about being a communist.

xwaifusayorix: lmao shit

Your head is spinning. Is that it? With the bidding done, are you just going to be tossed out like this? Maybe he won’t even let you go.

“Kylo, please…”

Then, he types.

kyloren: Bidding open again. Starting at 2.93 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

mg3453: 2.93 to shut her up. rape her mouth and make her vomit again

blueeyeswhited: nice

gawinulim11490: he’ll rape her?

xwaifusayorix: lmao cuck

laetus_lacrimosa: he’ll do anything--he’s a monster

kyloren: Going once.

gawinulim11490: i’ll double it. 5.86 btc to rape every disgusting hole. choke her. make her lick cum off the floor. remind her how repulsive she is.

Your heart sinks into your gut. Your mouth is dry.

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

kyloren: 5.24 to watch. Beginning now.

The chatroom changes in the same way it had before, only now all five people who had been in the chat before slowly join. After the last person appears, Kylo turns, pulling the knife out from his belt once more. You can only swallow, staring at him with pleading, wet eyes, hoping that if you seem pathetic enough, he’ll let you go, or spare you, somehow, with any hint of kindness.

When he cuts you free of the chair, you kid yourself into thinking, for a moment, that he’s done just that. You swivel to try and look at him, to catch his intention, but find yourself horrified when you turn to see him pulling his cock out of his pants, guiding his hand up and down the hardening shaft.

Heat licks up your spine, and you babble something nonsensical before shaking your head, blinking away the tears.

“Bend over the chair.” His voice is even darker, more commanding, under the mask.

You don’t want to bend over the chair, but you are so weak and tired, the thought of what might happen if you don’t bend over the damn chair is even more terrifying. You try to move, but find yourself slipping on your own blood. Puke hits the back of your throat again, and you gag.

“Bend. Over. The chair.”

“I’m trying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry who?”

You pause, and stare up at him. Static has blanketed half your brain. I’m sorry…

A flash of black leather smacks you hard across the face, and you whimper, too exhausted to even grasp at yourself in shock. “You’re sorry who?” he asks, again.

Clenching your quivering chin, you look at the ground, the dirt spattered with your blood. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Much better,” he says. “Now move.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble.

You sit up, and the parts of your shirt that hadn’t been shredded stick to your sweat. Your shorts, however, stay on the chair, matted a dark red. When you try to stand, wooziness slams you, and you stumble, grabbing onto the chair as your vision doubles, spinning out like a car wreck. Part of you wants to look at the chat screen--see what they are saying--but the other part turns with tiny steps until you are facing the side of the chair. Wincing, you lay yourself across it, ass in the air, knees off the ground. It’s hard to be still, as the seat is still slick with your blood.

“Let’s see if we can find your pussy in all of this mess.”

Leather gloves grip your ass, and you close your lids, wishing that you wouldn’t shiver as he pushed aside the hills of your flesh to find your cunt between your legs. You thought back to when you’d met him at the club--you would’ve happily had consensual sex with him, then.

“You really thought I wanted to fuck you?” he says, as if he’d read your mind. “Answer me.”

Your cheeks flush with fire. “Um… I, uh, guess I did…”

Thwack--your ass and hips jiggle with tremors of pain. He just fucking spanked you. “You what?”

Choking back, a sob, you say, “Yes, sir. I did.”

He laughs with an inhuman derision. “You’re fucking pathetic. I would never be desperate enough to fuck something like you.”

Kylo’s fingers dig into your hips, and the head of his cock pokes between your thighs--but before he can drive himself inside of you, you glide off the chair and collapse in a pile on the ground, and you retch while your burned tits scrape the dirt. Dust erupts in clouds, and you roll to avoid the pain, particles getting into your mouth, forcing a cough.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Fuck…”

Through your fit, you look up at Kylo, who is still stroking his cock--now fully erect. Your heart drops even further. It’s enormous.

“Get up, bitch.” Behind the mask, you know he’s smiling. “Get back on the chair.”

You push yourself up on buckling elbows, dragging yourself like a corpse back onto the chair. Shaking, you drape yourself across it, and Kylo once more grapples your hips. The warm, throbbing head of his dick slides across your legs, seeking out your cunt, aching to tear it open and make you scream. You bite your lip, grimacing in anticipation--but when he thrusts, you lose grip on the chair again and tumble back onto the ground, rolling onto your back while you stifle a whine.

“Stupid whore.” Kylo kicks you in the stomach with the toe of his boot, and you heave, curling into a ball. “Can’t even stay on a chair.” He sighs, his erection bobbing in need. “But you’re used to being fucked like an animal, aren’t you?”

“What--”

Kylo pounces, clutching a fistful of your hair as he whips you around, shoving your face straight into the dirt. You moan in pain, drool dripping in globs from your face, caking your mouth and cheeks in mud. Gloved hands pull your legs apart, and then a hard, thick cock is pushing at the folds of your dry cunt. Grunting, Kylo cranks your head back, his voice low in your ear.

“Not wet for me yet?” A smothered laugh. “That’ll change soon.”

Gasping for breath, you almost beg for him to stop--but then he rams into you, ripping through your walls, and you screech, bucking against him, arms flailing. He lays his entire weight on top of you, like a boulder pressing you to the ground, and curls his fingers in your hair before thrusting again. A throttled shout escapes you, and Kylo’s other hand wraps around your throat, strangling any other noise. All you can do is slobber as tears trickle along your jaw.

“Mm, fuck,” he hums into your ear. “I feel you getting wet. You like this, don’t you?”

A long, agonizing pull out, and then another excruciating drive in. Shame seeps out of your pores as you realize--he’s right. The base of his dick pulses when he seats himself inside of your pussy, and your body reacts, walls instinctively squeezing. He laughs, tugging you somehow closer, the cold muzzle of his mask settling in the crook of your neck.

“That’s right,” he says. “You feel like a whore.” He drags out, and slams back in. “You look like a fucking pig.”

Kylo finds his rhythm, punishing you with his dick as he growls into your ear, hand just tight enough around your throat to keep you conscious while you fight for lucidity through the pain. Your pussy is wet, now, a humiliating and automatic reaction to the painful fucking he’s forcing upon you. It’s only then that you can actually process it--he’s raping you. This is all actually happening. The realization is almost anesthetizing--you can’t feel your face anymore, anyway, you think it’s been numbed with tears--and any sound you make escapes as guttural, animalistic sobs.

“That’s right, little pig,” he says. “Squeal for me.”  Kylo releases your neck to smack the side of your face, and the sharp pain provokes something inside of you--you squeal, like a rutting, dirty farm animal, and when he returns to choke you, you squeal again, in shame. He snickers. “Good pig…”

The constant raking across the dirt has rubbed your body and pained nipples raw, making every movement above you torturous. Kylo pumps deep into your cunt, piercing your cervix over and over and over, his breath leaving in dark, mechanical huffs. You want him to cum so badly, just so this will be over. In angst, you groan, loud and long.

“It feels that good?” he asks. “You love taking cock, don’t you? You’ll take it wherever.”

Kylo pulls out, but before relief hits you, you feel the tip of his slickened cock pass over your asshole. Horrified, you groan again, but in his grip, under his weight--you are weary, helpless. You can only whine and screech in protest as he presses against you.

“You want it so badly. You’re fucking disgusting. But I knew that the second I realized you wanted to fuck me.” He huffs when he pushes the tip of his dick into your ass, and you grunt in pain. “You were so desperate. So lonely.” Another thrust, deeper, more unbearable. “And those cuts on your legs…” A hard, deep thrust this time, and you howl. “Do you think anyone actually wants to give you attention?” He pauses. Smacks you, and gasp. “Do you?”

Voice ragged, you reply, “N-no… No, sir…”

Kylo tugs you back and slams his hips against your ass, and you wail in agony as he splits it open. It feels hot and cold and empty and full all at once. You are dizzy with pain and exhaustion, overcome while he pounds you, fucking into you harder than before. His cock is hard and sharp, a nail trying to splinter you like a board.

“Go on, pig,” he growls. “Squeal for me like the filthy little swine you are.”

He slaps your cheek, and like a stupid, trained pig, you squeal--a horrible, wretched sob that scrapes its way out of your throat. Another moan leaves him, and he gives you two hard thrusts before pulling out of your ass, his dick like sandpaper against your sore flesh. You gag, and then yelp as he yanks you to your knees by your scalp. He is quick, smacking the side of your face to part, and then shoving his dirty cock straight into your mouth.

You retch, the taste revolting, but Kylo grips your skull in both his massive hands and fucks down into your throat, your hair his reins. There’s a visible urge to let his head fall back and cum, but he fights it, locking with your stare behind his mask. Water spills over your cheeks again, your eyes rolling as you fight your own urge to pass out. It is almost impossible to breathe with his thick dick constricting your airway, stretching your jaw, making you drool.

“Such a good little squealer… Almost made me cum.” His voice is uneven, now, his thrusting erratic. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it? And you’re barely good for this.” He slaps you. “Stay awake, cunt.”

Gurgling against his erection, you nod to the best of your ability. Your compliance has you wanting to throw up, too, but there has been too much to fight--knowing it is almost over, you want him to hurry so you can leave and forget him forever. After a lot of therapy, probably.

“Fuck… fuck--”

Kylo’s hips pitch, and he groans, pulling out of your mouth and jerking his cock as it twitches in front of your face, holding your head still. A gasp, a groan, and he climaxes, jets of hot cum splashing your eyes and lips, mixing with spit and tears and dirt. Sighing, he squeezes the last drops of his release from his dick, wiping them on your face and shoving you back into the dirt. 

You hit the ground and shatter, the pent-up fear and adrenaline pouring out in broken, weeping breaths. Part of you wants to cover your face with your hands, but the other part is too disgusted to touch any reminder of his presence.

“Clean it up,” comes Kylo’s voice.

It is an echo in the chamber of your bawling. You can do nothing but wheeze, ache, and cry. There is nothing left in you to do an ounce more.

But Kylo is unsatisfied with this. “Clean it up.” His foot collides with your stomach on the final word, and you screech, crying harder.

You fold into a ball, trying to block him from your private break-down. The crying is uncontrollable, at this point, all you can do is ride the waves of anguish. Then you hear Kylo snarl.

Pain explodes in your skull when he stomps on it, jamming his heel into your temple, and he kicks you again, knocking the air from your lungs. “Clean it up, you filthy bitch.” 

Coughing, you try to nod, acknowledging his order, shivering while you pull yourself up from the floor. Every part of you aches, resonating with pain and the tremors of torment. Glancing at yourself, you are covered in blood, dirt, spit, vomit, and semen. You can’t bring yourself to view the chat screen. What have they been saying this entire time? You suppose it doesn’t matter. 

Swallowing what scraps are left of your pride, you wipe the caked semen off of your face, gathering it in dirty clumps and dragging them onto your tongue. The taste is acrid, bitter and salty and dry and sticky--and you heave trying to finish the first glob. Closing your lids, you persist, steeling your stomach as you clean your face of every last viscous drop of his semen. As you finish, you open your eyes, blurred tears clear, and see the chat. 

blueeyeswhited: holy fucking shit

mg3453: that was fucking incredible

laetus_lacrimosa: i knew she could take a big cock

gawinulim11490: what a fucking whore. she fucking loved it.

xwaifusayorix: like every other female, lol

laetus_lacrimosa: look at her cunt, it’s so fat and wet

blueeyeswhited: what kind of feminist loves being raped? lmao

gawinulim11490: she does. she’s a fucking joke. i told you that she’s not a real feminist. she’s a boring, joyless, leftist cuntbag.

mg3453: goddamn lol. are you sure you’re not an incel?

gawinulim11490: fuck off.

Their words don’t bite, as they did at first. You’re too fucking tired to care. Glancing over, you see that Kylo has already tucked himself away, and is making his way to the terminal. This had to have been the last part. Surely his plan is to sign off and let you go. Surely… 

kyloren: Bidding opens at 5.86 btc. You have 30 seconds.

Adrenaline again. “No.” You try to scramble toward him. “No, no!”

blueeyeswhited: cut her fingers off. 5.86 btc

kyloren: You’ll need more than that.

xwaifusayorix: 7.86 to cut off her toes

laetus_lacrimosa: 9.44 to cut her guts out

xwaifusayorix: oh fuck lol

You slump onto the ground. They’re not going to stop until you’re dead. Heart skipping out of your ribs, you claw to Kylo’s feet, curling your arms around them, scratching the leather like a hopeless cat.

“Kylo, please… please, don’t…”

kyloren: Going once.

“Please, Kylo, sir, please, please, please…”

kyloren: Going twice.

“Kylo… sir, don’t do this…”

gawinulim11490: 15.73 to cut the dumb bitch’s head off. spare the world of another fat leftist idiot.

Breath freezes in your lungs. No one else in the chat says a word.

kyloren: Going once.

kyloren: Twice.

He pauses, you think, for a second longer. You don’t dare speak.

kyloren: 11.79 to watch. Starting now.

The chat switches, and the only one who joins is the person who bid.

You hug Kylo’s legs, trying to hold him, pleading and pleading for him to release you. It is mostly gibberish, nonsense strung together with despair. God, you didn’t want this, you realize now, if you were let go you’d be better, you’d do better, you’d do whatever you needed so that you were never hated this badly again. On some end, you must deserve it, if someone is willing to pay money over and over to see you brought to this.

Beyond your sorrow, you feel Kylo moving, dragging you across the ground while he moves in front of the camera. Without a word, he gnarls his fingers in your hair, wrenching you to your knees, twisting your body so you kneel facing the camera. You are sniveling, and just as silent as him.

It’s not that you think, perhaps, you deserve to die. It’s that you realize that it is inevitable. It is, you hope, the same revelation that hits a cancer patient after a grim diagnosis, or the one that blinks into the mind of a driver during a head-on collision. The same revelation that perhaps only half of the population is lucky enough to have, before they collapse or bleed or pass in their sleep. And here you are, having it now--you are about to die at the hands of this monster. At least you’ll finally be free.

Kylo stands behind you, and you hear a hiss and metal squeak. To your left, a heavy thump. Fingers still tangled in your hair, he snaps your head up, and you see his face again. For a moment, you can’t understand why he’s done this--but you realize the camera must only see you.

His eyes are voids. Yet he looks just as pretty as you remember. You should’ve known that no one this attractive had good intentions for you.

Then the blade of his knife slices into your neck, and you sob--but the blood is hot, spurting in a river, and you feel his fingers tighten in your scalp, and then another tear in your flesh, and you choke on your blood, coughing and sputtering and twitching in pain, and everything is fuzzy, and numb, you can’t feel your fingers, or your body, or even feel your breath, and soon you know you aren’t breathing youaren’t seeingand everythingis blankandemptyandblack.

blueeyeswhited: oh fuck that’s a lot of blood

laetus_lacrimosa: not exactly a clean cut job

mg3453: look how upset she was lmao

gawinulim11490: she deserves it.

gawinulim11490 has logged off.

mg3453: shit. good show anyway.

xwaifusayorix: i still think that guy was an incel

laetus_lacrimosa: incels don’t have cash like that, idiot

xwaifusayorix: true.

xwaifusayorix has logged off.

laetus_lacrimosa has logged off.

blueeyeswhited has logged pff.

mg3453 has logged off.

Session has ended.

kyloren has logged off.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #no accounting for taste #dead dove: do not eat

[sunflowerssammy]

Day Four And now for something completely different!

I hope you don’t mind a little blood kink, anon!

“Have you ever donated blood?”

The words are calm, matter of fact, almost reflective. And so unexpectedly bizarre that it takes a few moments for Dean’s brain to process them.

While Dean is struggling to answer, no doubt gaping like a very attractive fish in the process, Sam continues.

“I used to do it in college,” he muses, and that word is like a splash of icy water, even after all these years.

“I think I’ve “donated” enough blood over the years, Sammy,” Dean says shortly. “No need to feed the vamps with needles, too.”

“I get that,” Sam says agreeably, and there’s something in his voice that catches Dean’s attention, something deeper–darker–than this non-sequitor would seem to warrant. “But it’s not so bad. I’m type O, so it really helps people.” Movement catches Dean’s eye, Sam’s fist tightening slightly as he turns his forearm into the proper position, veins popping, muscles flexing smoothly under his skin. Sam’s pulse has picked up a little and Dean swallows hard, heat flaring low in his belly as it finally <i>clicks</i>.

They don’t talk about it. As far as Dean is concerned, it’s not something he even really thinks about, too close to things that bubble just under the surface of his mind, his soul. It’s just something they–he, if he’s being honest–need, sometimes, after a hunt that goes wrong, bright red splashed across a cheek, an arm, a thigh. They’ve never taken it any farther–too much pain in their lives as it is.

But this. <i>This.</i>

Sam is already sprawled on the edge of sleep, satisfied and satiated. Dean looks at the thick veins in his forearms, thinks about the red rivers flowing just under the thin, delicate skin and licks his lips as his cock twitches.

Sam doesn’t bring it up again, but Dean’s still thinking about it a week later, staring across the Walmart parking lot at the long white RV with “Save A Life–Donate Blood Today!” emblazoned across the side. He nudges Sam, mouth dry.

“Hey. We should–” He nods at the trailer, watches from the corner of his eye as Sam takes a deep, shuddery breath.

“Yeah–okay. Yeah. We should,” Sam agrees. He opens the door, long legs already eating up the asphalt by the time Dean’s brain catches up.

Sam charms the nurses easily. Brothers, donating for the first time after their parents’ deaths, dimples and a shy smile from under his bangs and the nice lady never even notices that the t-shirt she’d given Sam as part of his thank you package never leaves his lap. They answer the questions, invasive and embarrassing, but Dean gets through it with his dignity mostly intact. It helps that he can hear Sam’s voice, deep and reassuring, even though he can’t make out what he’s saying.

Finally it’s done and they’re released into the main compartment of the trailer and guided to the couches where they’ll donate. Dean watches avidly as Sam casually shrugs out of his flannel, broad shoulders and pecs flexing in the illegally tight t-shirt he’d been hiding under his standard overshirt. The sleeves strain around his upper arms, and Dean’s head spins as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick. He quickly arranges himself on his own couch, draping his own overshirt and t-shirt over his lap, eyes never leaving Sam as the nurse snaps on a pair of latex gloves and slowly tightens the tourniquet around his upper arm.

“Now just hold this and squeeze,” the nurse says, a little breathlessly, and Dean watches as the muscles and veins in Sam’s arm swell, the veins rising into sharp relief. “You have such…nice veins…” the nurse says faintly, and Sam just smiles. He meets Dean’s eyes, expression going hot and dark before he smiles sweetly up at her. They chat quietly about nothing much, and then the nurse uncaps the needle and Dean can’t take his eyes off the silvery sliver about to slide into his brother’s body. It’s tiny compared to the knives and claws and <i>bullets</i> that have pierced Sam’s skin in the past, but Dean’s teeth are sunk into his lower lip, Sam’s eyes on him like a brand as the metal disappears smoothly into Sam’s arm.

“There we go,” the nurse says cheerfully, patting Sam’s arm. She fusses with the bag and opens the valve and suddenly the tube is filled with red, rich and warm from Sam’s body. Dean sucks in a ragged breath, aching underneath the shirt bunched in his lap. Sam squeezes the soft ball in his hand and Dean barely stifles the moan that wants to escape his throat, eyes fixed on the rapidly filling bag.

“Your turn!” The nurse turns to Dean and her eyes widen slightly. Dean tries to rearrange his features and pretend he’s not about to come in his pants, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed. “Your…your brother is doing great, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” she says reassuringly, patting his arm. Her hand lingers appreciatively on his bicep, and even though Sam would murder them both, Dean can’t help feeling a <i>little</i> pride. 

Sam watches as the nurse gives Dean the familiar instructions. “Hold this and squeeze,” she says, wrapping the tourniquet tight around his upper arm. “You two must spend a lot of time working out,” she says, blushing slightly. “I can hardly tie this off.”

“It’s a hobby,” Sam agrees. “Dean more than me.” The admiration in his voice warms Dean through and he preens just a little.

“This is going to pinch a little,” she says, holding up the needle, and Sam flushes just a little, the tips of his ears and nose turning pink. His hips shift under the bundle of cloth on his lap, lips parted on a silent gasp as the steel slips under Dean’s skin. Dean doesn’t even feel it, every ounce of his attention focused on <i>Sam</i>.

“Just squeeze now and then,” the nurse reminds him, voice a distant buzz. “And call if you need anything.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans when she’s hopefully out of earshot. “I just–”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Sam tears his eyes from the thin line of red slowly draining out of Dean, meets Dean’s eyes instead as he slides his hand under the shirt on his lap and presses up with a low moan. “Can’t wait to get my hands on you, Dean, God.”

“Sammy–”

“Almost done?” The nurse with the world’s worst timing shows up out of nowhere to check on Sam, prodding his bag and starting the process of detaching him from the line. She fills several smaller vials with blood, deep and rich, then she’s easing the needle out of Sam’s arm, wrapping the tiny hole she made with layers and layers of gauze and fuck Dean wants to get his mouth on that tiny wound, suck and lick away the taste of copper and iron while Sam writhes underneath him.

“And you’re done too, that’s perfect!” she says enthusiastically. Dean can feel Sam’s eyes hot and heavy like an actual caress as she fills Dean’s vials and then carefully pulls the needle from his arm. He feels the pinch this time, licking his lips involuntarily at the spot of blood that blooms behind the withdrawal. She wraps him up, pats his arm again then smiles, bright and genuine. “And thank you both for helping us save lives. You’re true heroes!”

“We couldn’t do it without you and others like you–Sandy.” Sam smiles warmly at the nurse, who flutters and stammers in return. Dean can sympathize, Sam has that effect on a lot of people. Sam stands up and staggers a bit, one hand catching the nurse–Sandy’s–shoulder. “I–ohh I don’t feel so good,” he groans, and Dean is right on board with the plan he can see forming behind Sam’s eyes.  

“Some people do feel a little lightheaded, especially their first time,” Sandy says, concerned. “It should pass pretty quickly. We have juice and cookies in the waiting area that you can enjoy while you’re getting back on your feet.”

“Sam?” Dean says, feigning concern. “You alright?” He turns to Sandy with his best little boy smile. “Sandy, is there any chance Sam and I could take a seat in one of your booths?”

“Well…”

“Just for a few minutes, until Sam is feeling better. He gets anxiety sometimes, it’s better if we’re someplace quiet. We’ll be out of your hair in no time, I promise. I just need a few minutes to take care of my little brother.”

Sandy melts at Dean’s show of concern, right on cue. “Alright, just a few minutes. I’ll knock if we need the booth, otherwise take as long as you need.” She’s so sweet that Dean almost feels bad about what he’s about to do to Sam in her booth. Almost.

Dean gets his arm around Sam’s waist, guides him the short distance to the booth. There’s no one else in the trailer, just the two of them and the two nurses, and Dean locks the door behind them before falling to his knees in front of Sam.

“Fuck, Sammy, <i>fuck</i>,” he groans, almost inaudible, mouthing hot and wet at the hard, obvious line of Sam’s dick in his jeans. He remembers–barely–that he was able to hear Sam’s voice when they were answering questions before and does his best to stay quiet.

Sam’s knees fold and he collapses into the tiny chair. “Dean–De–come on–”

“I got you, Sammy,” Dean whispers, already working Sam’s fly open, then stops when he sees Sam carefully unwinding the tape from his arm with shaking fingers.

“Jesus, Sam.” Dean pulls the final, stained layer of gauze away himself, grabbing Sam’s wrist and licking the tiny would nestled in the crook of Sam’s elbow. He makes a face at the sharp taste of disinfectant, but it disappears quickly when he fastens his mouth over the tender skin and <i>sucks</i>. Blood pools on his tongue instantly, bright copper and rust, essence of <i>Sam</i> filling his mouth. Sam moans, grabbing Dean’s other hand and lacing their fingers together around his cock, stroking in time to the pull Dean’s lips as he digs his tongue into the wound as best he can. Sam comes in moments, head thunking against the wall as his hips buck and he fights to stay as quiet as he can.

Dean lets go of Sam’s arm long enough to wrench open his own jeans, teeth and lips and tongue desperately seeking more of that perfect taste as he strips his cock frantically. He comes with Sam’s blood in his mouth, Sam’s voice in his ears, Sam’s hand in his hair, and he’s not sure which sensation pulls him over the edge, only knows that this is everything he’ll ever need.

They right themselves slowly, re-wrapping Sam’s arm as best they can and cleaning up with Sam’s new t-shirt. There’s a timid knock on the door as Dean’s tucking himself away, Sandy’s voice hesitant.

“Sam? Dean? Are you boys alright?”

Dean opens the door, eyes bright. He only just remembers not to smile, and steps back to let Sam do the talking.

“We’re great, Sandy,” Sam reassures her. “Thank you so much for giving us a few minutes, I feel amazing now. Never better.”

Sandy smiles, and Dean’s not sure but there might be a little bit of a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not surprised, Sam–giving others a hand always makes me feel better, too.” She stands aside so that they can leave the tiny room. “Feel free to come back any time, Sam. And bring your brother with you.”

Dean’s convinced his face is bright red, but Sam never even blinks. “I couldn’t do it without Dean,” he says, deadpan, and then they’re stumbling across the parking lot in a giddy haze. Sam shoves Dean against the side of the Impala when they get there, licking the taste of blood from his lips and his teeth until neither of them can taste anything but each other, until neither of them can breathe.

“I need you to fuck me as soon as possible,” Dean pants, leaning his forehead against Sam’s as they breathe each other’s air. “Motel?”

“God, yes,” Sam says fervently, and waves to Sandy as they speed out of the parking lot.

Hmm. I’m surprised at how much I loved this. Never thought about a blood kink in a way other than with things like knife play or something like that but the nursing student in me is totally down for this type of kinky crap that involves blood draws and that side of a blood kink. ;) (Unfortunately, Sam/Dean wouldn’t be able to donate blood if they were honest about having sex with a man in the last three months. (Used to be 12 and before that, a lifetime ban so even worse..) Though Sam and Dean aren’t honest about anything so.. 🌻

#submission #wincest love week #anon

[glitterdustcyclops]

five times bridget saw frankie (and one time she didn’t)

i have literally maybe only ever finished two stories in my entire life, and this is now one of them. i’m proud of how it turned out and so i’m posting it here. read on for gay smooches, angst, and pining. also see my sad gay feelings playlist for the soundtrack to this dumb little fic. enjoy~

1.

The first time Bridget sees Frankie is a hazy summer day. A party. They’ve just finished their junior year of high school and there’s this pervasive sense of freedom in the air, a yearning towards something; hundreds of sticky sweaty bodies in need of a distraction.

Summer parties happen at Brianna’s house, because Brianna’s got a swank mansion with a giant pool and incredibly permissive parents, and pool parties are a good excuse to be more naked than usual. Rampant hedonism and red plastic solo cups. Things get pretty crazy at Brianna’s summer parties.

There’s terrible music and screaming-giggling girls, a splash as someone is “accidentally” knocked into the pool, and Bridget is sitting on a patio chair by herself feeling like a sad loser. Her and Brianna are fighting again—not that Brianna would ever actually admit that—and her and Ryan are fighting because her and Brianna are fighting and her other so-called friends are ignoring her and Bridget’s actually pretty sure she wasn’t even invited to this stupid asshole party and like honestly, she didn’t even want to come anyway, she has no idea what she’s even doing here, this is the fucking worst and she’s going to leave and then—

She sees her.

Frankie.

Frankie is standing there in a halter-neck top straight out of an episode of I Love Lucy with a coordinating pair of high-waisted polka-dot patterned shorts, looking all innocent and batting her pretty little eyelashes. Talking to Ryan and pretending like she doesn’t notice the way he’s sizing her up like a goddamn meal. God, fuck her. Okay, so maybe it isn’t necessarily Frankie’s fault—Bridget was the one who suggested she and Ryan go on a “break” in the first place, and more importantly, she fucking hates him right now because he fucking sucks but, still.

It’s Frankie.

Bridge has hated Frankie since middle school. She can’t even really remember how it started, but Frankie doesn’t exactly make it hard to hate her. She’s just so fucking stuck up, all the time. She’s so weird, and she has to be doing it on purpose for attention, no one is just genuinely like that. And, okay, so they’re probably definitely way too old to keep doing this Mean Girl shit, but still. It’s one thing to have to put up with Frankie in class—always the teacher’s pet, the gold star favorite—it’s quite another to have to deal with her here, so perfect and pretty waltzing around like the Indie Romcom Sweetheart with her stupid pink hair and her stupid vintage clothes and her stupid instant camera and her stupid cat-eye glasses and—and—

Just who the fuck does Francine Takahashi think she is, anyway?

And before Bridget even knows what she’s doing, she finds herself headed towards them, towards Ryan with his fucking shirt off and water glistening on his carefully sculpted abs, standing too close and just leering—and Bridget’s already got some stupid plan half-formed in her head.

2.

The second time Bridget sees Frankie is about two weeks later. She’s done her best to put the whole stupid drunken night behind her, as much of it as she can remember anyway. Which is not a lot, but enough to know that Bridget hopes she never has to look at Francine Takahashi again. Ryan and Bridget are still not talking but she’s back to orbiting around Bri, because she doesn’t know what else to do with herself. And then, one day, Bridget finds herself in a mall food court, realizing not for the first time that teenage girls are fucking awful.

“Bridgie oh my God really?” Brianna whines behind her, voice Valley-Girl perfect. “So now you’re just gonna throw a fit and walk away? Okay fine, later loser!”

Bridget is walking away but she can practically hear Brianna’s eyeroll, her “oh I’m so totally not affected by this at all” put-upon sigh. Of course, she knows Bri way too well to buy that. She is pissed. Good. Fucking whore.

Bridget storms halfway across the food court—impulsive, anger sparking along her nerve endings—and that’s when she notices her.

Frankie.

She is perched at a table near the escalators by herself, drinking a smoothie and reading a book. Because of course she can’t scroll through her phone like a normal human being. Annoyance flares in Bridget’s eyes for a second, irritation tinged with regret, but somehow, she finds herself headed towards the other girl anyway.

“Uh, hi,” Bridget says once she’s close enough, all these mixed emotions settled in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight, and she’s already deeply regretting her choices thus far.

Decades, eons, a literal eternity passes before Frankie finally looks up from her book, setting it face down on the table and quirking up an eyebrow slightly.

“Oh, hello,” she says, politely enough. Maybe that’s a good sign.

“C-can I sit here?” Bridget blurts out. What the fuck—oh my god no—why—what are you doing?!

Frankie half shrugs up a shoulder, casual, and then just sits there, staring at her. Blinking. Waiting. Bridget takes the opposite chair.

Frankie blinks. Bridget swallows.

Silence. It’s awkward.

And then—

“Okay no, I gotta ask,” Frankie finally says, half to herself, “why?”

“Uh, why what?” Real smooth there Bridget, she thinks, bitterly.

Frankie makes a—a sound, strangled in her throat, her nostrils flaring; and then suddenly, she’s talking, or more like yelling, words spilling out of her in a barely-restrained angry huff.

“Ohh no. No no no, you know exactly what I’m talking about. How the fuck are you gonna sit there pretending like—like you didn’t—like, okay, sure I get the first time. Let’s play spin the bottle and embarrass the Lesbo! Ha ha, very funny—”

Bridget winces with embarrassment. She wants to run away again, wants to hide, to pretend like it never happened, but the lead in her belly keeps her anchored at the table. Like, like she deserves it somehow.

“I—I’m—”

“Oh what, are you sorry?” Frankie snaps back, eyes hard—glinting—this mean little half-smile on her blue-painted lips, and it’s just fucking weird seeing that expression on sweet-innocent-perfect Frankie’s face.

Bridget shrinks back a little, almost subconsciously, but that doesn’t stop Frankie. She’s on a roll now.

“For which part are you sorry Bridget? The part where you tried to play the lamest prank on me in the history of ever, or maybe, do you mean later when you came and you found me and you—”

“Stop!” Bridget feels her throat—tight, constricted—something sour and ugly bubbling up from the lead in her stomach. She doesn’t—she can’t—not here, there’s too many people here.

“Stop what?” Frankie sneers, arms crossed in front of her chest, nails digging into the skin. Everything about her is like a pit bull on a chain, snarling and ready to lunge, and it makes the dread in Bridget’s stomach boil higher. “You fucking kissed me, okay, and I’m not a fucking idiot. I know the difference between a prank and—and that. Don’t fucking do that.”

“I—” Bridget is frozen. She knows, oh God she knows.

“Well? Say something Bridget! Tell me how it was all just a big funny joke, tell me how when you moaned against me you were just totally kidding, no homo. Come on Bridget—”

“Shut up!”

To Bridget’s surprise, Frankie actually does. Her eyes big and wide and shocked while a couple at a table nearby stares at them. Bridget will probably definitely die of total mortification about this later, but for now all she can see is Frankie, all that hurt and anger her face and—fuck. Guilt tightens Bridget’s throat; the sicksour dread and anxiety of it all, and if she could zip herself out of her own skin right now, she totally would.

“I’m sorry okay!” Bridget shouts back, words bubbling up from her stomach to her too-tight throat, all of it crashing together and spilling out in a horrible jumble. “I’m sorry it was stupid and I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have—just, I please, just please, please I’m sorry! Are you happy now? Okay? I’m the worst and you should probably just hate me forever like everyone else does and—”

Bridget knows she’s about to spill over into a full-blown emotional breakdown. She can hear how hysterical she sounds, but she can’t stop it, like her whole body’s on autopilot and she’s just screaming trapped in her brain trying to hit the buttons but they’re not doing anything, and the small rational part of her left just wants to melt into the floor from the embarrassment of it all. Especially when she feels tears welling up in her eyes, a couple drops breaking free to spill over her cheeks with that horrible wad of wet, messy emotions still caught in her throat.

“Uh…” Frankie looks at her, caught somewhere between utter confusion and rage, which must be a weird emotional place to be in, and Bridget will definitely be dying about this later.

“Do—I mean—” Frankie attempts, while Bridget feels the hot red splotches on her cheeks, and then, still just completely and totally mortally embarrassed about it all, gives a hiccupping little gasp of a sob. “Here, let’s uh, let’s go somewhere more—private.”

And then Bridget finds herself being more-or-less dragged to the women’s bathroom. Frankie deposits her in front of the sink, handing her a handful of paper towels while Bridget stares intently at the tile floor and tries to get her breathing under control. She blots ineffectively at her eyes, feeling like a complete and utter lunatic standing there under the harsh fluorescent lighting and completely losing her shit.

“Are you alright Bridget? Wait, no, that was dumb, I mean—look. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You’re apologizing to me?” Bridget looks up at Frankie, tries to laugh it off, but it mostly comes out as a teary little blub.

“Yeah? I mean, I’m still pretty fucking pissed off, but I didn’t mean to like make you cry or anything. I just—I wanted you to at least acknowledge what you did to me.”

Frankie’s expression darkens for a moment, a shade of that cruel angry glare from before, but then she sighs—resigned—and continues, almost defeated sounding, “I, I wanted to know why.”

God. Bridget really wants to melt into the floor now. Even if she’s never been particularly fond of the girl, Bridget has the self-awareness to acknowledge that what she did was messed up, and it makes her skin feel all itchy. Guilty, she thinks pointedly, that’s all I’m feeling, just guilt, nothing else. And then before Frankie can make her feel any worse the excuses come pouring out of Bridget, another jumbled mess she only half-understands as she’s saying it—just, anything, whatever she can think of to make Frankie stop looking at her like that.

“I’m sorry Frankie. Really, I am. I’ve been acting weird for weeks, Ryan and I are fighting right now, and not that it’s like your fault, you didn’t even know, but I’m still so fucking mad at him, and you—just, when I saw you talking to him—I guess, I went kind of crazy?”

“Kind of?” Frankie chuckles, but it somehow manages to make Bridget feel a little bit less like the scum of the earth, so she’ll take it.

“Okay, fine,” Bridget rolls her eyes, “I went full-on psycho bitch.”

They share a small laugh at Bridget’s expense, and a part of the knot in her throat maybe almost starts to loosen, just a bit.

“I know it’s fucked up to take it out on you. I don’t—I was drunk and stupid and weird and such an asshole, and I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. I’m a fucking mess right now but that’s got nothing to do with you, Frankie. I’m—I’m sorry.”

There’s another silence while a pit opens up in Bridget’s stomach, a yawning cavernous void of anxiety as Frankie gives her this look, like—like she doesn’t really buy it, but then, finally Frankie sighs, nodding, and that deep black pit in Bridget closes up. At least a little.

“Alright. Thank you for explaining Bridget.” There’s a pause as Frankie gives her a wicked sort of smile and then continues, “I will be the bigger person and choose to forgive you.”

And then she laughs, a real honest laugh, deeply amused at her stupid not-quite-a-joke. Bridget rolls her eyes, but it is actually a relief that Frankie’s gone back to being her normal annoying self. Receiving sympathy from the girl is almost worse than being shouted at by the mean angry cruel Frankie from before.

“Oh thanks,” Bridget snarks at her, but in spite of herself, she laughs a little bit too. And then she realizes how they must look, the two of them still standing in front of the sink, face-to-face weirdly close together, Frankie with her arms folded loosely around herself, near enough Bridget almost feels the warmth from her body while Bridget’s a tear-streaked mess, holding onto the wet paper towel and sniffling softly. So, she takes one precise step back and away from Frankie’s bubble, straightening herself, blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes.

“And don’t worry Princess,” Frankie is saying, all smirk now, “I won’t tell anyone about your meltdown. Secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bridget replies. She’s decided the best course of action is to go back to pretending like none of this happened and she doesn’t have feelings, like Frankie totally didn’t just watch her sobbing in a mall food court, and that she isn’t still holding that snotty crumple of paper towel.

She quickly tosses the offending ball into the trashcan and then goes back over to the sink to wash her hands. As if that would somehow help. God, her face is all puffy now, ugly blotches of red on her cheeks, her nose.

Frankie moves to lean against the back wall, watching Bridget in the mirror and looking far too amused at the entire situation. But at least she doesn’t say anything else; perfectly silent as Bridget tries in vain to fix her mascara.

Maybe, Bridget thinks, she really will be good on her word and won’t tell anyone, and then Bridget can bury this brief horrible moment way deep down inside her with all the other ones. She hopes so, even though she has no right to. It would only be fair, after all, for Frankie to use this newfound upper hand to give Bridget a taste of her own medicine. After all those years of torment Brianna and Bridget put her through? She wouldn’t blame her.

Bridget winces again, guilty just thinking about it. All throughout middle school Bridget and Brianna and Brooklyn did whatever they could to make Frankie’s life miserable for no other reason than she was weird and they could. Hell, they practically tortured the girl, every day for years, and sure Frankie was annoying and stuck up, but still. Looking back on it now, the whole thing just seems so petty and pointless.

“Hey Frankie?” Bridget says with a resigned sigh, meeting Frankie’s eyes in the mirror before looking back down again. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a horrid bitch to you for like, ever.”

“Yeah, you were kind of the worst,” Frankie laughs, and Bridget is about to get defensive again but Frankie’s still talking, all casual and breezy like they’re just having a chat about the weather outside and not the multiple years of bullying (and Bridget can’t even pretend like that wasn’t what it was, not in her own head) that they put her through.

“But that was like forever ago, everyone was a terrible monster when we were twelve. I’ve gotten over it,” she shrugs.

Bridget wants to say “Really?” all incredulous, how could anyone just shrug and be over that, but then she meets Frankie’s eyes in the mirror again, and she looks—maybe not exactly pleased, but definitely not traumatized or anything. Maybe that’s something.

“Thank you for apologizing, dude,” Frankie continues when Bridget doesn’t respond, still staring uselessly down at the counter. “I appreciate it.”

And she sounds like she really means it.

“You’re welcome, I guess?” Bridget replies lamely.

There’s another silence then, the soft drip drip of the faucet the only sound between them, but it’s a tiny bit less awkward now. Maybe we’ve bonded, Bridget thinks sarcastically.

“So maybe let’s get out of the bathroom yeah?” Frankie says, gesturing over her shoulder towards the door.

“Uh yeah, probably.”

Frankie turns around and heads back out to the food court and Bridget, at a loss for what to do, follows her.

“What are your plans for the day?” Frankie is asking as they walk together, looking over at Bridget like she’s actually interested in the answer.

“Uh—” Bridget stops to think about it. Brianna has almost certainly ditched her ass by now, and she won’t be able to get a ride from anyone else for a while. She’s not sure if she really wants to anyway; the mall is cool inside and being here is better than being stuck at home. Even with Frankie it might not be so bad, maybe, the two of them wandering around together.

Bridget’s sure then, that’s she well and truly lost it, suffering from heat stroke or psychosis or something. But she plays it cool.

“Nothing really,” she says with a bit of a shrug, “Brianna was my ride.”

“Oh,” Frankie chuckles again, “whoops!”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on then,” Frankie says expectantly, waving for Bridget to follow her.

“Uh, what?” Bridget says instead.

“Let’s have an Adventure!”

And then Frankie stops walking, turning back around and giving Bridget this look that gleams, bright, mischievous, and Bridget is definitely not sure she likes that look. But since today is already strange enough as it is, Bridget sighs to herself, shrugging again. Fuck it, why not, she thinks.

It’s not like things between them could get any weirder.

Together they walk around downtown, something that Bridget’s done maybe hundreds of times, but following Frankie is like seeing it all for the first time again. Of course, she knows all these obscure places off the beaten path where tourists don’t usually go. A thrift store, naturally, with one of those weird fortune telling machines out front; a racist caricature in a turban that vaguely predicts something that may or may not be happening to them in the future. An actual photobooth in another random little boutique, a shitty arcade where Frankie wins Bridget a weird stuffed alien toy, record stores and stationery shops, and then they top it all off with vegan ice cream from a quaint local parlor that does strange flavors like black charcoal, or something called Unicorn Vomit. But it’s surprisingly good (even though Bridget sticks with tried and true vanilla, thank-you-very-much) and, in spite of herself, Bridget finds that she’s actually like, having fun?

They talk and they laugh while Bridget is pulled this way and that, clutching her new little alien friend and posing for dumb photos, and she finds that it’s quite an enjoyable afternoon.

With Frankie.

Wonders never cease.

But of course eventually all things must end. It’s getting to be early evening now, and Bridget realizes she was supposed to be home—Jesus, an hour ago. So they make the trek back to the mall, back to where Frankie’s car is safely waiting for them in the parking garage. And of course, Frankie drives a lime green Volkswagen Beetle with white daisy decals on the sides, of fucking course. Frankie drives her home blasting a Beach Boys tape the whole way—because of course her car is old enough to still have a tape deck, and of course Frankie listens to the fucking Beach Boys on cassette—and somewhere along the way Frankie asks Bridget for her number, oh-so-casually, like it barely even matters, and Bridget doesn’t think twice before she gives it to her.

And then suddenly Bridget is home, walking up to her room, ignoring the lecture her mom is currently shouting at her from the kitchen while she holds her phone in her hand, one new message from an as-yet unsaved number blinking up at her: hay gurl hay. And Bridget feels this lightness bubbling up from her, from where the lead weight and the anxiety-pit had been before. Not even her asshole mother can ruin her mood. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Bridget feels—good. More than good. Happy, she realizes.

And isn’t that pathetic? She’s happy from just one afternoon spent hanging out with her former mortal enemy. But Bridget can’t deny that she is. She’s happy, and she had fun, and she decides that she’s just not going to think too hard about why.

3.

The third time Bridget sees Frankie, she can’t actually see her very well at all. They’re at the Garden Arts Cinema, a small local movie theater, and it’s all dark and cool inside. Too dark to see much of anything. Which of course hasn’t stopped Bridget from trying to sneak sideways glances whenever she thinks she can get away with it.

They go to a lot of movies for a reason.

It’s been a few weeks now and Bridge is finding herself enjoying this weird sort of secret friendship they’ve got going on. Frankie has found a way, somehow, to make all the normally annoying things about her magically endearing. She loves telling dumb jokes and she loves to laugh, and her laugh is so infectious that Bridget usually can’t help but start laughing too.

She’s basically stopped talking to Bri and Brooklyn right now. Besides a random “where r u???” text and a couple Instagram messages they haven’t really interacted at all since that fateful day at the mall. It doesn’t seem like Bri misses her company, and Bridget doesn’t really miss her either. She prefers her Adventures with Frankie. With Frankie it’s just so easy, she doesn’t feel like she has to put up a front. She can just let herself exist, for once.

Frankie seems to enjoy her company too. Desperate, she had told Bridget. All her friends out of town, on their own vacations. And Bridget carefully felt nothing at all about it, when Frankie told her that she was essentially her last resort. It doesn’t matter. They’re just having fun together.

Frankie comes and picks her up in her ridiculous little hippie Bug and they hang out wherever she’s decided. Thrift stores—of course Frankie knows all of them—where she’ll try on atrociously tacky clothing just to make Bridget laugh, or they’ll hit up the arcade and compete for the most tickets. And then, of course, movies. Frankie likes Garden Arts because they do a lot of classic cinema and weird indies and every Tuesday tickets are five bucks.

Bridget likes that no one their age ever goes there, and on a sunny Tuesday afternoon even with $5 tickets, the theater’s almost always basically empty. Safe and dark and private. It’s not like Bridget’s ashamed of being seen with Frankie or anything like that. She just—she doesn’t want to deal with the questions she knows people would ask her. And she shouldn’t have to! This is—theirs, their thing. Their secret sort-of-friendship, born of desperation, and that doesn’t have to mean anything.

Frankie doesn’t complain about it, thankfully. Hardly seems to notice at all, really, that Bridget studiously avoids going anywhere somewhere might recognize them, doesn’t let Frankie come inside her house or see her friends. Honestly, she probably wouldn’t want to hang out with Bridge’s horrid Mean Girl clique anyway. Bridget barely wants to hang out with them.

So instead they go to Frankie’s places. Quaint cafes, weird restaurants. Empty movie theaters.

Frankie picked their movie today—they trade off—which means they’re watching a really bad horror movie from probably the 70s. Bridget has never voluntarily seen so many horror movies; it took her literal years before she could make it all the way through a Saw. Just, all that blood? No thank you. But she’s a Good Friend, and so she lets Frankie pick. Frankie has suffered through several bad romcoms for her, so it’s the least she could do. And Frankie’s kind enough not to make fun of her for being startled by the jump scares or hiding behind her during the goriest parts.

Like now, for instance.

“God please tell me when it stops!” Bridget practically squeals, squeezing her eyes shut and clinging to Frankie for dear life.

Frankie chuckles softly under her breath, but she doesn’t say anything.

And maybe Bridget lets herself cling longer that she strictly needs to, head turned into the crook of Frankie’s neck, breathing in the smell of her. Her shampoo—which always smells amazing—and her perfume and just her, her skin, and then Bridget realizes how fucking weird that is and she stiffens, pulling away and rearranging herself back into her seat.

Okay. So, Bridget officially has A Problem.

She’s not quite sure when it started, she didn’t notice when the change happened. When she suddenly stopped thinking of Frankie as the annoying stuck up hipster, or the slightly-less annoying girl she’s kinda casually hanging with, to—well. This. It’s just, sometimes Frankie just looks at her, when Bridget has cracked a particularly amusing joke, or even when they’re just sitting next to each other at a café saying nothing much at all, and it’s enough to make Bridget’s stomach go all…flippy and weird. Or sometimes Bridget will catch herself staring at Frankie and realize she hasn’t really heard anything she’s said for the past couple of minutes. She keeps getting distracted. By Frankie’s lips especially.

It doesn’t help that Frankie’s always wearing something on her lips. Whether it’s sparkly lip gloss or something stranger like black, or one time, memorably, fucking sunflower-yellow lipstick; and it draws attention. Like a bright yellow traffic sign. And it doesn’t help either that Frankie’s got a fucking obsession with candy. Lollipops that she keeps stashed in her purse and pulls out randomly, sucking on them for hours. Or, if not lollipops, then bubblegum; blowing giant ridiculous bubbles and popping them, over and over. And Bridget fucking hates it. It’s like Frankie knows, somehow. Like she’s doing it on purpose just to torment her.

And it definitely, definitely doesn’t help that Bridget still remembers what those lips felt like against hers. She can’t stop remembering it, in perfect painful clarity. It keeps her up at night, that wretched first kiss—and then, even worse, the second. It makes her stomach feel like she’s swallowed hot coals, like she can’t breathe. And it most definitely doesn’t help that Bridget can’t stop fucking wondering what it would feel like to have Frankie’s lips pressed against other places.

Seriously, it’s a fucking problem.

Suddenly there’s a blood-curdling scream from the pretty blond meat on screen and Bridget practically jumps out of her own skin, reaching out for Frankie’s arm again, her heart pounding in a sympathetic rush of adrenaline. And then, Bridget’s heart threatens to pound right on out of her fucking chest when Frankie just reaches over oh-so-casually and tangles their fingers together. Bridget thinks she might actually be having a heart attack right now, her stomach doing somersaults while she tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

Frankie doesn’t even look at her, her attention focused on the screen of course, taking a sip of her giant cherry Icee with her other hand, but Bridget can almost swear she sees the faintest hit of a smirk on the other girl’s face, limned in light from the screen.

Those lips. Cherry red today.

Oh no. Wrong thing to be thinking about while they’re fucking holding hands. Oh God oh God oh God—

But then, just as sudden, Frankie pulls her fingers free so she can grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket balanced on Bridget’s lap, and Bridget absolutely hates the way she misses that brief contact.

The rest of the movie passes in a blur. Frankie doesn’t try to hold her hand again and Bridget holds herself stiff as a board in her seat. She’s actually pretty sure that she’s died in fact, and this is her eternal torment in Hell, for being such a shitty person or something. It seems fitting.

“Alright? Movie didn’t scare you too bad, right?” Frankie is asking her as they stand in the lobby, just a hint of playful mockery in her voice.

“What? Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m—fine,” Bridget replies absently. She’s just a bit distracted at the moment. Why is my hand tingling right now?

“Ha ha okay. Come on, let’s get you home before midnight, Princess,” Frankie laughs, and Bridget especially hates the stupid flip her stomach does every time Frankie calls her that stupid nickname.

They head out together into the late afternoon summer heat, and before Bridget even realizes what she’s doing, she’s reaching down and grabbing Frankie’s hand again. Fuck. Frankie doesn’t say anything about it, hardly seems to notice, really. She just walks hand-in-hand with Bridget, laughing about something dumb that supposedly happened during the movie.

Meanwhile, Bridget is basically on the verge of a goddamn meltdown, the warmth of Frankie’s hand in hers making her heart go all stupid again. She thinks it’s probably a little weird (and definitely incredibly stupid) to be walking hand-in-hand with another girl when they’re seventeen years old—a gay girl no less—and it’s probably even weirder that she’s so fucking freaked out about it. Bridget wants to let go but she also kind of doesn’t, and she’s totally way overthinking holding hands with someone, this is officially insane—and, and Frankie’s laughing again at some joke Bridget missed.

Inside Frankie’s car they sit and wait—it’s old enough the AC takes a while to kick in—and it’s quiet except for Frankie’s favorite Beach Boys tape. The poppy fun music is completely at odds with how Bridget is currently feeling, too distracted by the rapid beatbeatbeat of her own heart to make casual conversation.

“Bridget,” Frankie says suddenly, entirely too serious.

“Yeah?” Bridget turns to meet Frankie’s eyes for the first time in, God, hours.

She’s caught in Frankie’s deep brown gaze, those eyes practically magnified by the ridiculous glasses she wears, surrounded by thick dark lashes, and Bridget’s throat goes dry. She swallows. There’s a beat as she hangs suspended for a moment in that tension, and then, because Bridget has evidently gone completely and totally one hundred percent absolutely nuts, she leans in towards Frankie and then—

Then, before Bridget quite realizes it’s happening, Frankie leans in too, over the center console; close, too close, and then—and then—

Then Frankie is suddenly fucking kissing her.

It’s just a quick little peck, barely anything at all really, but it still somehow feels like lightning sparking down Bridget’s spine; and then just as fast Frankie is pulling back with a wicked little smirk.

“There. Now we’re even,” she giggles.

Oh for fuck’s sake—Bridget feels like she’s gonna vomit up her own fucking heart. That’s it. A girl can only be reasonably expected to take so much torment. So she grabs Frankie by the shoulders and pulls her in close and then kisses her for real, goddamnit.

Apparently her memory is a liar, because this kiss feels nothing like the other ones did. Those hazy nightmare-dream kisses that still fucking haunt her. No, this one is way better. Maybe it’s because she isn’t drunk off her ass and miserable this time, but God, this is. Right. She feels the crushing weight of her heart hammering away in her chest, and she thinks she might actually explode with it as Frankie leans in and kiss her back, and it’s all just so different-new-thrilling-exciting-terrifying—and Bridget knows she’s definitely dead now, because she’s actually pretty sure she’s stopped breathing. Her grip on Frankie’s shoulders is white-knuckled, and she doesn’t stop until her lungs burn.

When they finally part for air Bridget can’t help but notice the way Frankie’s gone all breathless, and that does something absolutely stupid to Bridget’s heart.

“Finally,” Frankie says, relieved, giddy, some other emotion Bridget doesn’t have a name for.

“What?” Bridget blinks at her, lips tingling as she sits there stunned stupid, feeling like a moron.

“Honestly, I’ve been waiting for like a week now for you to get over whatever your deal is and kiss me already, but you’re a pretty stubborn lady, you know?”

“You—you knew?”

Oh, wow Bridge, not even gonna try and deny it, huh?

“Uh yeah?” Frankie says like it’s obvious. “I mean, I hate to tell you this sweetie,” and there goes Bridget’s heart again, “but you haven’t exactly been. Uh. Subtle.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on Bridge, I’m not blind. I can see you staring at me when you think I don’t notice. You blush. Either I’ve got a second head growing out of my neck I haven’t noticed that you’re too embarrassed to tell me about, or you’re into me.”

“What—I—” Bridget sighs. She really can’t pretend not to know what Frankie’s talking about, not when her stomach feels like it’s flipped all the way inside out and her heart won’t stop fucking beating, and all she can think is I wanna kiss her again. It’s hopeless.

Bridget wants to grab Frankie again and kiss her silly, and it terrifies her.

“Sorry,” Bridget mumbles, a supremely weird mix of embarrassed and horny.

“You don’t have to apologize, Bridge. I was trying to take things slow, give you space. Didn’t wanna freak you out. I thought—”

“What?”

“It’s silly.”

Bridget gives her a look.

“Well, okay, but I thought if I flirted enough, you’d get the hint? But goddamn you are oblivious, or maybe I’m worse at flirting than I thought—”

“You were—were flirting with me?!” Bridget blurts out before she can stop herself.

“Oh. Okay, so I guess I am worse at that than I thought.”

And is it just Bridget’s imagination, or does Frankie sound embarrassed?

“No! Shut up that’s not what—I, I’m sorry. I just—why?”

And now Frankie’s staring at Bridge like she’s the one with the second head.

“Uh, because I like you too?” Frankie says, as though Bridget had asked her what color the sky was. “Okay, just so we’re clear here, I uh, I really kinda like you Bridget? And I’m pretty sure you like me too, I mean—”

Frankie waves vaguely to the space between them while Bridget feels her face heat all over.

“And uh,” Frankie stops, swallowing. Holy shit, she’s nervous. Finally, it isn’t just Bridget freaking out by herself. “I dunno, maybe you wanna go out sometime?”

And then Frankie’s round freckle-dotted cheeks go absolutely bright pink, and Bridget is definitely in trouble, because it’s the cutest fucking thing she’s ever seen. She’s sure now. She’s died, and maybe she’s not in hell, but this is clearly some weird afterlife-fantasy scenario. There is no way this is really actually happening.

Bridget stares at Frankie for a minute, lost for words.

Frankie, with her neon-pink-orange bob and her blunt bangs that make her look a bit like a comic book character, with her thick black cat-eye glasses and her delicate features, her softly almond-shaped eyes so dark, dark enough to get lost in; with her elegant pale throat and the black choker wrapped around it, and the voice that comes out of it, the one Bridget can’t stop dreaming about.

Frankie, who is a complete and total weirdo and so deeply, genuinely sincere about it. Bridget can’t believe she used to think it was some kind of act. She knows better now of course, knows that it’s impossible for Frankie to be anything other than herself. This goofy sweet silly smiling pixie, who is just so fucking beautiful that it makes Bridget’s heart ache.

Frankie, who for some unfathomable reason, actually likes Bridget too.

Why? What could Frankie possibly see in her?

In Bridget, the never-quite-as-pretty one, the boring one, the side-kick-in-her-own-damn-life one. She honestly has no idea why Frankie would like her, why anyone would, for that matter. But maybe—maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe, she could—maybe, just maybe—

Why not, Bridget thinks. She might not understand it, but she wants to believe Frankie, believe that another person, this person, could know her and still want to be around her, be with her. So, she pulls Frankie close and tries to tell her with a kiss, since she can’t say the words.

Yes yes yes I wanna go out I like you so much I wanna be your girlfriend please like me too please oh God please don’t stop kissing me, never stop—

“So, is that a yes?” Frankie says, all sweet and innocent, once they’ve parted again.

Bridget rolls her eyes. She’s the worst, Bridget thinks, but then, God I’m totally into it aren’t I?

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.”

Her stomach, miraculously, does not manage to come up her throat with the words, as much as it threatens to.

“Good,” Frankie laughs, the sound making Bridget’s stomach flip back over, and then she kisses her again.

That night Bridget goes to bed with a heart full of glitter, all her nerve endings spark-fizzing with joy while warmth blooms down deep in the pit of her stomach. She swears she can almost still feel the pressure of Frankie’s lips against hers, the slick wet heat of their mouths pressed together, the taste of Frankie’s cherry-flavored lip gloss.

God, Bridget thinks, lying in bed and staring at her phone, the text message from a still-unsaved number (several sparkly heart emojis and a ridiculous kissy face) that makes her feel like she’s flying as she runs a finger over her screen. God, I am in so much fucking trouble.

4.

The fourth time she sees Frankie, Bridget’s sprawled out on a picnic blanket watching her, watching as Frankie dances to the music they’re playing off her phone, watches her twirling and singing along enthusiastically and generally being a complete and total dork. Just to make Bridget laugh.

This is their Fifth Official Date (not that Bridget’s been counting or anything); an almost disgustingly adorable picnic in the park. Frankie has brought an honest-to-God picnic basket and everything. There is iced tea and sandwiches carefully cut out with a heart-shaped cookie cutter, because of course there is.

Frankie just does shit like that. It’s absolutely ridiculous and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care if someone might make fun of her or call it stupid, she takes Bridget on cheesy-romantic dates and sends her “good morning babe,” and “sweet dreams hon,” texts every single day and makes her actual mixtapes and heart-shaped goddamn sandwiches, and it all drives Bridget absolutely crazy. It makes her heart feel like it’s about to explode into confetti.

Today is a beautiful almost-breezy late afternoon and they’ve managed to find a nice shady spot under some trees and down a steep hill that’s relatively private. No one’s around to bother them for playing their music too loud, and even better, there’s no prying eyes to judge her when Bridget decides she can’t take it anymore and pulls Frankie down on top of her.

Frankie giggles like crazy—which always makes Bridget’s stomach feel like she’s swallowed a bunch of butterflies—as she tumbles into an awkward heap on top of Bridget’s lap and into her waiting warms, laughing and squirming as Bridge assaults her with kisses wherever she can reach.

It’s pretty fucking incredible that she can just do that, now.

So far they’re trying to keep it casual. Well, as casual as Frankie can be. Bridget is quickly discovering that Frankie has a hard time being casual about anything she feels—if the mixtapes and picnics are any indication—but, it’s casual enough. Taking it slow. It’s—it’s not like Bridget’s ashamed or anything. She just hasn’t told anyone yet.

And it’s not like she has to, anyway. It’s no one’s business but their own. Just the two of them. This little world they’ve created, these little stolen moments. With Frankie everything else just disappears for a while and Bridget doesn’t have to worry so much about everything. She doesn’t have to care what people would think, what they would say; she doesn’t have to care about anything but this girl.

This impossible wonderful ridiculous girl with pink-orange hair and strawberry lip gloss, who makes Bridget heart-shaped sandwiches and makes her head spin. This thing, so precious and pure. Is it so wrong that she wants to protect it as long as she can?

She hopes Frankie understands. They haven’t exactly discussed it, but Bridget thinks that she does.

“Hey you,” Frankie says, still sprawled on her lap, arms resting casually around Bridget’s shoulders, hands tangled in her hair. Rubbing idly at the back of her neck. That feels nice.

“Hey yourself,” Bridget replies, with a giant ridiculous grin on her face, looking up at Frankie and the plastic pickles that are dangling from her ears. Because of course, Frankie has a pair of earrings shaped like plastic pickles.

God I’m just absolutely stupid for her, aren’t I?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Frankie asks her.

Bridge shrugs. “It—it’s nothing. You. This, I like this.”

She waves a hand between them.

“Hmm, me too.” Another casual kiss to Bridget’s cheek, and Frankie smiles, that smile that just lights up every single corner of Bridget’s stupid idiot heart.

Casual, she warns herself. Easy. Nice and light. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To keep the rest of the world away from them.

5.

The fifth time Bridget sees Frankie is the worst, because they’re fighting. It seems like they’re always fighting these days. They’ve been whatever they are for over a month now, and Frankie’s frustrated. Clearly. Tired of keeping it a secret, of hiding. And Bridget knows that, she hates making Frankie feel like she’s ashamed of her, of what they have together.

But.

She just—

Brianna has started noticing things. They’re talking again, and she’s asking questions. Questions Bridget doesn’t—can’t answer. Doesn’t have the words to even begin answering them. And Ryan too—Christ they’re still technically dating, aren’t they? They made up before he left, and now he’s still texting her, even away at football camp, and she texts him back and it makes her feel—

Rotten.

Even her parents have almost caught them twice, and she can’t keep—she can’t keep doing this.

Bridget is scared. She’s panicking, she knows it, and she can’t stop. Can’t stop the anxiety that bubbles up whenever she’s not with Frankie. And lately, even when she is with her. Like now for instance. They’re at their spot, their safe private spot in the park but Bridget swore she saw someone from school walk by and now she’s totally freaking out. This is way too much, way more than she asked for.

It’s just—it’s, it’s too good.

So, Bridget pushes. Pushes Frankie away, and of course Frankie’s so stubborn she just pushes right back, and lately all they do is yell at each other, and—

And it just sucks so fucking much. Bridget knows that she picks fights with Frankie on purpose, some part of her just knows that Frankie’s way too good for her, so she’s decided to burn it all down before Frankie has a chance to get sick of her, to hurt her first. And Bridget hates herself so fucking much for it, for doing this, but somehow, she just can’t stop.

Coward, she thinks bitterly, as Frankie storms off, and Bridget immediately regrets it. The words she said still echo like a firework, like gunshots—why are you so fucking clingy all the time—and Bridget wants to call her back, to apologize. To beg and plead and make promises she can’t actually keep, to do whatever it takes just to see that smile back on her lovely Frankie’s face.

But she can’t.

Coward.

So the next time Frankie texts her to apologize, Bridget doesn’t respond. Through all the time they’ve been hanging out, she’s never once ignored a text from Frankie, but she just. Can’t. So she doesn’t.

And when Frankie texts again, worried, asking if she’s okay, Bridget just deletes the message, heart sunk like a stone deep in the black void of her stomach.

Bridget keeps deleting them, feeling her heart crack open a little more with each new notification, each new message more and more worried. And then the worried messages turn to angry messages, and it’s what she deserves, so Bridget doesn’t delete those. She reads every single one and lets them pierce through her empty cavernous chest, the ruined crater of her heart, all the while thinking coward, thinking monster, thinking—no knowing that she’s the worst person who ever lived.

And then finally, horribly, the texts just stop coming altogether.

Bridget pretends like she isn’t dying inside, looking down at that last message from Frankie: okay fine fuck you too you fucking bitch. It makes Bridget feel like she’s swallowed broken glass, seeing those words there. But she can’t fix it. This is what I deserve.

Instead she goes back to Ryan, back from camp now looking all boyish charm and tan and big muscly arms, and it’s just easy, so easy to flirt and to bat her eyelashes and let him woo her again; and she goes back to Brianna and Brooklyn, and they don’t ask questions.

And the worst part of it all really, is that Bridget can’t tell anyone about it. No one even knows. The whole wretched summer is locked away in some alternate universe and she can’t say a single goddamn word. And then, even worse: the one person who could possibly comfort her in a situation like this, the one person who had so quickly become her biggest emotional support, so vital to her, is the exact fucking person she can’t turn to, because Bridget is a fucking monster who has ruined everything good in her life.

So, she pushes it all back down, way deep down into the pit of her, to rot with the rest of her emotions. Bridget had been well-practiced in the art of bottling shit up way before she had ever met Frankie, and she can do it again. She can smile and laugh and be pretty and perfect and popular. With her handsome wonderful boyfriend and her two best friends. All of it just so fucking perfect.

But no, that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part comes a week later, at the tail end of summer, when she gets home from Brianna’s house one evening to find her parents waiting for her in the kitchen, her laptop open on the table and a small box she’d somehow forgotten about sitting next to it. Bridget recognizes that box instantly, and it feels like a bullet straight to her heart. She stops dead in her tracks, voice caught in her throat.

That box. Random empty packaging from a birthday present, kept hidden under her bed. Secret, safe. And after—after everything, she’d simply forgotten all about it, forgot to throw it away. The things inside aren’t that important; photobooth strips and a couple silly little arcade prizes, the mix tapes, cute notes folded into origami hearts—but then, not quite so meaningless: the ring. It hadn’t been anything like, crazy, just, they’d been them for a couple weeks, and Bridget had spotted this pretty rose gold ring in one of their favorite thrift stores. It was a small, delicate thing, shaped like a wreathe of intricate little leaves. No stone, but elegant and dainty and nothing like Bridget had ever owned. So Frankie had surprised her with it the next time they went out. And absurdly, Bridget had almost wanted to cry when Frankie gave it to her.

She never wore it, of course—that felt like too much of something—but even just keeping it near her, in her little vault of treasures, it was—

Ryan had never bought her jewelry before.

Seeing that box now, on the table, it feels like Bridget’s entire chest has been sliced open, every awful weeping oozing thing she’s been trying to keep bottled up leaking out all over their pristine tile floor. She feels—flayed. Raw. She wants, bizarrely, to laugh almost; and then suddenly, she wants to cry, and the rush of emotions makes her feel dizzy.

They know.

“Bridget,” her father says, his voice so cold hard angry that it gives Bridget goose bumps. They. Know. “Your mother and I found some—concerning messages on your phone last night, on your computer, and we’d just like to talk to you.”

They know oh God they know how did they—

It’s all come tumbling down, crashing in on her, crushing her under the weight of it. Catching her breathless and she can’t—Bridget can’t—she—so she does the only thing she can think to do. She lies.

When it’s all said and done, her parents know all about poor Bridget and her Psycho Lesbian Stalker. She pours it all out of her, exactly what they want to hear. How she’s just so sorry she didn’t tell them, how she was so scared—because Frankie scared her—they were just friends, Bridget was being nice because she pitied her until Frankie got all crazy and delusional and obsessed with her and Bridget couldn’t tell them, she wanted to so bad of course, but she couldn’t, she was just so embarrassed about it all.

There’s threats of a restraining order; a tense meeting between her parents and Frankie’s parents and lawyers (it’s almost ironic, Bridget thinks, that this is how she finally meets Frankie’s family), and when it’s all said and done, Frankie promises to stay away from Bridget at school, promises not to try and contact her again so they don’t have to involve the authorities in this ugly business. Frankie will leave Bridget alone and no one else has to know.

And the whole time, Bridget can’t look anyone in the eye. She decides then, sitting in that horrible office watching Frankie caved in on herself, defeated, that she is done feeling things for good.

She doesn’t tell Ryan or Brianna anything about it. She couldn’t do that to Frankie. Not that. Of course it doesn’t matter, it couldn’t possibly make up for the colossal mountain of horrible things Bridget has already done to Frankie, but still. She doesn’t want to talk about it anyway.

And then about four days later Bridget finally breaks up with Ryan for good. Sick of him, sick of being near him and pretending. She’s sick of seeing the way Brianna looks at him, like she’s mentally inserting herself where Bridget’s standing next to him. And of course, they’ve barely finished typing their goodbye texts—amicable enough—when Brianna is suddenly calling her, utterly, utterly heartbroken but wanting to know if Bridget minds, maybe, if she asks Ryan out. Apparently, she had just dumped Matt, her so-called True Love, the day before.

Bridget honestly does not fucking care anymore. She feels emphatically nothing about it, about either of them. Fine. Let Brianna have him. Bridget honestly can’t even remember why she wanted him so badly in the first place, except because Brianna did too. Whatever. She hopes they get married and have a bunch of perfect fucking children and grow old together and die.

She lets it go. All of it, she keeps on Not Feeling Things all the way until school starts. Right until the night before, when she wakes up suddenly, startled by a nightmare, her heart aching with fear and guilt. Bridget reaches out—still half-asleep—like somehow Frankie would be there, would be beside her telling her that it’s alright and to go back to sleep. But all Bridget feels is the empty sheets instead.

And then, Bridget is done pretending she doesn’t feel things. All at once it all bursts out of her, all the regret and shame and guilt and anger and wretched awful heartbreak pining, all the gross ugly tears she’s been keeping locked up for way longer than this summer. All of that pain finally pouring out, spilling out all over her, and Bridget just hopes she doesn’t sob too loudly.

Thankfully no one wakes up or comes to check on her, and that’s almost worse, somehow. Bridget curls up into a ball on her floor, and that’s when she notices the a small forgotten plushie under her bed. She recognizes it instantly. Herman the Alien. The very first thing Frankie had given her, before, before everything, before they’d even—it was that very first time they hung out together, at the arcade. He’d somehow come out of the box and managed to escape the Great Purge.

Bridget looks at him through the tears streaming down her face, his giant black eyes and tiny little smile, and this stupid green alien plushie just breaks something inside her, another wall come crumbling down. So, fully aware how completely and totally pathetic she must look, Bridget crawls over and pulls him out, cuddles him close. Wishing it could somehow bring her comfort, that it could somehow bring Frankie back.

Stupidly, Bridget wishes that she could go back in time and undo the entire awful summer, that she could fix this, and she’s not entirely sure which part she wants to change. She hardly understands anything anymore, really, except that she misses Frankie, right down to her marrow, and she hates it so much.

Most of all, Bridget wishes that she was a different person, a better person. Somehow who could have deserved something as sweet and as good as what she had with Frankie. She wishes that she hadn’t been such a colossal idiot, a coward about it, and that she hadn’t thrown it all away.

But it’s useless. Bridget is not a better person. She’s known that all along, of course. This is what she deserves. She is a horrible monster who fucked everything up, and she can’t ever fix it. So instead, she holds a dumb stuffed alien and she cries and cries and cries.

It doesn’t help.

6.

The first day of school, Bridget walks up to Green Valley with her head held high. There are rumors swirling around, but there always are, and Bridget is too used to pretending she doesn’t hear them. Everyone knows about the Ryan-Brianna situation by now of course, and the looks of pity people shoot her would normally drive her nuts, but Bridget doesn’t feel anything anymore, so she hardly notices them. She finds Brianna waiting at their normal spot, her and Ryan standing close together like they had been made for each other in a lab somewhere, his paws draped all over her. Obnoxious. And the rest of their friends stand there too, all of them talking and laughing and just so fucking perfect.

Bridget can’t help but notice that Matt is conspicuously absent, however. She doesn’t blame him.

Of course, her and Brianna and Brooklyn have all their classes together. They’d set up their schedules at the end of last year, before the summer, before—everything. It had seemed natural, logical, at the time. The three of them always had all their classes together. Now though, Bridget walks into first period wishing she could join the witness protection program and move to another country where no one speaks English.

Their first period is Chemistry—which is already torture enough, honestly—and she comes in and sits at their usual spot, back corner, forever Brianna’s right hand woman. The two of them talk like they don’t secretly hate each other’s guts, performing for their audience.

And so of course in first period Chemistry with Bridget’s blood near boiling, simmering rage and everything carefully hidden underneath, all bottled up but almost leaking out of her, that’s when—

God. She walks in.

Frankie. In one of her fanciest tea-length floral-print vintage skirts, all perfect poofy petticoat and hair freshly dyed a bright aqua-teal color; bangs straight, eyeliner sharp. Looking for all the world like a woman on a mission. Determined. Proud. Bridget’s heart aches.

She watches Frankie’s eyes scanning the room, looking for something, and then—she sees Bridget staring at her and her mouth drops open in a small, startled “oh.” Almost like, like she’d forgotten, somehow. Bridget feels what remains of her heart shatter into impossibly tinier pieces, feels like she’s about to vomit up every single wretched shard right there on the table and so—

So, Bridget looks away, and she pretends she doesn’t see her.

#my stuff #oc talk #sad gay feelings #tongue tied #9k words of gay shit and wretched pining #this does Not end happy sorry #5+1 fic