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yogurtkags · 9 days

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❝ IF NOT FOR YOU ❞ — semi eita

— 02. sweet nothing

“they said the end is comin', everyone’s up to somethin', i find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings. outside, they’re push and shovin', you're in the kitchen hummin', all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothin'”

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“join us for a jam sesh later? we can show them the song, rest of the boys are going to be there.” the end of that sentence is laced with a tinge of bitterness, and eita likes to think that it’s hidden behind a forced cough and a minuscule amount of cellphone static.

he wants to show off what you’ve been working on because he’s proud, he always is, but as much as he refuses to admit it, he wants you all to himself just as it’s always been since the beginning. if inviting you over to band practice (“we’re not a band, we just play together sometimes and perform my songs at gigs”) with the guys is what it takes to see you, or hell, even just hear from you, he’ll make do.

the lyrics of the song are really sweet, he thinks it might be the first love song you’ve written fully. a part of him wonders what, or rather who, inspired you to write it, but perhaps it’s not his place to know. it won’t stop a part of him from wishing it was him though, and frankly he’s not sure what to make of that information just yet.

you had a rough skeleton of an idea for the instrumentals but pretty much gave him free reign with this one which he’s not going to say no to, making sure to sprinkle in a little bit of his own taste into it — heavier instruments are more of his forte, having countless alternative and rock musicians listed as his personal inspirations. the final product's a fine mix of you and him, perfectly balanced and no more of one or the other. he’s very proud of it, proud of you, as with everything that you do together.

his thumb hovers over the send button, the preview of his short voice message looping while he contemplates deleting it. it’s starting to get grating with how long it’s been going for, his pathetic voice doing nothing but making him overthink even more. he doesn’t know if he’s being presumptuous to imagine it but it seems like you’re... avoiding him?

it’s been more than a week with barely any texts or random voice memos, you're usually blowing up his phone with silly memes and song demos, or even as simple as asking how his day has been. nothing since the last time he came over and finished the song with you. he noticed something seemed up at the time but didn’t press, now the guilt eats at him for not at least trying to ask. you always did keep your troubles to yourself, preferring to handle them on your own and keeping him in the dark about it until it either got too much and eventually bubbled past the surface, or fizzled over and only coming out casually in conversation once it’s a thing of the past. but who's he to judge, he's not any better.

maybe he’s reading too much into it, you’ll tell him with time as you always do, right? maybe he’s blowing it out of proportion, maybe you just had a bad day before seeing him, or you’re just tired, or— enough, now i’m just overthinking again.

finally releasing his bottom lip from the onslaught of his teeth, he bites the bullet and hits send, tossing his phone on his nightstand. as he lays back down on the stiff mattress, the arm thrown over his face shields the glaring sunlight breaming down on his face. it’s way too bright in comparison for the thoughts swirling in his head and with a sigh, he uses the foot hanging off his bed to tug the curtains close.

give her time, she’ll come to you when she’s ready.

i just hope she’s okay.

well shit.

the realisation that there even a slight possibility that you're in love with eita hits you like a splash of ice cold water to the face. you won’t lie and say that you didn’t have your suspicions, but it’s been just so long, brushing it off as the closeness of childhood friends. he’s your best friend, the first one you contact with good news, the first name that comes to mind when asked to invite a plus one, the first person you think of when you see those tiktoks of lovesick poems captioned “who do you picture when you read this?”, the list goes on.

in some way or another, this is what you always wanted, someone who understands your ins and outs and to spend your years with. eita was always the only option you’ve considered, but god you’re scared.

you feel a little sick to your stomach, the thought of it all weighing too heavily on your mind. there’s just too much at stake here, and you’re hell bent on not letting whatever the hell these damned feelings are jeopardise years of what you’ve built together. unknowingly in a similar spot, you find yourself curled up in bed, head swimming with worst case scenarios and make-believe narratives that say this is doomed for disaster.

light knocks on your door gently pluck you from the stirring storm in your head and with an muffled “i’m coming in!”, hitoka shuffles into your room and audibly coos at your deposition.

“hey, you left your phone out on the counter and it went off a couple times. i think semi messaged you too, thought you might want to see it.”

speak of the devil.

with a small smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes, you take your phone from her hand with a mix of gratitude and dread, “thanks hitoka. i- can i ask you something?”

“yeah what’s up? everything okay?” she sits by your side, her pretty, youthful features plagued with concern.

the posters on your wall suddenly seem like the most interesting things in the room, your eyes meekly darting around and refusing to meet hers. a wave of embarrassment washes over you from head to toe as you mull over your thoughts, collecting and trying to put them into words without sounding like a total idiot. this is stupid, you open your mouth for a moment and close it in the next, the words stuck in your throat and you’re already regretting bringing it up. you’re not ready for this conversation as much as you want to and it festers and grows and feeds on the seeds of doubt sprouting.

her small, smooth uncalloused hand closes over the back of yours in assurance and comfort, the small action causing a surge of peace and calm to flow through you, “it’s about him, isn’t it?”

nodding in shame, you hesitantly speak up, quietly, “hypothetically if i did have feelings for him—what if he doesn’t feel the same way? i won’t be able to look at him again.”

hitoka sighs dramatically, “first off, it’s a hundred percent not hypothetical who are you even kidding, surely not me. second, have you seen the way he looks at you? i’m surprised you haven’t caught on sooner.”

when you remain silent, she takes it as a cue to continue, squeezing your hand, “listen, i don’t know him as well as you do by a long shot, but i know feelings when i see it, and that man is very into you. and don’t even come at me with that ‘but we’re best friends’ bullshit, you don’t act that way with kenma and vice versa.”

you stifle a laugh at that last part, feeling a little tension release from your muscles after listening to her perspective. she’s nothing but truthful and supportive especially when it comes to anything (especially serious) concerning you and your heart swirls with warmth that you have someone like her to talk to about these things, the boys aren’t much help but you still love them dearly.

“i’ve been running away from him for days, i haven’t spoken to him since the last time he came over.” you mumble, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the rotating fan and letting it blur in your vision as your hand still remains clasped in hitoka’s.

you feel the weight of guilt on your shoulders for shutting him out so abruptly, the sudden rush of feelings leaving you dumbfounded in its wake. your instinct was to hide and let it pass, hoping he wouldn’t catch on, but you never stopped to consider what it might look like to him. truthfully, the longest you’ve ever been apart was when your family went on holidays overseas, never if you could help it — you miss him.

remembering that he sent a message, you opened it up, letting the sound of his voice flit through the still air within your four walls. it sends a tingle down your spine and causes a soft involuntary smile to stretch across your lips, it’s like music to your ears.

“i swear to god, you two are disgusting.” hitoka lightheartedly complains as she rolls her eyes, getting up to leave you be. “go see your man before i throw up.”

“shut up, it’s not like we’ll be alone!” you retort, flipping her off as she’s shutting the door with a click, hearing a yeah yeah yeah echo down the hall.

taglist. open (send an ask / comment to be added!) @wyrcan @cheesypuffkins87 @peachyugoose @tetzoro

@twiishaa @samuel1004 @blueparadis

notes. hi it’s been a while since we've seen our two blindly lovesick pals :3 no fun facts this time, just a little filler chapter !! they’re so stupid and lovesick PLEASE— also band lineup in the next one ! big love to @mikiruie for beta reading < 3

#ᯓ★ : written in the stars !#semi eita #semi x reader #semi eita x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #dividers: @/roseraris #dividers: @/cafekitsune

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squishy-squishy · 9 months

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Ticklish Experiment

Portal tickle content is a barren desert and I am here to provide a small oasis. I will get to the TOH fics requested of me one day! I’ve got one like halfway written! But my ADHD brain is starving for Portal content and it will not shut up until I write this.

Summary: Chell is being her usual menace self during testing, and GLaDOS decides to take a new, sillier approach to handle it

Chell being thrown back into these testing chambers was not something she had been planning on when Wheatley said he’d get her out of there. She had fought tooth and nail to escape GLaDOS the first time, she had been so close to leaving Aperture for a second time, and then that little mistake had revived her old enemy and gotten her put back in testing again. Needless to say, she was a little pissed.

“Sorry about the mess.” GLaDOS’s robotic voice echoed over the speakers. “I’ve really let the place go since you killed me. By the way, thanks for that.”

Chell rolled her eyes. GLaDOS could talk all she wanted, but Chell was determined to not give her the satisfaction of ever speaking back. However, GLaDOS was right. The place definitely was a mess. It was nothing like the pristine testing rooms that she was used to. She had to carefully step over fallen bits of debris and avoid walking too close to the moving panels GLaDOS was controlling in an attempt to put the facility back together. She glared at one of the cameras in the room.

Maybe there was something she could do about it. She couldn’t escape like this, but if GLaDOS was going to be petty, then why couldn’t she? She picked up a chunk of garbage and hucked it at the blinking camera. It fizzled, then powered off when it was hit. Chell couldn’t help but grin.

“Really? I’ve tried to keep this a professional, scientific environment, but your constant immaturity and violent behavior is making this increasingly difficult. Now someone is going to have to fix that. And that someone will have to be me.” Despite her GLaDOS’s voice being so monotone, it still dripped with sarcasm and malice. It only fueled Chell’s pettiness. Using her portal gun, she grabbed onto the camera before GLaDOS could open the wall and snatch it away.

“If you think this kind of attitude is impressing anyone, it’s not. And your attempts to stop this are pitiful, there are still plenty of ways I can see you- what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Chell smiled and kept a tight hold on the broken camera, even when she felt it being tugged on from behind the wall.

“Let go.”

Chell shook her head.

“Let go, or I will have to drag you off of it myself. You’re wasting time, we have more testing to do.”

Chell still wasn’t giving in. She shook her head again. Even when a robotic claw emerged from an opening between the panels, Chell didn’t move. It looked make-shift, like GLaDOS had just had to put it together using spare parts, the same way she’d put herself back together when she was reawakened. Chell didn’t think it would do much.

She was wrong. The claw grabbed at her side, pinching up and down it sporadically. It wasn’t strong enough to drag Chell off like GLaDOS had threatened, or even hurt, but what it did do was tickle like crazy. With each little prod and pinch, Chell tensed and kicked her legs. She squirmed, trying to get the mischievous little claw off of her, but it was relentless.

“Oh? What an interesting development…” GLaDOS commented on her subject’s situation, moving the claw up a little to Chell’s ribs, which gave her a very satisfying, more frantic reaction. “Very interesting… care to tell me why you’re moving around so much? Is something wrong? Just kidding, I’ve already figured it out. You’re ticklish, and by the looks of it, more than the average human. I wonder if it’s some sort of side effect of being in stasis for so long…”

Chell held her breath, still not saying a word despite the cruel teasing, and she still refused to let go of the camera. She hid in her arms the best she could to disguise the dorky, sunny smile that had broken out across her face. Tickling?! Really?! She twitched sharply with every ticklish jolt that came from that devious claw. And just when she thought she could tough it out, another one latched onto her other side. They kneaded her torso with maddening, machine-like precision, picking up and which spots made her nearly lose her grip and targeting them. To Chell’s dismay, there was a well of laughter bubbling up inside her that was starting to escape through voiceless hisses and huffs.

GLaDOS was just drinking in the poor human’s frustration. “According to research, the human response to tickling is one of panic. In fact, it was even used as a form of torture. But you still haven’t let go yet, could it be possible that you’re actually having fun?”

Chell frantically shook her head, her hair fell down over her eyes. Her face was steadily turning a bright shade of crimson. Although she never would have admitted it, she was maybe, just a little, having fun. Her life was constantly in danger, from the moment she’d arrived at Aperture. She had narrowly escaped bullets, lasers, fire, and deadly neurotoxin. She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had just wanted to do something playful, and it was a nice change. Even if the sensation was starting to get unbearable!

“It must be miserable to be a human. Filled with so many nerves, and weaknesses that are so easy to exploit. I can only imagine what you might be experiencing right now. And I hope you know that you deserve every last second of it.”

When Chell noticed a third claw reaching for her, she decided that maybe the camera just wasn’t worth it. She dropped herself onto the floor, landing on her back. Her relief was short-lived, however. Mechanical whirring rose from the panel beneath her, and before she knew it, four claws had popped up all around her. They wasted no time pouncing on her, one spidering over her side, one scratching under her arm, two kneading and squeezing her thighs and knees. Chell shrieked, but no sound came out.

“What? Did you really think you were going to get away that easily? I’m not going to let such an intriguing research opportunity slip away from me just like that.” GLaDOS wasn’t human, but Chell could’ve sworn she could hear a slight giggle to her robotic voice. “Which spot is the worst? What method makes you tick? How many tools can I use before you completely lose your mind? So many questions worth testing… I’d be remiss if I didn’t experiment further.”

Every time Chell tried to sit up, or roll away from the tickly attack, the panel would shake beneath her, knocking her back for GLaDOS’s evil claws to continue away. Chell was starting to worry about actually going insane. This was as silly as it was cruel, and the thought of GLaDOS using whatever data she was collecting from this against her in the future sent a chill down her spine. She had to act fast. Noticing a ledge, she aimed her portal gun at it the best she could with her trembling arms. She fired, but never got to see if it hit her target or not, because GLaDOS made hasty work of taking advantage of her lifting her arms up. Not one, but two claws scribbled into her hollows, and Chell slammed her arms down to protect herself and squeezed her eyes shut. Her laughter came out in silent wheezes.

“You really are an idiot.” GLaDOS teased. “Did you really think that would work? It’s no wonder you’ve fallen for my traps so easily, it’s almost like you want to get caught-”

Chell shot a portal beneath her, and much to her surprise, it spat her out right onto the ledge she had been wanting to escape to. She jumped to her feet, face flushed and breathing heavily. “Oh. You actually escaped. Maybe you’re more clever than I expected. Oh well, that was fun, don’t you agree?”

She spotted another camera watching her from the corner, made a point of flipping it off, then quickly disabled it. All Chell could think about was finding GLaDOS even quicker, and maybe even installing a receptor for tickling to get her revenge.

#portal 2 tickles #lee!chell #ler!GLaDOS #tickle fic #GLaDOS is mean but she's kind of endeared. Not like she'd ever admit that tho #sfw tickles #squishy fics

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kebabafabsts · 4 months

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cracks in the foundation

at 18 ,we both got matching rings to wear on our ring fingers as a symbol of our love & commiment

when the young love glow started to fade causing arguments , leaving nothing but two red in the face people; neither of them wanting to lose , until it would fizzle out and you’d leave the room.

when you would enter , i’d see your empty ring finger. neither of us would mention of it until we loved each other again. i’d ask why you’d take it off, causing you to just shrug and put it back on.

pulling at the seams, repeating this several times until you just stopped putting it back on. I stopped asking, quietly removing mine; some gratification in knowing when he noticed my barren finger, although it shattered me , lt would hurt him more.

Our mute acceptance that our young love was over.

feeling consumed by my blues, i was caught in a hurricane of emotions trying to reach you in the eye of the storm. we began to resent each other.

We continued, holding onto what remained. a dry spell. saying it was a bad season if only we can hold off until our love would blossom again, colors of a pink sunrise. a new beginning.

in the end, I was the only one watering an almost dead plant while he stared at me, a frail bird, Frantic about finding solutions. “Why won’t you help me” I screamed. “You used to care so much” Calling out to the void.. Trying to raise Lazarus from the dead, myself. Returning messy, apologizing for the mess i caused. trapped dirt under my fingernails.

four eyes, his once holding love, carried bitterness. mine turned into desperation. wondering if i was the reason, smothered it, love too strongly. my intensity burns like the bright yellow sun. was it too much?

two sides to every coin. us on opposite sides. Running past each other, never meeting in the middle. Telling me constantly, to just leave. Why did I stay taking care of something that close to death? When I pull the plant up, examine its roots, they tell you a story. In a pot , the roots can get so long, matted, and intertwined that there’s no more room to grow. It starts to die. When this happens you can simply untangle, clean it up then take the plant with the roots and move it to a bigger pot. It outgrows.

half effort attempts, again we had different solutions. hot wind coming in full of desperation, chasing your coldness; causing tornadoes. Our relationship was a natural disaster in a million ways.

looking for every reason to stay. You were busy finding an exit..i had tunnel vision keeping us alive. seeing nothing but your empty eyes.

born to be on my knees for you, worshipping what’s dead . it was us. i had you. you were all i had wanted. dead or alive.

do you think dead petals hold memories ? if i press it into my journal i carry around with me, i’ll be able to move on easier. carrying a part of you with me but no longer dwelling on it.

except when randomly flashes our rings come into my mind. along with memories of our peak and passionate moments. i’ve gone through this before. i’ll keep going until i find one who’s ring i won’t ever take off.

#mine #literature #quotes #prose #poetry

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thoselettersto · 1 year

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The Set-Up

I couldn't take another rejection, so I decided to close myself off - it was easier than having my hopes crushed. I was finally getting to a better place, letting go of all the men that came before you - they were all in my head anyway.

So how did we get to you?

The chances of meeting someone new were slim, and I knew that. I didn't want to go out, didn't want to try. Part of me thought maybe I would change my mind once I had my life a little more together, but another part of me had gotten used to being on my own.

For the longest time, my friends and I had this running joke that the perfect man did exist. His name was Benjamin Owens, and he could do no wrong. We constantly referred to him by his full name because that's just the kind of guy he was. Whenever a man was a little bit creepy? "Benjamin Owens would never do that." When we met another man named Benjamin and he didn't treat us right, he got the "The Benjamin that I knew would never" treatment.

Benjamin Owens was a fictional characterization of the man we once knew. He was based on the very few things we remembered about him but mostly on how he made us feel because it's true - it's so easy to forget the words but the feelings last so much longer. Ben was funny, but more importantly, he was SO nice and a safe presence to be around - he was our favorite person to be around for the short time we had together.

One summer, a few years ago, I made the only bold move I had in my arsenal: I added a couple of men I hadn't spoken to in forever on social media in hopes of rekindling something.

Of those men, I had a more recent and more delusional crush on a man, Jayson, that was so wrong for me. Jayson liked a picture or two but never really interacted much with my profile before he ultimately deleted his account; I was scared he blocked me for whatever reason, but we had sleuthed out that his profile had fully gone kaput.

Ben was the other man, and like Jayson, he also barely interacted with my content. In the first few days, he was the first person to view my stories, and he liked a few things, but that quickly fizzled out, and suddenly, we were back to square one.

I was still very aware that he could see what I was sharing, but I stopped trying to view my content through his eyes… until a few days ago. Because I am more of a lurker and less of a poster, I was even less likely to post pictures of myself. Somehow, with a sudden surge of confidence, I shared an image within a story grid specifically chosen for him. Did I actually think he'd see it? No, but it was a good picture regardless, and considering how out of place it felt for me, I thought it was pretty funny.

I've been on a fitness journey recently, and to make healthier choices for my body, I changed my workout time and went to bed before midnight for the first time in months. I felt a little more refreshed than usual as I rolled over to turn off my alarm - shutting off the gentle sounds of Niall Horan singing "Flicker." I went back to sleep until my last alarm sounded a half hour later - cue Jon Bellion's "Good Things Fall Apart." My eyes were half open as I shut the alarm off and unlocked my phone. A quick banner appeared with a social media notification. What had I just read? I wasn't sure if I was actually awake or dreaming this, so I double-checked, and sure enough, I received the most surprising notification.

Ben had seen all my stories, including from a secondary account he doesn't follow, and responded to the picture I had on my main account - at 1 in the morning. Let that sink in for just a minute. He replied to the story at 1 in the morning. I would later learn that he may have been in a different time zone for that, but the point still stands.

In a panic, I message one of my closest friends who knows all too well about the Benjamin Owens of it all. We were both in a panic, but I eventually responded, and that's where the story really began.

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flaxtonst · 1 year

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Every fucking night now I have to fight my own mind. I’m so sick of myself. Everything is a struggle for me for no fucking reason, because I can’t get myself together.

I make no sense. I’ve never made sense. I heard my mother tell someone once, when I was a teenager (the person she was addressing was a stepfather who was, at the time, actively terrorizing me) “Stop screaming at her, C is weird! She’s always been weird!”. It was one of the few times I felt defended by her. And it always stuck in my mind. It started the long process of coalescing things that had happened in the past…

The multiple times in early childhood where I had been pulled out of classes for weird testing or even weirder sessions with school counselors, none of which I really understood. I remembered people saying “autism” or “a.d.d.”, but nothing was ever really done. Nothing was confirmed. I got no treatment, or help, or accommodations. No one explained to me that I wasn’t just a terrible unlikeable person. I went through the entirety of school STRUGGLING. I was constantly overwhelmed and terrified. I ended up just slowly fizzling out until I dropped out because there was no point in going any more.

Eventually I learned to cover up much of my unacceptable weirdness. I learned to put on a new face. I made a few friends, most of whom were as weird inside as me. Then I made a couple of extrovert friends, and through them was able to have a bit of a social life and masquerade as a real person. For a while, anyway. Through it all was always the constant feeling of terror, of being overwhelmed, and it was exhausting.

And I was very poor, and on my own except for my friends, and had no way to get myself help, and would have had no idea how to go about getting help anyway. And it was very hard for me to pull off my mask and be myself with anyone except a few of my closest people.

And so it went, for decades. I would try to find a way to put myself on a path to SOMETHING, to dig myself out of it. And every time, I fizzled out and fell apart, either physically or mentally (or both). I feel constantly trapped in my own head, and like my body is in constant rebellion. I’m an observer of life instead of a participant. I’m always lost.

And now I’m reaching a milestone birthday, and everyone is old now, even my baby siblings are middle aged. Nieces and nephews are becoming adults. Parental figures are dying off. Close, important friends who were like family are dying off. Life is passing me by at an alarming rate. I’m THIS old, and I still haven’t fixed myself, I still haven’t figured it out, and I’m still lost. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. I learned the term “executive dysfunction” several years back, and it was a REVELATION. It explained so much…

But it still didn’t help. And my husband also has similar executive dysfunction issues, and can’t help either. I don’t know a way out of it. My life going to just slowly fizzle out, and nothing will ever change and I’ll never know what the hell is really wrong with me.

So I guess I’ll just keep fighting the crippling despair, every night, alone. I guess I can live with it.

#fucktags #mental illness #ugh

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theunquenchablethirst · 3 years

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Hooked (Jerome X Reader)

Ok, so this is a thing. I was kinda surprised nobody had used this scene yet, because the Gotham fandom seem to collectively agree that Jerome is BIG KINKY and yet the one scene where he canonically has people cuffed up and hung from the ceiling... nobody has touched??? Y'all have been sleeping on that scene! It's fanfic gold! Anyway, enjoy the hedonism. Much love xxx

Warning: SMUT, 18+, GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, BDSM, bondage, cuffs, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, oral sex, biting, spanking, slapping, pussy slapping, light choking, spitting, belt whipping, praise/degradation, marking, mention of scratching, Jerome is big meanie pants mean man

The new mayor of Gotham is having a meeting with his council members, but things take a turn when the Legion of Horribles show up to kidnap them and reader. When the victims are being unloaded from the truck, Jerome Valeska notices reader, because she isn't exactly on the guest list.

Tag list of lovelies: @gabile18 @valeskaduh @fangirl--writes @persephoneblck

Masterlist

I had been working as a housekeeper for the new mayor. It was a good job, but I wasn't appreciated. I was just there to clean and serve when needed. I don't think he even knew my name. I was just hired help to him. To all of them.

He was hosting a dinner for his council that day. I had been placed in the corner of the room with a bottle of expensive wine where I was to wait until wanted. He gestured for me to come forwards and fill their glasses while they started talking about their displeasure with the rising foul play in the city, like it was anything new for Gotham. The chairwoman wanted to know what he was going to do about it. Very little in my opinion. He was just coasting. In too deep over his head. He had been appointed far too fast and everyone knew it. He wasn't going to last.

He made an attempt to save face and talk about how he too was disturbed by the recent goings on and was doing everything he could. Trash, utter trash. As he rose from his seat, the lights fizzled out. I stopped pouring. Had this been any other city I would have assumed it was a simple power outage, but nothing was that simple in Gotham. The security guard closed us in and went to see what was happening. The air turned icy. No, this was not good. Gunshots and screams came from the hallway and everyone rose from the table terrified. We quickly started walking towards a door hoping to make an escape, but there was something about the windows. They were freezing over.

The doors burst open and I dropped the wine. It smashed into pieces as a blueish man in some kind of robotic suit and a weird looking, but huge gun stepped into the room. Was that Victor Fries? Then through the second set of doors another man in a top hat who I recognised as Jervis Tetch burst in with some other strange looking friends.

Before I could comprehend the situation, we were all being cuffed and taken outside. Our kidnappers pushed and pulled us towards a huge truck, all the while the mayor tried to buy his way free. He was showing just how little he really knew about the underbelly of Gotham. I knew just by looking at them that they were probably Arkham escapees and couldn't be bought like a sane man could. They had their own plans and you can't bargain with crazies.

We got to the truck and they opened the back door. My blood ran cold when I saw that standing there waiting for us was Jerome Valeska. Of all the criminals Gotham had seen he had been the only one that had scared me, truly and thoroughly. He didn't have any kind of reason for what he did. He just enjoyed death and chaos. And after his last escapade he looked like madness personified, his scars circling his face and eyes and giving him a permanent evil smile. Dread consumed me as I realized that he was no doubt the leader of this operation and if that was true, we were already dead.

I felt myself jolted forwards. The mayor had pushed me in front of the rest of the council to get whatever was coming first. If I wasn't cuffed, I would have turned around and broke his nose. I was lifted into the truck, my hands were pulled above my head and fixed to two hooks. I had to stand on my toes to keep standing which made it awkward and difficult as they pushed me to the back of the truck.

Was that Penguin? What was he doing here? He didn't belong here. I had gone to Penguin looking for a job in his club when I was 16. He was impressed with my audition, but when he asked my age, he rejected me.

"This establishment is not a playground for children. It's a nightclub." He had told me. At the time I had been steaming mad, but in hindsight he was probably right. Even if he was rude. So, after that, I found it hard to understand why he was here and working with Valeska. Maybe he had been kidnapped too?

The rest of the council were loaded on and hooked. The mayor was still trying to offer them money and pardons. When he saw it wasn't working, he resorted to empty, unintimidating threats. Jerome was completely unfazed and even a little disappointed in the lack of smiles.

"Nobody knows how to have fun anymore, right?" He said putting his arm around Penguin. So, he was a part of this.

Jerome pointed to a scary looking figure dressed like a scarecrow. Johnathan Crane? Crane released some kind of purple gas in the face of a member of a council. She started laughing and convulsing violently.

"What have you got to lose? Except your sanity?" Jerome joined in the crazy laughter. So, this was his plan. He'd figured out a way to forcefully drive everyone insane. With a gas.

I silently prayed to God in my mind for any kind of help.

After sufficiently terrifying us half to death, they left us in the back of truck. None of us could say anything and after a few minutes the truck started moving.

"Is she ok?" I asked looking towards the victim of the insanity gas.

"Who cares?! We have to figure out what they want and get out of here." Replied the mayor.

"Maybe they want publicity for whatever that gas is. Offer them some TV time." Guessed the chairwoman.

"Don't you get it?! This isn't a situation you can buy your way out of!" I snapped, frustrated with their idiocy.

"These aren't normal criminals. They don't want your money. They want chaos and madness." They stood there silently stunned. They had never heard me speak with such confidence, but in that moment, they knew I was right.

After what felt like hours the truck finally stopped.

"What's going on?" The mayor whispered.

Everything was quiet. We listened for any noise or sign of life. All we could hear was our own breath.

Then suddenly the doors flung open once again and in hopped Valeska, Tetch and Crane.

"We're here!" Jerome grinned.

The other two started to pull the council one by one off the hooks and walk them out of the truck, closely watched by Jerome. Until they got to me.

"Wait..." He stuck an arm out to stop Tetch from unhooking me.

"Who's she? She wasn't on the party list." He took a few steps closer to me.

"This poor young girl is an unlucky maid. Wrong place, wrong time. Very bad day." Jervis explained looking at me.

"Would you like me to... dispose of her?" Asked Crane, stalking close to me and lifting needle covered fingers to my throat.

"Not so fast, Mr Potato Head." Jerome said pulling him away from me.

He came so close that we were only inches apart. He looked down at me as if he was thinking for a few seconds then smirked and turned around to the others.

"Guys, go and see that our guests are comfortable, will ya? Get everything ready." He ushered them out of the truck. Fear travelled up and down my body. This had all been a bad situation, but being alone with Valeska scared the hell out of me.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for pretty little girls." He closed the truck doors and turned to look at me.

"Freddy Krueger there... not so much." He relaxed, leaning back against the doors with his hands in his pockets. "You got a name?"

I stayed silent, more out of fear than defiance. He sucked his teeth and stood up straight.

"I get it. You're scared. Who wouldn't be, right?" He started slowly walking closer. "But things will go a lot smoother if you just play nice."

I still couldn't find any words.

"Aw, come on, doll! I'm getting awful lonely over here." He brought his hands up out of his pockets and leaned against a wall of the truck.

He was quiet for a few seconds and I noticed that his eyes were making their way up my legs. Being held up by my wrists on my tip toes had pulled my uniform skirt up and almost all of my thighs were exposed. I blurted out my name in an attempt to distract him from my bare legs. He smiled.

"What a pretty name. Now, was that so hard?" He pushed himself off the wall and came a little closer.

"So, you're the mayor's dust bunny, huh? I gotta say, doll, I can see why he keeps you around." He chuckled, eyeing me.

My whole body flushed and my face turned hot and red.

“But, uh, the thing about mayors in this town, they don’t last very long.”

"Please let me go." I whimpered.

"Oh, but we're having such a good time! Plus, if I did that, you'd scamper off to the GCPD and I can't have good ol' Gordon crashing the party early."

I scoffed at his suggestion. Not likely. I had a distinct distaste for the GCPD. They hadn't helped me when I needed them. I would never need them again.

"What's the matter? He book ya before or something?" Jerome smiled with intrigue.

"My parents... they... did things to us. When I ended up in the hospital one too many times..." Tears stung my eyes as I remembered. "They left me there and disappeared with my little brother. No one ever managed to track them down."

I didn’t fully understand why I was opening up to Jerome, but for a second, I saw a spark of humanity in his eyes. Like he understood my pain. I'd heard his first kill had been his mother, so maybe he did?

"I'd give anything to see him again." I sniffed and a tear rolled down my cheek.

"Yeah, I had shitty parents too." He sighed. "I killed them both."

I had thought about what I would do if I ever saw my parents again. What I would say, what I would ask. I could never think of the right words. But the thought of killing them, well that made me smile.

"What was it like?" I asked.

Jerome grinned from ear to ear and stepped closer so that we were toe to toe.

“Have you ever stood at the edge of a really tall building? You know that little voice in the back of your head that says ‘Jump! You can fly!’ even though every other part of you is screaming ‘No you can’t! You’re gonna kill us!’”

I nodded shakily.

“It’s like finally giving in to that voice. Like jumping off Gotham Bridge and finding out you can fly. And realising you never have to walk again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and my heart felt like it was going a million beats per minute. His eyes were locked on mine and it felt like he was looking straight into my soul.

“You wanna fly, doll?” He brought his hand up to cup my jaw and ran his thumb along my bottom lip.

It wasn’t humanity I saw in Jerome Valeskas eyes. It was freedom. A freedom that I had wanted for as long as I could remember. And I could have it right now. He was offering it to me. The only thing standing in my way was myself.

“Yes.” I breathed. “Yes, I do.”

The next thing I knew, his lips were crashing into mine and he had hooked his hands under my thighs and was holding them around his waist. His kiss was desperate and hungry, like he had been starved for days and his grip on the bare flesh of my thighs was rough enough to leave bruises. I locked my ankles together behind him to steady myself from swaying underneath the cuffs. When I did, he drove his crotch forwards, grinding into my centre, a quiet moan escaping me as I felt him.

He slowly trailed a hand from my thigh, up my back and to the nape of my neck, before balling my hair in his fist. I gasped as I felt the sudden, sharp tug of him pulling my head back.

His eyes wandered down to settle on my exposed throat, before yanking my head to the side and nestling in the crook of my neck. He must’ve left a hundred open mouth kisses, but as he started to suck, I felt his teeth sink into my skin. I pulled back with a hiss at the sting, but he wouldn’t let go. He just kept on leaving harsh, red bitemarks and pulling my hair, all the time grinding harder into me.

He licked over the bruises he’d left and gently kissed them, before trailing his tongue up my neck to nip at my ear. He smiled darkly and pulled back away from me, dropping my legs back to the floor. He stalked around me, eyeing me up and down like a predator. I felt him behind me, his hands softly holding onto my waist, pulling me close to his chest.

“You know what’s great about this?” He cooed. “You’re already pre-cuffed.”

I flushed and my core swelled hot, his breath so close to me made my skin tingle all over. He pulled at the top of my skirt and dragged it down my hips, letting it fall down around my feet. He caressed my thighs and then stepped back, tugging at my underwear, playfully letting the elastic snap back to me.

“Y’know...” He said, before the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling. “Marquis de Sade said ‘sex without pain is like food without taste’...”

My eyes widened at his words and my heartbeat quickened.

“So, let’s make this... delicious.”

A million thoughts raced through my mind, but before I could process any, I felt the sharp snap of leather against my ass. I jolted forwards and let out a high pitch yelp.

Even though I couldn’t see him, I could tell he was smirking. I could hear it in his voice. I bit my lip in an attempt to brace myself and he landed the belt across me again.

“Please, Jerome...” I whimpered at the sting, closing my eyes.

He brought it down again, making me arch my back in a gasp. A couple of tears rolled down my cheeks and I realised there was little point in resisting the torment. So, I gritted my teeth and prepared for another lick of the belt.

He whipped me once more, harder this time and a small scream escaped me.

“Please!” I begged.

I heard him chuckle with dark delight. The bastard was enjoying this. Of course he was. What else had I expected from someone like him? I tightened all my muscles for the next sting...

But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt him pulling my underwear down. Relief washed over me when I heard the belt drop to the floor and I realised Jerome was finished and was now crouched, ready to inspect his work. He ran his fingers over my burning flesh, taking in the bright red lashes he had left on me.

“What a pretty picture?” He said, landing a spank. “I wish you could see too doll, but having you cuffed is half the fun.”

His voice was dripping with venom and arousal and I could practically feel his grin in the air. He traced the marks with his fingers a little longer, before grabbing my flesh in fistfuls and sinking his teeth in. I gasped loudly at the hard bite. I wasn’t sure how many more of Jerome's surprises I could take. He laughed and ran his tongue over the new bruise.

“Yep. Definitely a pretty picture.” He smiled, giving me another spank. “I like those little noises you make, doll. Why don’t you make some more for me?”

He snaked his hand up my inner thigh and began stroking along my slit, relighting the fire in my stomach. I moaned, biting hard on my lip and tried to bring my thighs together, wanting friction.

“Naughty.” He said, landing a swift slap on my entrance causing me to let out a little yelp. “I need you to keep those legs open for me.”

It wasn’t as bad as the belt. In fact, it felt quite good. The heat inside me swelled as Jerome returned to running his fingers back and forth in my slickness. I hummed softly in my throat, fighting the urge to close my thighs again, my knees starting to shudder underneath me.

“Look how wet you are and I’m barely touching you.” Jerome chuckled darkly. “I wonder what happens if I do this?”

Jerome plunged two fingers deep inside me and slowly started pumping them. I let the warmth roll through me, moaning blissfully. He gently started to pick up speed, making it nearly impossible for me to keep my thighs apart. The faster he got, the deeper he dove, making me tighten around his talented fingers and struggle to keep steady on my toes.

My legs were shaking and despite my best efforts I just had to squeeze them together. As soon as I did, Jerome removed his fingers from me, leaving me feeling empty and spanked me hard.

“What did I say about that?” He barked, laying down another spank.

His spanking felt different this time. It felt pleasurable and sent a thrill up my spine.

“Sorry.” I whimpered.

“Sorry for what?” He spanked me again. “For being a needy little whore? Hm?” Another spank.

“Yes!” I gasped. “I’m a needy little whore! I just...”

“What? You just what?”

Jerome landed another slap at my core. It made my muscles clench, but it also aroused me so much more in a way I’d never thought I’d experience.

“What? What do you want, whore?”

“Please...”

“Big words, princess. What...” Spank. “Do you...” Another spank. “Want?”

“I want... I want you...” I forced, breathlessly.

“You want me? What do you want me to do, princess?” Jerome teased, tracing a finger along my burning entrance, just barely touching me.

“Please... Make me feel good, Jerome... Make me cum.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

“Yes...”

“Are you gonna do as I say?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Exactly as I say?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Just please...Jerome.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. I felt so pathetic and needy. I needed him to touch me.

“So desperate.” He giggled sadistically. I supposed he loved seeing me beg.

Then, finally, he spread me open and dove his tongue deep into my wanting warmth. I closed my eyes and bit down hard on my lip as he swirled his tongue around inside me. I wanted to grab his hair and feel it in my fingers, but all I could do was squeeze my fists together in empty frustration.

Jerome grabbed a hand full of my ass, gripping it tightly, digging his nails in and rose his other hand to my pelvis front, pulling me down further onto his tongue. I squealed, a delightful mixture of pleasure and also pain from the tugging on my aching forearms. He ran his front hand down to play with my swollen clit, circling his fingers around beautifully.

He grinded his face deeply into me, sliding his tongue up, down, around and around inside me. He pressed his fingers down harder on my clit, forcing a loud moan out of me. I felt the pressure inside me build, coiling and tightening like a burning spring. I squeezed my thighs around his head in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper, his tongue nestling inside finding all of my sweet spots and lighting them on fire.

I could feel myself ready, ready to burst. He was pulling an amazing orgasm out of me and I wanted nothing more than to just let it go. All it took was one more upward jolt of his head, pushing his tongue that last little bit deep enough to push me over. I screamed out in erotic pleasure, letting the feeling flood me like warm water. My back arched and my legs convulsed until I withered, letting myself dangle from my cuffs in a breathless defeat.

Jerome slid his tongue out of me and pulled his face back away.

“You sing so pretty, dollface. Like a little birdie.” He said, squeezing the flesh off my ass.

He gave me one more light bite and a spank, before he rose back up to stand, snaking his hands along my sides all the way. He let his hands wander up to cup my breasts, massaging them softly. He leaned in close and began leaving wet kisses in the crook of my neck. I shuddered, his touch sending a cool tingle down my spine. He let his hands squeeze my breasts slightly harder, then pulled away and crept back around in front of me.

He stood facing me, his eyes locked on mine. They seemed to burn holes right into my flesh, creating a sense of fear in me. I was scared of Jerome Valeska, I truly was. But everything he was doing to me right now... The way he touched me, kissed me. I wondered how he managed it. How he was able to both terrify and arouse me in equal amounts.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t register his hand rising until it was firmly wrapped around my throat. He leaned down to kiss me, dominating my mouth with his tongue, making me taste myself. Once again, I felt the familiar warmth build in my core as I sensed we were not quite done here. He finished the kiss with a little nip to my bottom lip.

“Are you scared of me, doll?” He purred.

I swallowed hard, unsure if truth was wise here. Then I felt him increase the pressure around my throat, not wanting to wait for an answer.

“Yes.” I breathed.

“Good.” He said through an evil smirk.

He crashed his lips to mine once again, his free hand picking up my thigh to wrap around him. I locked both my legs around his waist, wanting to feel him close against me. I felt his erection hard, under his clothes, grinding into me and I wanted it. Badly. He pulled away from the kiss, leaving his taste on my tongue and raised his hand from my throat to grab hold of my face. He took his other hand away from my thigh and pulled at his tie. I didn’t drop my legs this time, instead I gripped tighter as he slid his tie from around his neck and scrunched it in his fist.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered.

I did as he said and he smiled, before spitting into my open lips and gagging me with his tie. I’d never had anyone do that before and it shocked me a little, but then again, I’d never had anyone like Jerome Valeska before.

He backed up slightly, just enough for him to reach down and unzip his trousers and pull down his underwear, freeing his erection. I couldn’t help but look down at it. It was bigger than any I’d taken before and I wasn’t sure how prepared I was. He started to slowly stroke himself, lifting up my chin to look at me.

He gently stroked a single finger across my jaw and then, suddenly, landed a harsh slap across my cheek. I yelped at the slap, causing a dangerous smile to form on Jeromes mouth. I should’ve been repulsed by him. He killed people and was aroused by my pain and fear, so why was I so attracted to him?

He angled himself underneath me so he was lined up and ready. He wrapped his hand back around my throat and then pushed forwards into me, causing us both to let out deep moans.

“You like that?”

I nodded and whimpered through the material of the tie. Jerome giggled darkly and with his free hand, gripped onto my waist.

“Brace yourself, princess.” He warned, through a poisonous smile.

He pulled back slowly, until he was almost completely out of me and then, like a bullet, ploughed himself right back in, jolting me backwards with force. He continued his thrusting rough and fast, making me whimper and bite down hard on the tie. I closed my legs tightly around him, pulling him closer and forcing him in deeper.

He let out a low, guttural groan and moved his hand upwards from my waist to slap me again, spitting at my face as he did so. I closed my eyes to endure the onslaught of him pounding inside me like a raging animal. I felt like a toy, dangling there for him to use as he liked, but still the searing pleasure of it all made me moan lustfully.

“Open those peepers, princess.” He commanded. “I want you to see exactly who’s in charge here.”

I opened my eyes and saw him grinning at me like a man possessed.

“You like this? You like me fucking you?” He growled, gripping my throat tighter.

All I could do was whimper and moan in response.

“I cuffed you and hung you up, hurt you, spat on you... even made you cry! And you still let me fuck you?” He laughed through shallow breaths. “You’re pathetic, you know that? A pathetic little whore.”

Jerome threw another slap at me and I felt myself tighten around his considerable length, taking him all deep inside me. He drove up into me like he was trying to break me open with his girth and I welcomed every inch of it.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He moaned.

I clenched my walls around him, the feeling of being filled by him sending flutters through me as he pushed in deeper and laughed.

“I don’t think your pussy ever wants to let me go, doll!” He grinned. “But I already know you like taking my cock like this, cause you’re such a good girl for me... I like that.”

I flushed at his words. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel good to please him and, in that moment, I would have done anything for him. I could feel my ecstasy creeping up on me, like magma rising inside a volcano. I cried out wantonly, the heat rising as he worked me, exploring every detail of my canal with his thick shaft.

He let go of my throat and moved both his hands to grab onto my ass and squeezed, steadying me so he could pound me harder and climb to release. His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I could tell he was just as close as I was. I moaned loudly as he rammed into me harder and faster, burying himself deeper and making my arousal burn.

I could feel it coming, so close. I was about to boil over and all I needed was him. Just him. He continued thrusting like a raging animal, digging his nails into my flesh and scraping them along my ass, stinging sweetly. I whimpered at the sensation and tightened my legs.

“Cum for me, doll.” He panted. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

He plunged into me, pushing the magma higher and just so close to bursting. It was coming. I could feel it.

He pounded again. So close. Again and again, so hard inside me. Just a little more...

I screamed out, closing my eyes and letting everything go. The feeling of my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave of pure elation. My whole body shook from the force of it and I trembled like a leaf. Jerome continued to thrust into me until he too reached his climax. He growled like a beast and I felt him throb, releasing his hot load of sticky lust deep inside me.

We both relaxed, catching our breath and he stared down into my eyes. He unlatched his hands from the flesh of my ass and brought one round to gently stroke my cheek with his fingertips. It was quiet, but only for a minute.

He threw his head back and laughed like the madman he was, before pulling out of me and stepping back. My legs dropped to the floor and he began to put himself away and zip his trousers back up.

“Well, that was fantastic, dollface. Thanks for playing nice with me.” He said, throwing me a wink.

There was a loud metallic knock at the truck doors and I guessed whoever it was, was trying to get Jeromes attention.

“It’s been fun princess, really. But time waits for no man and I’ve got a party to attend” He said, smiling at me. “Well, more like crash.”

When he turned to leave, I tried to speak, but all that came out was intelligible muttering. He wasn’t going to leave me here, dangling, half naked and gagged like this? Was he? He began walking to the truck doors and I tried to call out.

“Oh! Wait, almost forgot.”

I felt a flood of relief when he began walking back to me.

“I’m gonna need this back.” He said and pulled the tie out of my mouth.

I was glad to finally be rid of it, but my joy was short lived, because he was starting to leave again.

“Hey...” I croaked; my mouth dry.

“Yeah, I’ll have someone come get you later.” He said, too nonchalantly for my liking. “For now, you can just... well, why don’t you just hang out?”

He laughed at his joke and opened the doors.

“Hey! You can’t leave me here!” I tried to shout, but my throat was too dry.

And then... he was gone. He really did just leave me alone, half naked in the back of a truck. How long would it be before someone found me? An hour? Two? The rest of the day?

All alone with my thoughts now, I decided the only thing to do now was wait. Wait and try and go over what the hell just happened between me and Jerome Valeska.

#gotham #jerome valeska #jerome x reader #fanfic #smut

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midgardianweasley · 3 years

Text

The Royal Ball

Loki laufeyson x Fem!reader

Summary: There is an Asgard ball being hosted in the palace, Y/N is yet to find a date to accompany her. She’s disappointed when a certain God doesn’t ask her, however, what happens when he sees someone else getting a little too close for comfort throughout the night?

Warnings: lil bit angsty, self doubt, JEALOUS LOKI, fluffy ending

Word Count: 3.3k

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Requests are open loves <3

Y/F/N - Your Friend’s Name

It was a beautiful autumn’s day, crisp brown leaves were falling off of the large trees in the courtyard and scattering the cobbled ground. Loki and I had been wandering around for some time now, discussing everything from the books we’ve been reading to the dreams that have come to us in our sleep.

“And then this huge ghost thing was chasing me around the halls! and if that wasn’t weird enough, you popped up-”

“Ah, seeing me in your dreams are we, darling?” Loki chuckled, taking great pleasure at the fact that he had made an appearance in my subconscious, completely ignoring my distress at being chased by a supernatural being.

“Funny you should say that, right after seeing you, I woke up. The sight must’ve given me quite the scare.” I scoffed, a smile unable to stop itself from making its way onto my face, eyes meeting his, face etched with shock. With a hand to his chest, he spoke again in disbelief.

“You have truly offended me, love. I never knew you had this side to you.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” I winked, nudging his side slightly with my elbow.

“Really? Can you produce illusions?”

“No.”

“Look inside other people’s heads?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Turn yourself into a snake to scare your eight year old brother?”

“I still can’t believe you did that”

“My greatest achievement yet.” He smirked, the memory never failing to amuse him.

His stories always had me in awe of his capabilities, even if it was to give his brother a long-term fear, it was still an incredible talent. Whenever he tells me of his latest adventures or tricks, I always think of how well his title fits him. God of Mischief. Maybe that’s why I liked him much more than what a best friend should, not that I'd ever admit it. Not to him anyway.

We soon found ourselves standing next to one of the windows of the hallway, the crystal clear glass giving a beautiful view of the city of Asgard. From here, you could see the Queen’s gardens, full of flowers in all different colours and types, grass cut to perfection. You could see the families in the town, walking around the different buildings, children playing. It was lovely to watch, seeing everyone enjoy the seasonal weather and the light bounce off of the windows, it was ethereal.

“I never get tired of this.” I sighed, voice only slightly above a whisper

“Tired of what, love?”

“Just, this. This view, this kingdom, it’s incredible.” I looked up at Loki, trying to see if he was seeing the same beauty that I did. He was already looking at me when I met his eyes and upon seeing the way they sparkled, I assumed he did.

“Actually, speaking of the Kingdom, I have something to tell you. There’s-”

Abruptly stopping him from continuing his sentence, voices were heard from the other end of the hallway, though we couldn’t make out the words until they came closer. We gave each other a quick look of confusion before turning to see where the commotion was coming from, hearing the quick and heavy footsteps before being able to put names to the faces.

“Loki! Y/N!” A deep voice bellowed. Was that Thor making all of that noise?

Before I could process any more information, a blur of a pastel pink dress was in my face and hands were placed on my shoulders. I smiled down at the slightly out of breath figure using me as a support stand, it was Y/F/N.

“Wow, Y/F/N, you sound much different than when I spoke to you yesterday, did you drink something funny?” I chuckled, receiving a glare from my friend and a quiet laugh from the God beside me. Thor soon appeared next to Y/F/N, hands on his hips and head thrown back as he tried to compose himself.

“My God, Y/F/N, you run fast.” He pants.

“Care to tell us why you’re both running like madmen through the palace?” Loki speaks, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and what looked a little like concern.

“We..had to..tell you..there’s a ball..next week.” Y/F/N spoke, a bit more stable now, but still in between breaths.

I felt my eyes widen, a ball? I didn’t know Asgard held balls.

“Father is opening up the palace next week to neighbouring kingdoms, in hopes to be closer with them, open Asgard up to more trade opportunities, build relationships and whatnot.” Thor explained, emitting a loud sigh to come from Loki.

“I was just about to tell her, brother. Thank you for interrupting.” He rolled his eyes, half joking, half serious. I reached up and patted his shoulder gently, a small smile on my face.

“Maybe next time Lok” He nodded in response, I didn’t get a chance to comfort him much more before I was being pulled away by Y/F/N. With a small huff of surprise, I gave Loki a glance, silently apologising for our conversation being cut short, receiving a shake of his head in reply, affirming me to not worry about it.

“So.” she begins. “We need to find you a date and a dress. I’m thinking blue. I’m wearing purple so it’s probably best to avoid that one. Hmm. let’s see..oh! I know! we could- Y/N? You listening?” I snapped my head around, not missing the sly smile that was plastered all over my friend’s face.

“Y/F/N, don’t-”

“Loki! He has to be your date. You could wear green and match! If he’s even going to wear green, I'm sure I can get Thor to find out, I assume they’ll get ready together. And black accessories! I have so many ideas.” She clapped her hands, over-excited about the opportunity to plan this evening for us. Except for one minor detail.

“That sounds great, Y/F/N, it sounds wonderful, you’re just missing something.”

“Missing something? Oh, if you mean our hair then i’ve already-”

“No, not our hair. Loki hasn’t asked me, and I doubt he will.” I spoke, the second half coming out more as a whisper, my heart dropping a little at the thought. He’d never really expressed having those kinds of feelings for me and I'd always seen him be close with different girls around the palace, he’ll probably ask one of them.

“He might ask you, you never know what’s around the corner.”

“I guess so, we’ll have to wait and see.”

And that was the last we spoke of it before she went into full planner mode again, while I continued to ponder over all of the thoughts running through my head. I mean, he could ask me, right?

--------------------------

He didn’t.

After talking about it with Y/F/N, I had a glimmer of hope that maybe I was wrong, maybe I hadn’t noticed something that she had, that Loki would approach me and ask me to be his company for the evening.

I spent the next couple of days with him, hoping he would ask me, everytime a pause would appear in conversation, maybe he was finally going to do it. And everytime, a little bit of the hope I had, had fizzled out.

I’d even considered other reasons as to why he hadn’t asked, maybe the King didn’t want him and Thor to have dates so that they could mingle with members of the other kingdoms. Of course that theory had flown right out one of the Palace’s windows when Y/F/N told me that Thor was going to be her date. I was right then, he wasn’t wanting to go with me.

I guess I understood, I’m the best friend, we’d always been that. I think a part of me just thought that maybe he, like me, wanted something a little more. Clearly, I was mistaken.

Y/F/N and I had been getting ready for a while now, our hair was styled to perfection, our dresses were on and both of us were fully accessorized. We were looking at ourselves in the mirror, doing spins and curtseys and gushing over how good the other looked.

“You look amazing tonight, Y/N, really. Loki is missing out.”

“Thank you, and I'm sure his date is beautiful.” I spoke, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress, trying to avoid the subject and the twisting knot in my stomach at the thought of him with someone else all night. “You look incredible! You were right to pick purple, it’s definitely your colour.”

“Y/N’s right, you look gorgeous.” Thor declared, leaning against the doorway sporting a black suit and a dark purple tie, the perfect match with his date’s dress. I could feel my eyes light up when seeing how happy the simple, yet effective comment had made Y/F/N. Rushing over, she engulfed Thor in a hug before leaning up slightly and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Ah and can’t forget, Y/N, you look stunning tonight.” He gestured to me, arm almost scanning me up and down.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.” I laughed. “You both head off, I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure? We don’t mind waiting?” Y/F/N questioned.

“Don’t be silly. You guys go on ahead, I'll meet you there.”

With a nod and a wave, they were off. They really did look like a perfect match tonight. I continued to look at myself in the mirror, fixing any stray hairs, flattening any kinks in my dress. Realistically, I was probably trying to prolong leaving for as long as I could. I was excited, but I was turning up on my own while everyone else had someone, it was a bit nerve-wracking. I still wanted to look my best though.

“Stop trying to convince yourself that you look good, you could literally blow an army of men away by looks alone.” A voice spoke, I spun to see who was speaking, the flash of green was enough to decipher who it was.

“You look lovely tonight, darling.” He grinned, the pet name had set off butterflies in my stomach.

“Thank you. As do you.”

“Well, I did put in an effort, nice to know it’s appreciated.” He joked, a breathy laugh left my lips, entertained by his words.

“Yes, well, I'm sure plenty of others will too.”

“The eyes will never leave me, I'm sure. Unless they’re on you, then I'd be surprised if I get even so much as a glimpse in my direction. Someone is a very lucky guy tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, confused by his statement.

“Well, they get to be beside you all evening, it’s a beautiful view.” He winked.

It could’ve been you, I thought. I knew he was joking, however that didn’t stop the fire in me from igniting.

“I could say the same for you, someone is a very lucky girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know if she ever thinks otherwise.” Joking, again.

So he had asked someone. Albeit disappointed, I'm happy he’s happy. Though I still wish I was the girl in question, I couldn't stop him if he was interested in someone else. That wasn’t fair.

Giving him a brief nod and a tight lipped smile, I picked up the front of my dress a little bit and made my way out of the room and downstairs to the ball. I could still enjoy myself, the night is young, I've got this.

------------------

“It was crazy! And let me tell you, my dad was so angry with me. He didn’t let me serve Turkey again after that year.” Charlie, a guy that I had met an hour or so ago, finished his story of the Christmas horror he had, allowing me to relax for the first time that evening. Up until now, it had felt like all I’d seen was either happy couples, or stares from across the room. Usually the second and usually Loki. The same Loki who had a girl’s arm linked with his and was looking at him like he held the world in his grasp. I broke the gaze, finding it difficult to look at the pair for any longer, as I turned back to Charlie so he could have my attention again, a lazy smile was present as he took a sip of his wine.

“I don’t blame him, really, it sounds like you started a riot!” I exclaimed, sending us both into a full on belly laugh, thinking back to the story. This continued for another five or so minutes, laughter turning into a low chuckle, as if we were about to be told off for how loud we were being. Just as my hand had reached his arm to help hold me up, saving me from laughing myself into the ground, Loki and his date had made their way over.

“Enjoying ourselves, I hope?” He beamed, taking one look at me before giving his full attention to Charlie.

“Yes, yes we are, thank you. How about the two of you?”

“Ye-”

“It’s been fine, yeah, good. So, what’s your name then?” Loki interrupted, his date having no choice but to leave him to respond instead.

“I’m Charlie Fernsby.” He held his hand out, greeting Loki. A gesture that was very awkwardly not reciprocated as he let his hand fall back to his side before Loki spoke up again.

“Charlie..Charlie, now, isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“Loki!” I scolded, giving him an evil side glance, what was he doing?

“No, no it’s okay. Yeah, it can be used for girls too, but it's common for boys to have the name Charlie.” Polite as ever, he responded. A mischievous look made its way onto the God’s face. Oh no.

“So, I take it your parents wanted a girl?”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“I assume your parents wanted a girl, considering they’ve given you a girl’s name?” I rolled my eyes, this teasing was unnecessary.

“Charlie, let’s go and get a drink.” I tried to tug him away, only to be halted by another sentence leaving my best friend’s mouth.

“It was only a question, I'm sure he doesn’t mind answering, do you Carl?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said-” I tried to interject, but he was quick to stop me

“I know what I said, Y/N, but I'm speaking to him. Let him answer the question.”

Loki’s date was long gone by now, she’d left to speak to another group of people, presumably another few couples, leaving us three to have this discussion, thing, whatever you would think to call it.

“I’m just saying, maybe they would’ve preferred a daughter, seeing as they’ve very obviously made that clear.” He beamed, expecting me to join in and agree with him, I don’t find this funny. At all.

“Can you excuse us, Charlie? Loki, A word.” I pointed to the door, giving him a look implying for him not to test me.

“I’m in trouble. Wish me luck Carlos.”

“Charlie.”

“I know, that’s what I said.”

I pushed him all the way out the door, into the hallway and round the corner so as not to disturb everyone else’s evening. When I’d made sure there was no one else around, I looked up at the Asgardian, my arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, I wasn’t impressed anymore.

“So, are we out here for some hide or seek, or?”

“What the hell was that in there?!” I raised my voice slightly, his need to always make everything a joke wasn’t working this time. He had his night, his date, he didn’t need to come over and insult mine.

“What was what, darling? I was making conversation.”

“You were making fun of him.”

“No, I showed some concern about his parents choices, that’s all. Friendly advice if anything.” He looked a bit more frustrated with me now, as though he was stating the obvious and it was going over my head. I wasn’t having it this time.

“No, Loki. You weren’t and you know you weren’t. You had your date, she was fine, you were fine-”

“Well-”

“Let me finish. Everything was fine. Until you caught sight of me having a friendly conversation with another guy who wasn’t you. But guess what Lok, I’m allowed to do that! I’m an adult, I can speak with whoever I like!” My arms were all over the place now, my frustration was starting to show itself, it seems I had a bit pent up.

I saw his lips move, I heard something, but it was so quiet I couldn't make it out.

“Speak up, Loki. I can’t hear you.”

“I said, if you think he was just being friendly, you’re clearly out of your mind.”

Is he serious?

“Are you- Loki, you have no right to make a judgement on who and how and why I interact with other people. Not that it should matter to you anyway, you’ve spoken to other women before and I've never said a word or tried to stop you. Why does this matter so much?”

Silence.

“No, please, go on, tell me, enlighten me as to why this bothered you so much tonight, because trust me, I'm dying to know, truly.” I was shouting now, I just wanted answers for his behaviour, I didn’t think it would be this difficult.

His hands had made his way into his trouser pockets, eyes looking everywhere before settling on mine. He looked conflicted, I wanted to drop it when I saw his troubled gaze, but I couldn’t go back in there without an explanation.

“Ple-”

“I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear, love? That I was so uncomfortable seeing some you get close with some guy that I had to embarrass him in front of you? Something I'm sure my father won’t be so impressed to hear, but there, you’ve got your confession.” His voice had gone much louder than mine, taking me by surprise, so much so that it took me a minute to process what he had said. He liked me?

He turned to leave, I assume because I hadn't said anything for a matter of minutes, but I gently grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards me. I looked up into his eyes again. I was so close that you could see the specs of different colours spotted in them, they were flawless. This view beats the Asgard view anyday.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Worried I guess. We’d never spoken of moving past friendship and I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m more than interested, Loki.” I grinned, my smile meeting my eyes, never leaving his.

“Not Chelsey?”

“For the love, it’s Ch-”

I couldn’t say his name, a certain pair of lips had stopped me from doing so. As they molded against mine, my hands went up to tangle themselves in his hair, his hands falling to my waist and pulling me closer, I didn’t even think that could be possible. We pulled away when we needed to catch a breath, foreheads falling against each other, smiles painted on both of our faces.

“I bet I'll be in your dreams again tonight.” He whispered.

“I bet I'll be in yours.”

“Always are, Darling. Always are.”

taglist: @horrorxweasley

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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melo-yello · 3 years

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💤Can’t Sleep💤 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku🪨💥 HeadCanons

Pairing(s): KiriBaku X black!reader, Eijirou Kirishima X Katsuki Bakugou X black!reader

A/N: fluff and ANGST. Like lots of ANGST. I had a rough week and honestly not very much sleep. What can I say. Sue me, I wanna hug and somebody to watch a movie with.

💤💥🪨 Lay on your stomach opening and closing your eyes as you try and convince yourself to sleep. Kirishima snores softly with an arm around Bakugou’s waist. He’s been pretty stressed lately so he gets to be middle spoon. Baku in turn has an arm draped over your shoulders.

💤💥🪨 The soft and peaceful looks on the boys’ faces are nothing but safe and warm and reassuring . Yet here you are unavailable to close your eyes long enough to drift off to sleep. Each time you close your eyes your heart attempts to tear a whole through your chest. The dim red light of the clock reads 2:56 as you slip out of Baku’s embrace for a glass of water

💤💥🪨 You settle on Jasmine tea instead. Quietly pulling a the kettle from the cabinet and turning on the tap just before placing it on the stove. You busy yourself in your phone in order to banish any form of thought from your head. Soon just blankly browsing through TikToks as you wait for the water to boil

💤💥🪨 The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention as you hear heavy footsteps and the creaking of the bedroom door. Short angry grumbles are traded with deep groggy grunts as the footsteps close in on your position. You glance up to see the time is now 3:22 and you hear the kettle whistling for the first. Mostly likely what woke your boyfriends to begin with. You scowl at the kettle.

💤💥🪨 “fuck you.” you curse under your breath snatching up the kettle to quiet it’s shouting as the two set of red eyes fix on you in the dim light of kitchen. Kiri’s long red hair pulled back into a messy plat, and Baku’s fluffy ash blonde sticking out in all directions except for the right side flatten to the side of his skull

💤💥🪨 “Oí, Chuchu Soul, do you have any idea what time it is?!!” Baku squints tiredly placing a hand on his hip. “That’s actually a good one.” You giggle surprised by his creativity. “I know right?! And they used to call him uncreative.” Kirishima smirks between a yawn. “ Well?” Bakugou’s features don’t change. More likely mad that he’s awake at this ungodly hour than anything else. “Was it another panic attack, Pebble?” Kiri questions walking to rest his hand on your lower back. You don’t acknowledge his soft gesture and busy yourself with pouring the newly hot water into your large mug with it’s awaiting tea bag.

💤💥🪨 “Run that shit back, Eiji?!? When was this?” Bakugou’s foggy apathetic sleepiness raises to concerned confusion . You curse under your breath for the third time tonight. Kiri racks his tired brain for an explanations as he trades tired glances between the temperamental blonde and the vaguely suspicious one blowing at tea. “Pebble you didn’t tell him about Friday Night?” He frowns looking down at you. “...i forgot...” you whisper sipping the overly hot tea and burning your tongue. Hell you wouldn’t have told him either, but he was right beside you when it happened.

💤💥🪨 That Friday night. You couldn’t speak. You stood in a dark room. Small and cramped. No windows. No doors. Just glowing ink on one wall in barely legiable font. Prove It. As soon as you touched the lettering it went blood red and the water began to pool at your feet. You begin to lose your composure trying to find an exit. In seconds the water is at your waist. Then your neck. Then the ceiling. Like that you’re choking and sputtering trying to find. The walls go translucent. Larger than life figures with unmistakable silhouettes and Pro hero customs hold your box in each hand. You bang tight fists to gain their attention. Your blood mixes with the water and you could barely breath. You thrashed across the sheets desperately trying to snatch yourself from your current nightmare. Suddenly Kiri shaking you awake and he’s coaching you into breathing again.

💤💥🪨 The memory of utter helplessness washes over you all over again. You sigh in frustration as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. “Come here, Pebs.”

💤💥🪨 Without another word, Kiri scoops you up bridal style and takes a seat on the couch placing you in his lap. Baku takes the seat next to him gently taking the hot tea from your trembling hands. You hadn’t even realized they were shaking until you touched his steady ones. “Babes, we hafta talk about this. Including Friday, this makes 3 days of shitty sleep. That’s not good or sustainable, Knucklehead.” Bakugou sighs placing the mug on the coffee table before wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek.

💤💥🪨 “It’s not like I don’t wanna do better, Kats. Eiji. I’m just...” you trail off mid explanation. You clasp fingers over your soft lips. Opening twice to speak, but only croaks come out. You try very hard to find a tangible reason for your reluctance to sleep, but there were none. Kiri squeezes your shoulders reassuringly and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your bonnet.

💤💥🪨 “We know you’re trying, love. It’s ok to be scared sometimes. Even the resident hardass, Katsuki still gets nightmares.” Kiri offers doing his best to let you ride these feelings out while comforting you as well. “Yea.”Baku’s grip tightens at the mention of his own nightmares before leaning his head on your legs

💤💥🪨 “I just can’t trust it ok! It’s scary. I’m panicking in sleep now?!! I’m only getting worse and now I crying about. FUCK! I’m just a scared bitchy crybaby who can’t sleep.” You sigh overwhelmed by all the physical closeness and their consistent and unwavering support. You mentally kick yourself for the not realizing sooner that you trusted them enough to hurt like this in front of them. There’s something that unnerves you about that. Tears streaming at full force at this piont

💤💥🪨Kiri holds you firmly to chest tucking your shaking form under his chin. Baku moves to wrap an embrace overlapping Kiri’s arms. “Just let it all out, Babygirl.” He hums leaning his head on your shoulder. Your chest tightens and your fingers curl into angry fists. Suddenly your frighteningly fierce temper rears it’s ugly head.

💤💥🪨 “No no no NO! Stop It! STOP ACTING SO NICE! STOP ACTING LIKE I DESRVE THIS! BE DISAPPOINTED! BE UPSET!! TELL ME TO TRY HARDER! TELL ME TO TAKE BETTER CARE OF MYSELF! TELL ME IT’S EASY! REALLY EASY! BE ANGRY I’M FUCKING IT ALL UP! BLAME ME! I BLAME ME! I blame me... I blame me for not being...better.” You fume trying to push them away. You do your best to squirm out of their gentle comfort and tender embrace your lovers have you wrapped in. Neither one of your boys moves. “No way, Pebs.” Kirishima says resolutely. “Not a fucking chance, Teddy.” Bakugou nods with the same unchanging confidence. The rage in your chest melts as fat tears and roll down your brown cheeks.

💤💥🪨 A heaving and broken sob racks your entire body as you fall apart in their arms. Anger subsides into terrified uncertainty and overwhelming futility settles in its place. Tears and mucus flood down your face and soak Kiri’s t-shirt. Sniffles from above draws you out of the dark thoughts swarming around you. Surely enough tears drip slowly down Kiri’s cheeks. Instinctively you cup his face with trembling hands. “...Sorry.. I’ll be strong...just gimme a sec” he mutters as his broad shoulders slump and he moves to bat away the falling droplets. Bakugou grabs his hand and kisses it while wiping the red head’s face. “Eijirou, you don’t have to. Not right now” You sputter between choppy breaths.

💤💥🪨 His usually unwavering features muddy with insecurity. A fairly uncommon expression for someone so death defyingly optimistic and confident. “But it’s what I’m good at. If I can’t be strong for the people I love most then what good am I?” He retorts apathetically tightening his grip as the tears still trickle. You slink an arm around his hips, and place your face to his chest. “Bullshit. You’re plenty strong enough for us, Eijirou. Stop being so hard headed!” Bakugou raves putting a hand behind his neck and his forehead against his for emphasis before continuing, “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing. You are complex and unique and fearless and fearful all in one. You’re human, Eiji. It’s ok.”

💤💥🪨 “Katsuki, you’re so compassionate and kind.” You hum softly and absentmindedly almost. You don’t know why this observation came but it just feels right. Eiji smiles leaning in the blonde’s embrace. “Honestly Kats, you love remarkably deep and painfully unselfishly. Thank you.” Kiri hums kissing his cheek and you do the same. Hot little tears rest at the corners of his dark red eyes. Most of the public thinks he’s some kind of angry asshole devoid of any softer emotions. Comments on your relationship often criticized Katsuki for snagging partners ‘much nicer than he deserved’. And just like that you are scooting over to make room for Bakugou in Kiri’s lap.

💤💥🪨 “Such a shitty little week.” Baku sighs with misty eyes. There’s a small comfort in the collective collapse washing over the three of you. All of you holding the hurt from the others in hopes it would just fizzle away like a bad dream. It didn’t. You sob, Kiri sniffles, and Baku lets two hot tear slip from his glassy eyes. None of you break contact with each other. Your fingers linked with Kiri and Baku’s in the opposite hand. A head glued affectionately onto the red head’s broad shoulder. After what seems like a lifetime and you can’t cry anymore and feeling a surprising amount of relief sinks onto you, you clear your throat.

💤💥🪨 “Wanna watch How to Train a Dragon?” You rasp with tired and strained vocal chords. “I’ll get the popcorn.” Kiri sighs kissing each of you on the cheek as he ushers you both out of his lap. He sashays into the kitchen to find a bowl and the popcorn. Baku stands handing you your cool tea as he grabs the remote. Flipping decisively through Amazon Prime, he queues up the movie as he settles onto the far side of the couch to lay out fully. You sip contently tucking your knees to your chest so you can press the soles of your feet into his. “That tickles.” Bakugou deadpans wiggling his own toes. Soft giggles flutter out of your chest.

💤💥🪨 Kiri strolls back in the room with two large bowls of popcorn and a blanket on each arm. He bows presenting them to their proper owners. Movie theater butter for Baku and kettle corn for you two to share. You sit your now empty mug on the coffee table as Kiri retakes his original spot and you settle comfortably into his lap cocooning you both in a cozy weighted blanket. Baku draped in a light throw typically the first to complain about being hot. The DreamWorks title sequence floats across the screen, and wave of peacefulness falls over the tired trio. Less then five minutes in, you and Bakugou snore quietly as Kiri’s heavy eyelids fight to watch the next couple scenes

510 notes · View notes

sleepystarsiri · 3 years

Text

Bad Sans Poly w/Error

I was given a prompt to ramble about and... Ended with a drabble instead of a small ramble...

A drabble of 2536 words... Written over the course of 11+ hours. Fun!!

————

Error was unsure of the BSP, happy for them, but unsure why he was jealous. Yes, he was single, but... He was happy being alone. He didn't have to risk another relationship ending by being glitched out if he was single...

He lost his first love that way. So why... Why when he was with the others did he feel like he was going to cry when he saw their soft, gentle affections toward each other? It hurt... It made his chest ache and his sockets sting with tears.

He ignored it, pushing the emotions down whenever they surfaced. He could sense the confused, wary looks from Nightmare, but he ignored them. He started to distance himself, holing himself away in the Anti-Void. He barely had the energy to keep up his job, but he managed to.

Instead of visiting the castle to check in, like he usually did, he just laid around in his section of the Anti-Void, bundled up in blankets and watching UnderNovela. That was how Nightmare and the gang found him when they got worried enough to break the unspoken rule of staying out of Error's 'home'.

It was... A chaotic mess, not the normal neat area Error preferred.

Error was asleep in his beanbag chair, curled into a small ball, wrapped in his blanket. He looked terrible. His sockets had bags under them and his scarf was messy, frayed and stained with chocolate.

Concerned, Cross reached out to touch Error's cheek before the others could stop him. Instead of crashing, like they expected, he nuzzled into the hand, purring sleepily. Cross stroked the bags beneath Error's sockets and Error yawned and slowly opened his sockets. His eyelights were hazy and unfocused until he blinked...

Then he gave a glitched screech and jumped backward, tumbling over the back of his beanbag chair.

Cue a freakout and panicked apologies from Cross... Followed by a pause as they saw what was in the beanbag chair. Error had been cuddling up to hand-made dolls of the BSP. He glitched, sputtering, and made his strings yank the dolls up to the tangle of strings and dolls that made up the 'ceiling'.

He hissed at the poly, glitching and blushing vibrantly. He tugged his scarf up to hide his face, emotions all over the place. Embarrassment, panic, affection, love, sadness, pain, anxiety.

Nightmare’s confused, shocked expression morphed into one of realization at Error’s emotions. He stared at Error with a wide socket and Error caught his gaze, tensing up. Shame flooded Error’s emotions as he looked away, his glitches increasing in number.

“Error...” Nightmare said gently, his voice cutting through the air of the Anti-Void, and the glitch tensed up.

“I d-don’t want t-to taaa-talk about it, N-Nightmare.” Error growled lightly, his voice glitching more than it had before.

“Error, we’re going to talk about it. One way or another. You look horrible. When was the last time you washed your scarf? When was the last time you left the Anti-Void?” Nightmare growled back, stalking toward him as his tendrils flicked angrily. Error winced slightly at his approach, feeling the weight of his anger, his concern.

“Yyyy-Yes-Yesterdayyy.” He grumbled, curling up and tucking himself into his coat. “I’m fff-fine. D-dd-don’t need ttt-to talk about iiii-it.”

“Error.” Nightmare’s tone went gentle as he knelt in front of the glitch. “Please. We need to talk about this.”

The glitch just twitched, shaking his head. He growled faintly, twitching violently, before he exhaled a soft mist of shimmering blue, red, yellow, and green. It dissipated moments after he exhaled it.

“I ddd-don’t want to ttt-ta-talk about it.” He muttered irritably, curling up tighter. He pressed his face into his knees, trying to remain calm.

“Error, please.” Nightmare repeated gently, reaching out and holding a hand toward him. Error glitched out, then muttered mutinously, but gently placed his hand into Nightmare’s. He fizzled at the touch, then calmed. It always happened when he was awake, if he didn’t outright crash. Nightmare’s lack of a traditional Soul meant his touch wasn’t as overwhelming or as painful as everyone else’s. “Thank you.”

“Sss-still don’t want-ant to talk a-abou-out it.” His voice glitched out a bit before he sighed and closed his sockets. “...But… F-fine. I’ll ttt-talk.”

“Thank you.” Nightmare repeated, clearly relieved. “Come on, Error. Let’s get you into clean clothing, fed something other than chocolate, and into a comfortable place.”

He gently pulled Error up, the glitch swaying slightly on his feet before he steadied himself. He winced and reached up to rub his skull, sleeve sliding down and revealing scratches and burns up and down his arm. He didn’t really care, since he usually was covered in scratches and scrapes. Ink’s paints were a bitch to deal with…

Nightmare gently grabbed his arm, pushing his sleeve up and Error blinked, eyelights hazy, before they focused and he looked at the scrapes.

“Oooh-ohhh… Ink caaa-caught me. Fresh-ssshhhh had to come ggg-get me.” Error said, reaching up to rub his face tiredly. Nightmare narrowed his socket, doubtful of his explanation, but not wanting to call him out. “Don’t give mmm-me that look, Nnnn-Nightmare. I’m not an iiii-idiot. I know whaaaa-at they look like, wh-when paired with my sss-state. You can asss-ask Fresh if you dddd-d-don’t believe me.”

He rubbed his arm, glitching as he tried to heal it. It healed a bit, then glitched back to how it was. He grumbled slightly, squinting at his arm in annoyance.

“...Alright, I believe you.” Nightmare sighed before he gently healed Error’s arms. The other glitched a bit at the influx of magic, then settled. He was trying to ignore the concerned (and suspicious) stares of the others. Killer’s stare was the most suspicious, but he was slowly starting to realize what was wrong.

“Glitchy.” Killer called lightly, firmly, and Error slowly looked over, staring toward where Killer was. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, so he was hard-pressed to see anything, especially not that far away. He made a glitched sound of acknowledgement. “You’re depressed, aren’t you?”

“Whaaa-aat Sans isn’t?” He quipped back, rolling his eyelights, but nodded slowly, making Killer’s sockets widen a bit.

“Are you depressed because of us?” Killer clarified and Error shrugged a bit, the reaction noncommittal. Killer rubbed his face, sighing loudly. “Are you depressed because we’re so affectionate in front of you?”

Error shrugged again, closing his sockets. He swayed in place, trying to stay on his feet. Nightmare moved and scooped Error up bridal-style, making him glitch out and nearly crash. He clung to his scarf, curling his fingers hard into the fabric. It took him a few moments to calm down, blinking away the error signs that popped up in his sockets.

“It’s not because of us, per se.” Nightmare told Killer and the others, adjusting his grip on Error and opening a portal to the castle. They walked through, the portal closing after the last of them was through. “Error, don’t fall asleep now, you need to clean yourself up and change… And eat.”

Nightmare gently tapped Error’s cheek with a tendril, but he growled and lightly nipped it, earning a startled moan from Nightmare. It took a moment to process and Error crashed while Nightmare flushed. The others started laughing at the two, while Nightmare huffed and continued to walk. He put Error down on a bed before backing off. Moments later, Error rebooted and his face flushed brilliantly.

“Sss-so-sorry-” He stammered to Nightmare, tugging his scarf over his face. Nightmare blinked, then started laughing.

“You really do have it bad for us, don’t you?” Nightmare sighed and Error hissed at him, glitching out wildly, then forced himself to calm. “Oh, hush, don’t get so defensive.”

Error just growled at him, carefully rolling to his feet. He staggered a bit, then caught himself. He blinked a few times, then squeezed his sockets closed, shaking his head wildly to clear it.

“Uuu-ugh. Ffff-fuck-fucking Voices...” He rubbed his head, then glared at Nightmare, crossing his arms and trying to ignore his embarrassed flush. “And ss-sh-shut up. I don’t waa-want to cause aaaa-any ripples.”

“Ripples?” Cross piped up and Error nodded, motioning vaguely between the members of the poly. Cross blinked, then deadpanned. “Wow, you’re more oblivious than I was.”

Error narrowed his sockets at him, growling lightly, and Cross rolled his eyelights.

“You’re an idiot if you think we don’t want you to join, stars, glitchy, we’ve been dropping hints for AGES!” Killer complained, throwing himself onto the bed, pouting at Error, who glitched in surprise.

“W-what?” He sputtered, confused, and Dust snorted, amused at him.

“Go get a shower and we’ll talk after, while you eat.” Dust ordered, Horror staring sternly at Error and nodding sharply, firmly. Error knew that stare, it meant he was to obey… Or Horror would bodily force him to do so.

Error sighed and nodded, then slowly made his way toward the bathroom to get a shower. He paused to take his scarf off, stroking the fabric nervously. Dust moved over and gently took it, knowing how it felt to be attached to a scarf.

“Go shower, I’ll wash this myself.” Dust told Error, who nodded, then headed into the bathroom. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but he managed. He closed the bathroom door, then stripped and carefully headed into the glass-walled shower. He closed it and turned the water on, huffing softly. The walls were made of frosted glass, so he was only a vague dark blur behind the glass.

He stepped carefully under the stream of water and began to wash his body, careful of all of the injuries littering it. He was more injured from Ink than he’d let on, and didn’t want to let on. He heard the bathroom door open and paused to glance over, not that he could see. But… It was just one of them getting the clothes Error had left piled in the middle of the bathroom.

Error focused back on cleaning himself before he cut the water off and opened the door to the shower. He leaned out, grabbing a towel and pulling it back into the shower. He dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his hips, walking toward the door. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped, turning to stare at the long, irritated red gash across his torso. It went from his right shoulder to his left hip. He sighed, reaching up to touch it.

“Fff-fucking squid. Stupid f-fucking-ing Soulless abomination...” He growled lightly, pressing his fingers against the gash, scratching harshly at it. That was a mistake and he clapped his hand over his mouth, rushing to the sink. He doubled forward, spitting and gagging into it. The noise made the others rush in.

They were met by the sight of Error coughing and spitting blood into the sink, a long gash across his torso trailing vivid red down black bones. He groaned, bracing himself on the counter as he slowly recovered, chest heaving from his coughing and gagging fit.

“F-fuckkk-king abomination… N-need to figure out w-where the hell his c-coding core i-is-sss...” He huffed to himself, then pressed a hand to the gash, focusing. His torso began to glitch, dark pixels began to slot themselves into the gash, sealing it and hiding it from view. He sighed in relief, then wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, spitting the last of it into the sink. He washed it out, then turned to leave, only to pause at the sight of the others.

Oh. Fuck.

“...Error. What the fuck was that?” Nightmare tried to ask it gently, but his voice was shocked and confused.

“...Eh-hhhh. Geno isn’t m-mmm-my bro. I was Gee-Geno. I’m ffff-from an alternate tttt-timel-line, a darker o-one.” He tried to explain, scratching at the back of his skull. He was trying to ignore the lack of clothing on his part. “Iii-it’s hard to expla-aaaain.”

“...Sooo- You’re wary of being with us because you’re still in love with Reaper?” Killer asked blankly and Error glitched and shook his head.

“Oh, n-nooo. No. I haven’t l-lov-loved Reaper since I beee-became Error. I los-ssst my memories from-mmm before for a looo-long time… So the o-only-yyyy emotion I feel for h-hiii-him is fond remembrance fo-ooor a past love.” Error clarified, shrugging and lowering his hand so it dangled by his side. He shuffled slowly toward the door. “I neeee-eed clothes...”

“Huh? Oh, right! S-sorry!” Cross sounded confused before the group shuffled out. Dust left a pile of clothes, topped by Error’s scarf, on the counter. Error closed the bathroom door and dropped the towel, pulling the clothes on. Ah, the usual ‘Sans’ outfit… He hated it. At least he had his scarf. He put his scarf on, tucking his face into it, before he shuffled out.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, twisting his scarf around, in his fingers.

“So… Why are you wary of being with us, Error? If not because of holding feelings for someone else?” Dust asked, leaning against the wall and playing with a knife he’d stolen from Killer.

“...’s because ya lost… Yer first love… When ya turned ta Error?” Horror asked slowly, tilting his head as he looked at Error. He looked startled at being read that easily, but he nodded.

“Yyyy-yeah...” He sighed, closing his sockets as he rubbed his face. “Thaaaa-at’s one reason.”

He flopped backward onto the bed, throwing an arm over his sockets.

“What are the other reasons?” Dust was now interested, moving over to sit on the bed near him. He leaned down to stare at him, looking curious.

“...Ttt-tou-touch.” Error moved, staring blankly up at Dust. “T-touch-ch hurts. Nightmare ddd-doesn’t-n’t have a traditional Soul-lll so it doesn’t h-hurt as much… Nor i-issss it as overwhelming...”

“Cross could touch ya earlier.” Horror pointed out and Error shrugged.

“Ddd-don’t know why… Uuuu-usually I crash from tou-uuuuch.” Error stated, then froze as he felt a hand on his. His sockets filled with error signs, but he blinked them away. “Ow.”

He turned his head to see who was holding his hand. It was Dust. He stared, shocked, then turned his hand to gently hold Dust’s. He marveled at it, a static-y purr starting up in his chest. He couldn’t help it… Even with the pain, he was touching someone aside from Nightmare!

Sure, it was a bit painful, but nothing he couldn’t handle, nothing that he didn’t deal with daily. The glitching hurt sometimes… But… Stars, he missed touching people…

Nightmare smiled, looking away as his tendrils swayed happily. The happiness Error felt was clear on the glitch’s face and in his aura. He suddenly snapped his tendrils out, catching Error and keeping him from pouncing on Dust.

“Error, don’t jump the gun, you’ll crash. Small touches are the only thing we know are okay, we don’t know how you’d react to hugging, let alone cuddling.” Nightmare chided gently and Error slumped in his hold.

“I mmm-miss being able to-oooo hold, hug, ccc-cud-cuddle, etc others…” Error sighed, looking down.

“Baby steps, Error, baby steps.” Nightmare reassured, gently stroking Error’s skull with one hand. Error sighed and nodded slowly.

258 notes · View notes

ange1s · 3 years

Text

cherry emoji - mark lee

synopsis: in which mark asks to see your boobs, and the idea you had of your relationship is thrown up in the air.

wc: 3.6k

genre: this is so fluffy it hurts, some angst but nothing crazy

tw: suggestive themes (boobs), swearing

playlist: pluto projector by rex orange county, ivy by frank ocean, tapestry by bruno major

a/n: guess whos back ,, back again ,,, ange1s back ,,, tell a friend,,,, also this is unedited so i'm sorry if theres a mistake :')

my anon asks are open !! feel free to ask me anything or request something <3

“i have a weird question.” mark says timidly. you’re sat on the floor, your back against his bed playing a rhythm game on your phone. he is sat at his desk, parallel to his bed, but with the rolling chair swivelled around to face you straight ahead. you don’t look up.

“hmm.” you hum, focused on the game.

mark swallows. “can i see your boobs?”

you drop your phone into your lap, forgetting about the game. you look up at him, straight into his eyes, and you giggle.

“wait, what?”

mark avoids your eyes almost fearfully, as if you were a detective questioning him for a crime. “can i see your boobs?” softer, this time.

you let out a shallow laugh. “don’t you watch porn? there are boobs there.”

mark blushes. “no! i mean, yes i do, but not real boobs.”

you cross your arms under your boobs on purpose, just to push them up a little higher to drive him nuts. mark sits back in his chair in frustration.

“so you think women aren’t real? that all boobs in porn are fake? jeez mark i thought you cared about women-“

“no! that’s not what i meant!” he says, exasperated. he continues to avoid eye contact with you. “of course i don’t think-“

you laugh again, keeling over. “relax mark, i know you don’t think all women are plastic.”

“look, there’s nothing wrong with being plastic, women can do whatever they-“ mark speaks quickly and nervously as if he were on trial.

“shut up minhyung,” you cut him off with a softer, more serious tone. “why do you want to see my boobs? you’re famous and cute. you could instantly find boobs wherever you go.”

he chuckles. “the word boob is so funny.”

“not the point, minhyung!”

he leans back over, the embarrassment slowly washing away. “stop calling me minhyung!”

“never, minhyung!” you retort without even thinking. you stand up to sit on his bed, now at eye level with him. “now, explain.”

“i… i dunno. i’ve just never seen boobs before. like, in person.”

you look directly at him, brain not even thinking anymore. words just fly out of your mouth with ease. “were you breastfed?”

“y/n!” he exclaims out of frustration. the embarrassment fizzles back in. he throws his head to the back of his chair and covers his eyes with his palm dramatically. he runs his hand down his face, tugging on the soft skin as it travels down. as his hand makes it back down to his lap, you giggle a little louder. “my mom’s boobs don’t fucking count. god, you made me think of my mom’s boobs. what the fuck?”

“sorry,” you manage in between giggles. “sorry, this is so funny.”

“this is impossible. i knew i shouldn’t have asked you.” mark pulls himself out of the chair and heads for the door, but you’re just as fast as him.

“now wait…” you grab his wrist to keep him from leaving. a wave of guilt washes over you. “i was just kidding.”

“were you? you didn’t sound like you were.” he says, his face still turned away from yours.

he sounds strangely hurt. “mark, are you okay?”

mark turns to face you and he looks defeated. he slumps down on the floor next to you, his knees up near his chest and his head in his hands.

“mark…”

“they were making fun of me.”

“who?”

“my friends! they were making fun of me. god, i sound like such an idiot now, whining about my friends like this, oh my god. i sound like a child.”

you rest your elbow on his shoulder giving your hand access to run through his soft, black hair. “you don’t sound like a child. you’re allowed to get upset.”

you take note at how the air shifted in the room. how quickly you focused and listened. you’re only like this around mark. with him, conversations can shift in an instant to anything. you understand each other on a deep, personal level. it’s something you don’t think you’ll ever have with another person for your entire life. maybe your soulmate. honestly? you can only dream to have this sort of connection with your soulmate, a connection so alive and so full of trust. is it even possible to have this with someone else? the fact that mark can make you think about how much he trusts you during a conversation about boobs is something only mark can make you feel. no one else. just him.

has it always been just him?

“it’s so stupid though. one minute lucas is bugging me about the fact that i’m a virgin and i’ve never seen boobs before and the next minute i’m on the floor of my bedroom with you, still not having seen any boobs mind you, nearly crying. damn. this is the lowest point i will ever reach.”

you push his hands away from his face and place your hands on his cheeks instead. “mark, please don’t cry. i hate it when you cry.”

the last time you saw mark cry was a month ago after watching a disney movie. seeing him cry just makes you cry, and since you were already crying, you just cried harder. seeing you cry makes him cry too, so he cried harder as well. the two of you just cried together until your heads hurt, to which you both took tylenols and tried to dance it off.

“i’m pathetic. insecure and pathetic.”

this is when you realize that there is more depth to his feelings than you thought.

“look, mark, i’ll show you my boobs. i trust you. i’m honestly surprised you haven’t seen them accidentally yet since i’ve known you for so long.” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. didn‘t work. “but i get the feeling that there’s more to this then just boobs.”

mark never really vented to you like this before. despite how close you are, he still kept things from you growing up, as a teenage boy does. you never took offense to this, as you kept plenty from him too. he never quite talked about his insecurities, his fears. he didn’t want to burden you with them. mark, so sweet and thoughtful. maybe too much for his own good. he needs to learn to share things.

he's starting to, though.

it takes him a while to speak, avoiding your eyes entirely. he speaks lowly, as if he was scared to tell the world what he was about to say.

“it’s just… everything about this sucks. everything. i’m kinda scared to tell you things, which can make us drift apart because we lose trust. then again, if i do tell you things, i’m scared it’ll freak you out and i’ll lose you. those are both bad endings. then, i’m scared to put myself out into the world. like, lucas is telling me to just find someone. go out, ask for a number, have a good time, live like someone in their 20s should be living. i can’t really do it though. every time i try, i choke. lucas once tried to set me up, you remember that, right?”

“yeah, that was the girl who stood you up.”

“yeah. it’s awful. every time i try it fails. i’ve been trying to get to the bottom of why it fails every single time but i just couldn’t. but then, i realized.” he shifts and faces you causing your hands to fall off his face and into your lap. “when i came home after being stood up, i wasn’t sad. i forgot the moment i left the restaurant. i texted lucas that the date didn’t happen and just shut my phone off and went to your place. i wasn’t sad because i knew i had you. i knew that you were going to make me feel better and that made it all go away.” he pauses. “you know? sometimes i get worried that i put too much on you. you’re my happiness, my relaxation, my joy. i worry sometimes that you’ll suffocate because i take so much from being with you. i keep this in the back of my head all the time because i just don’t want you to go. ever.”

holy shit.

“mark…”

“let me finish. i talked about this with lucas, and he told me that i can let myself be selfish sometimes. he said that i can want this that… that i can want you. i can think about you and how you make me happy and i can want that happiness yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and the day after. shit, i care about you more than anything. my heart swells and my stomach gets all these annoying little butterflies when i think of you. it’s fucking crazy. and now, today, here i am. you know, lucas, jaemin and i were talking about girls and boobs and fuck i don’t know, jaemin said that i just had to get that intimacy with someone. and it just fucking clicked. the only person i want to be intimate with is you and i’m thinking now that maybe i was stupid for asking to see your boobs. which is so stupid, i could’ve just asked to kiss you or share a bed with you or i don’t know. i’m really sorry if that was gross of me. i just wasn’t thinking. it’s so damn hard to think straight when it comes to you. i just really want to be closer to you, however that might be.”

your heart races at a speed that doctors would deem impossible. you don’t know what to think or where to look. you feel like you’re going to explode. though, if you explode, he’ll probably explode too. that wouldn’t be good.

mark looks down. he fills with regret. he doesn’t think he should've said that. maybe you'll hate him now. maybe you’ve never felt this way about him before.

you inhale slowly, trying to convince your lungs that breathing is normal and not something that can just stop when hearing speeches like this.

what is the proper thing to say? mark i love you? but do you love him? everything is so confusing right now. of course you love him, but you never considered love in this way. can i kiss you? too forward? but he wants intimacy, and you want it too. i feel the same way? boring. you can do better. mark, and his way with words. so beautiful. how do you compete? mark, you’re beautiful. mark is so beautiful. you try so hard to compose the words. maybe too hard. maybe it’s okay to go with option 3.

now, they just flow out. “mark… i think i feel the same way you do. i don’t know it’s just- i’ve always felt some sort of way toward you. something is so special about you. i spent years trying to decipher it, thinking it was just something platonic or brotherly or i dunno. i just never considered… this. i don’t even know what to call this. but it feels right. you’ve always felt right.”

he has. and he always will. he looks at you so lovingly, his enamoured gaze stuck on you. you can’t look up at him, but he watches you.

you continue. “fuck, i don’t know what to say. i’m so… god.” you run your fingers through your hair, as if to comb your brain in search for the right words. “i think you’re so beautiful. everything about you. and i’m so fucking grateful to have someone as amazing as you in my life. i don’t know what i did to deserve someone like you, and i feel like i really don’t deserve you. but it feels right. to be with you. to be alone with you. it’s just right.”

you let a little tear trickle down your cheek. you know if you look up at him, you’ll probably cry harder. you know this well, yet you look up.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you either.” mark sighs. it’s his turn to wipe your tears now.

“so… what is this? what… are we?” you ask, melting into his hand, which somehow feels softer on your face.

“i don’t know. we can be whatever you want us to be.”

you playfully punch his shoulder, his hands sliding off your cheeks. “come on, you know i hate it when you say that.”

he gets defensive. “and you know i hate it when you hit me! you have a strong hand, yanno? shit!”

you laugh at him, clearing the last unwanted tear off your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “what can i say? gained strength from all those pillow fights over the years.”

“yeah, pillow fights i won.”

“shut up! you know i won the one at jeno’s party!”

mark laughs aloud. your favourite sound. “yeah, because everyone was drunk and you were still on your second drink. it was a very unevenly matched fight!”

“i still won!” you cross your arms and sit up straight as if you assert dominance over the conversation. who are you kidding? it’s all a joke anyways.

you crack after a moment and both of you erupt in a fit of giggles. his head falls into the crook of your neck, and it feels right. it’s almost as if your skin buzzed. you don’t know why, he’s done this many times before. but now, it’s different. the air has shifted again, so quickly. only with mark.

when he comes off of your neck, you stand up. you walk up to the door of his room, and lock it.

“y/n, what-“

you sit on his bed. “can’t have someone walk in while you’re ogling at my boobs, right? i know you and you’d never be able to live that down.”

mark is quick to stand up in defence. “what? no, we don’t have to do that anymore. i said my piece and im over the boob thing and-“

“shut up mark. you know you want to. and i kinda wanna show you too.”

he sits down on the bed across from you without another word but before either of you can move, he speaks again. “wait, kinda? please don’t feel obligated. only do this if you’re-“

“minhyung, please! i want to, ok? i really appreciate how you’re taking care of me but it’s fine. i trust you, and you trust me, right?”

he swallows hard. “right.”

“okay, perfect.” you pull your shirt off over your head, leaving you in your bra. if this was with any other boy, you’d be self conscious about literally everything: the bra you chose, the shape of your body, the hair in the places you let grow out. with mark, none of it matters now. he’s seen you in bathing suits before, this isn’t much different. and knowing how much he cares for you anyways, you know his head is clouded with praise and nothing less. his brain is working so fast right now, he probably won’t even register any imperfections.

“can i take your bra off?” mark sputters out as if he were holding onto the words for hours. “or wait, fuck-“

“yes, you can.”

he is almost shocked at your answer, and it shows. mark’s hands move slowly, his skin slightly cold as he grazes your skin. he leans in unbelievably close to wrap his arms around you to reach your back. he feels your breath on his chin, and your beautiful eyes look so sweet as you look up at him. when he finds the clasp, he kisses your nose as he pulls away, your bra coming back with him. you straighten your arms so the straps fall right off, showing your boobs.

mark is shocked. flabbergasted, even. his jaw almost drops in a shameless, teenaged boy way.

“dang. they’re so cute.”

you scoff. “cute? first boobs of your life and all you have to say is cute?”

“well what else can i say? i am not very well versed in the vast vocabulary that exists to describe your boobs.” he chuckles. “jeez, why is the word boob so fucking funny?”

you can’t help but smile timidly alongside him. that is what mark does, he makes you feel safe no matter what the situation. mark is always worried about you, worried if you are feeling comfortable and if you are okay with what is going on. he never wants things to be tense when you are around, because he hates to see you upset.

right now, you are the opposite of upset.

“y/n,” he brings your attention back to him. you hum in response. “can i touch?”

you freeze for a moment, and nod timidly. mark scoots a little bit closer, and reaches out with his right hand to gently cup your left breast. his hand is warm, and your skin needs a second to adjust to his temperature. he squeezes the flesh in the absolute slightest way, and quickly brings his hand back. he laughs almost exasperated.

“oh my god, it’s squishy? boobs are squishy?! why did that never register in my head?” he laughs loudly, as if he had just discovered something monumental.

“you’re just finding out now? oh my god mark, that’s common knowledge!”

mark looks down, his cheeks red from laughing. “dang, i’m so touch starved that i never knew until now that boobs are squishy. insanity.”

“the more you bring it up, the sadder it gets.” you reply.

he looks up at you with scrunched eyebrows. “don’t be mean. can i touch again?”

“yes, you can.”

mark cups your left boob with his right hand again, this time running his thumb softly over the supple skin. he doesn’t know what his limits are yet. can he go further? can he touch other parts of your boobs? can he touch other parts of your body? he is scared of going too fast and scaring you. mark is doing his very best today to be as careful as possible, as this is probably, remarkably, the best day of his life so far.

he pushes his index finger into your boob gently to poke it, and you laugh softly. at this point, you are just looking down at mark’s hand on your body. honestly, the fact that he isn’t doing anything is almost relaxing.

you look at how slowly his finger moves, like your skin is made up of the most delicate material in the world. he holds you with such care, such control. it is a feeling you want to feel again, and again, and again.

mark inhales slowly. he wants to go further. he wants more. he doesn’t know how you feel yet, but he will wait for you every step of the way.

but just as he opens his mouth, he hears a thud on his door. “mark hyung, we’re home! is y/n here? come eat with us!”

you both jump, as jaemin’s loud voice destroys the entire atmosphere. mark turns a cute shade of pink almost immediately, and takes his hand off of your skin. you are surprised at first, but lose all tension as you watch mark’s reaction. the poor boy is so embarrassed, but even more upset at how shortly your time was cut off. you laugh as he grabs your bra and tries to put it back on you. unfortunately, he cannot figure out how to close the back shut.

“i’m here! we’ll be there in a sec.” you shout, sparing mark from saying something stupid. you clip your bra straps together, and pull your shirt back on.

mark looks upset. “i’m so sorry they cut us off. they were supposed to be out all day, fuck. i’m sorry-”

“mark, baby, it’s okay. you didn’t know. besides, this isn’t ending here.”

mark looks up at you. “baby?”

“oh gosh, i don’t know where that came from. i’m sorry.”

“no no, its cute. i like it. baby. it just…”

“makes sense?”

he nods. “yeah. this makes sense. it really does.”

mark’s heart pounds in his chest as he takes your hands in his. today, they feel softer, warmer. he inhales sharply once again, hoping this time jaemin doesn’t break his door down, or something of the sort.

his thumb does the thing again, rubbing your skin gently. “y/n, i don’t want to be friends anymore. i think we are more than friends.”

you smile. “i do too. this makes sense.”

mark feels like he is going to explode. that would be bad though, because if he exploded, you would too. that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

“so i guess you’re my girlfriend now.”

you giggle softly. “that sounds so much better than best friend.”

“dang, it kinda does, doesn’t it?”

you let go of his hands and climb off his bed. he follows instantly after you do. right before you go to unlock the door, mark takes your hand once again, and turns you to face him.

you heart races as you lock eyes with him. you cannot believe everything that happened today. how your best friend, who you’d known for your whole life, confessed everything he felt for you, and poked your boobs mere minutes after. and that’s okay, because that’s mark. your mark.

“do we have to go down? i really want to see your boobs again.”

you lean over and place a kiss on his cheek, which causes him to lose his train of thought completely. “you’ll see them again soon, i promise. but if we don’t go down, jaemin will come upstairs and try opening your door. you know him, he’ll freak out when he sees that it’s locked. we’d get found out before we even have a chance to start.”

mark sighs. “fine. no more boobs today. guess i’ll just have to suffer without your boobs in my hands. shit, how am i going to survive?”

you unlock the door, and twist the handle. “well baby, i guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

#neowritingsnet #nct fluff #nct mark #mark lee #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct dream angst #i love mark lee #mark imagines #mark lee loml

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halfabreath · 3 years

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Holster goes on Survivor after graduating, part 2

here! we! go! part one here, tag here

so Holster's got a strategy to update and an ex lover to deal with and like. He and Esther didn't end great.

I feel like we don’t talk enough about why Holster’s chirped so much for hooking up with Esther in canon? Like there’s mention of a rash and a saga that requires an email but we don’t really know?

but essentially Holster likes Esther and is made fun of for it and I can’t imagine that feels good for her? And they probably didn’t do it in front of her but surely that’s not great for anyone’s mindset

Holster and Esther start dating after Winter Screw and she’s so enamored with this sweet dork who sings to himself while he brushes his teeth but the second he’s around his friends she feels like he doesn’t change per se but he showcases such different parts of himself and she likes what he doesn’t show! She’s into that! But that’s Holster like a large percentage of the time and Esther’s got a life of her own so they’re on again off again, Esther doesn’t come to kegsters or games and things fizzle and reignite a couple of times until Holster becomes a captain

Esther knows in her bones Holster will never ever ever ever ever ever choose her over his team (especially Ransom, like what’s the deal there?) and honestly Esther Does Not Enjoy having intimate conversations about how things make her feel and she’s really good at talking her way around her problems so when They break up Esther’s trying to articulate how she feels around SMH she says “I hate who you are when your uniform is on” and for Holster, who’s entire identity rests on being on A Team (literally his position on the team is being part of a tiny two person team within the larger team) this is his life this is what makes him happiest this is how he feels most himself so Holster hears “I hate the thing that makes you you”

So yeah! They broke up and then avoided each other and didn’t really get closure but also neither of them are bitter, it just felt kind of like “man I miss hanging out with them but yikes who was I at that point??”

of COURSE the first challenge involves the exes having to work together in pairs for their tribe and it’s a clusterfuck and Esther is downright cold to him. She’s sending him all the bad vibes in the world and Holster’s now legitimately worried he destroyed her life with their breakup because there’s some tangible animosity there and then they lose the first challenge and Holster’s wondering why he even got out of bed this morning when Esther pops up behind him and says “come with me, I need your long ass arms for coconuts”

The SECOND they’re out of earshot from the camp Esther‘s like “I’m really sorry I was so mean but I think it’s a huge advantage for the rest of the exes to think we hate each other so they don’t suspect an alliance”

Holster: So you don’t hate me? We’re good?

Esther: Good isn’t the word I’d use, Adam

Holster: That’s fair, I wasn’t a very good boyfriend. But I’ve got your back and we’re going to the top three, you good with that? Here, have a coconut wait let me open it for you

Bada bing bada boom, alliance

Don't get me wrong, it's awkward. Like, really awkward. The vibe of this island is uncomfortable and the near-constant rain for the first five days certainly doesn’t help and their tribe loses three immunity challenges in a row so this alliance is TESTED but Esther and Holster always surreptitiously check in by having lightning fast strategy sessions by the well or when everyone has left camp and they’re SO careful to maintain the illusion that they hate each other when they’re actually earning back trust day by day

Holster’s SUPER helpful around camp. He always offers to carry heavy things and makes people laugh and always knows exactly where the machete is and delivers coconuts to people when they’re resting but it’s miserable

There’s this SWEET moment where, after watching Esther shiver for three days straight Holster takes the machete to the woods and cuts off the bottom half of his sweatshirt to make a scarf/towel/wrap for Esther and they pretend like she did it out of spite and honestly? It’s a power move that helps Holster gain access to this smaller faction of people so they have more intel because the other contestants are like this helpful strong idiot need someone to look out for him

It also means Holster’s running around this island in a cropped sweatshirt and compression shorts

The Himbofication of Adam Birkholtz is complete

And even though Holster’s constantly surrounded by people, hungry, wet, participating in incredibly strenuous physical challenges, and at Tribal Council every night it’s still better than having to hear Ransom say they’ll never be together

Esther can fully tell Something Is Up. At first she just thought it was the stress of the game and the circumstances but then during a challenge she and Holster are on a platform way out in the water waiting for their turns on a relay race and they’re actually completely alone for the first time in days and she absolutely uses that time to interrogate Holster because she’s efficient, damn it

And Holster’s annoyed she’s taking his head out of the game and he’s exhausted and hungry and he’s the last leg of their team which means if he loses they all go to Tribal AGAIN and he can’t let his team down, he really can’t so the whole thing bursts out because he just wants her to stop and it goes like:

Esther: Look, I know you’re annoyed but you’re not telling me something and I think you can see why that would be concerning to me given the fucking context

Holster: It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, you know I’d never jeopardize this for us

Esther: No, that’s not what I think it’s just -

Holster: Holy hell, all I did was tell Ransom that I’m in love with him, are you happy?? NOW SWIM, SHAPIRO

Esther, while diving: I FUCKING KNEW IT

Holster, under his breath: that makes one of us, you could have told me. saved me a lot of time. Rude.

So now Holster’s just admitted this before his ex and 7 million viewers and oh yeah he’s gotta swim through an obstacle course so he and his team can eat today

And finally, FINALLY, their tribe wins. Holster gives it everything he’s got to gain ground (water?) and win it for the team and he’s just laying in the sand, trying desperately to catch his breath, Jeff Probst screaming in the background, while his whole tribe swarms him and if he closes his eyes he swears he can feel the ice under his feet and hear the clack of the sticks and pucks and it’s the first celly he’s earned in years and it feels incredible but it makes him ache for Samwell

Jeff notices that he’s tearing up and of COURSE asks what it’s all about and Holster’s swallowing back tears when he says “I’ve spent my whole life playing on one team or another and after graduating from college I suddenly wasn’t? And I didn’t know how much I missed it until I was on a team again and I even though I love my friends I think this is the first time I’ve let myself admit that things aren’t like they used to be and that I’m not, either”

So Ether’s watching her ex cry on national television and for the first time she understands exactly how deeply he loves his team? And how hard he tries to make them proud of him? And suddenly a lot of their relationship makes a hell of a lot more sense

After the challenge Holster’s laying in a hammock and Esther rolls into it with him and just says “We’re good. Top three?”

Holster, beaming: Bro! Top three!

Esther: What did I tell you about calling me bro when we’re cuddling

Holster: I thought that only applied to post-coital romantic cuddling? Unless of course you’re trying to tell me that you’re ARDENTLY in love with me

Esther: shut up

Holster: a heart full of LOVE a heart full of SONG NO FEAR NO REGRET A NIGHT AS BRIGHT AS DAY -

Ether: Hi, guys?? can someone vote me off this island please?

Part 3 coming soon!! This is so much!! But I fuckin love it!!

#survivor!holster #adam birkholtz #Adam holster Birkholtz #holster #holster af #omgcp au #Esther Shapiro #holsom au #HOLSOM

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

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Monstrous Secrets Chapter 8

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1720

Summary: You and a couple of the guys have a heart-to-heart

You were home, or rather, you were in the physical place where you lived. It was difficult to call Velaris ‘home’ when your home was really a person, your mate. It was even harder to call this place home since Azriel started looking at you like he wanted to spit on you at any given moment. You’d expected to be treated that way once everything came to light, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t loathe it with every fiber of your being.

It was in a fit of this general discontent that you found yourself sitting on the ground of the balcony outside the House of Wind’s library. A bottle of wine, half empty already based on the weight of it, dangled from your fingertips as you stared blankly into the fire and longed for the male that could make such flames dance like sprites. Eris’s notes from your time apart rested on the ground before you, some resting against or on your leg because you’d simply dropped them after reading.

“Cass told me I’d find you here,” Rhys said as his feet entered your field of view. “Though I’ll admit I thought he was exaggerating how much you’d been drinking.”

Your eyes darted over to the other two, empty bottles you’d abandoned back when you’d been sitting in a chair. “Yes, well, you know how my tolerance is.”

“Considering how many men you’ve drunk under the table? Yes, I’m fully aware.” Now, he brought himself low enough that he could meet your eye on your own level. The most powerful High Lord, kneeling beside his low fae cousin on the ground.

You snorted at the sheer ridiculousness. “Whatcha doing here, Rhys? I figured you’d be off with Feyre.”

“She had things to discuss with Amren or else she’d be here talking to you with me.”

You took another drink. “Well in that case, lay it on me.” Your arms spread wide dramatically, one hand holding the bottle, the other a letter; your wings flared slightly behind you in an effort to keep you balanced. “Ask me anything you want! I assume it’s about that gorgeous mate of mine.”

He rolled his eyes and took the bottle from you. “I won’t insult you bya skiing what Azriel wants me to.” Rhysand took a long drink.

“Oooooh, let me guess!” You did your best to make your face as stoic as the shadowsinger’s. “Have I been selling secrets to the Autumn Court?”

“Close,” he snickered. “Has she been giving away secrets to the Autumn Court?”

You scoffed. “As if I’d give them away for free!”

“Sweetheart, you’d never spill them either way.” His eyes were somber, caring. “You would never betray us like that, so I have no need to ask.”

“Then what do you need to ask?”

“First, I want to ask about your bargain.”

“You makin’ sure I didn’t give away anything important?”

“I want to know that it was your choice to make whatever deal it was.”

Your brain stalled out in light of his genuine concern after so many days of people being wary of you, and your buzz fizzled a little because of it. “It was a deal of protection,” you explained seriously. “He’ll watch my back as long as I watch his sort of thing.” You stole back the bottle to take another drink. “And what a fucking job I did.”

“You couldn’t have done anything against her,” he assured you, “and if you had tried, more likely than not, you’d both be dead right now.”

“Whatever, Rhys,” you scoffed. “What else?”

“You are not less than him because you’re Illyrian.” You’d known the topic was coming, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so blunt. “And if he treats you like you are, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Then you can stop worrying, because he doesn’t. Hasn’t even said anything to imply it--get that look off your face right now. Anything he said to you was an act because we were backed into a nightmare of a corner, and you know it. Anyway, he hasn't made any jabs implying it--accidentally or otherwise--since we first got together.”

“Put a stop to that, did you?” He was smirking as he swiped the bottle back to drink once again.

“Of course.” You hesitated. “But he and I are both aware of what others will think; just look at your parents. That’s why, or at least part of why, we kept quiet about the whole thing.”

Rhysand was nodding as if pleased.

“That all you’ve got, cousin?”

A little snort escaped his nose. “As far as being concerned goes, we’ll say yes for now.”

“And as far as everything else?”

“Since you’ve so cruelly left your poor cousin in the dark about your relationship for--how long was it again?”

“‘Bout five hundred years--”

“Five hundred years! Because you've left me in the dark for so long, I want to know everything about the two of you.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” He waved a hand a little. “That you’re willing to share, of course.”

“Rhys . . . I don’t . . .” You weren’t used to this. You’d never had to share anything about your relationship before. You weren’t good at talking about yourself. “I don’t know where to start.”

A low hum rumbled through the air along with the telling thuds of someone else’s boots.

“Why don’t you start with that letter you’re holding?” Cassian abruptly dropped down next to you, so close he was lightly pressed against your side. It was such a casual closeness that the pair of you had had for centuries, and you didn't realize how much you loved it until it was missing. Its presence now brought tears to your eyes, but none fell.

Blinking them back, you stammered, “Um. It’s how we talked . . . when we couldn’t see each other.” A self-deprecating chuckle ripped its way up from your throat. “Apparently he’d been sending them since just after Amarantha, and I never knew since I don’t live down there anymore. I’m only just now getting around to reading them.” Carelessly, you handed it over to Cassian. “You can read it if you want; I was going through them all, but I can’t exactly see straight enough to read anymore.”

He eyed you warily before opening it gently. Clearing his throat before he read,

“I hope you are doing well, and I hope moreso that you have not finally come to your senses and decided to leave me. I’ve been trying to keep my emotions from bothering you in case you have, but Father has proven to be harsher than ever before in light of everything that has happened over the last half-century. It’s all I can do to keep him from deciding to hunt down Lucien.

Cauldron, I don’t even know if you’re receiving these messages or if you even care and yet here I am droning on about my own problems. I’ll leave this here, then.

I miss you, and I love you always,

Eris”

Both men were silent for a breath.

“Who would have thought that Eris Vanserra of all people would be so rambling in a letter?” Cassian eventually teased--only slightly awkwardly--to break the quiet.

“He stopped trying to be eloquent in our notes about five years in.” Your buzz was definitely on the way out now, and you found yourself listlessly leaning against Cassian. Neither male commented about the more romantic sentiments in the letter. You wondered why that was. For your privacy or their own comfort so they didn’t have to think about the fact that Eris did in fact have feelings.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you think about him?” Rhysand prompted quietly, obviously wanting to know more about the relationship despite the awkward aura that’d descended upon the little group.

It may have been because you were actively looking at a fire, but you didn’t really have to think about the words that came tumbling out of your mouth. “Did you know that he can make shapes out of flames? He used to make little dogs and foxes to play with Lucien when Beron would upset him.”

“I thought he hated that kid,” Cassian mused.

“He had to keep his distance to keep Beron’s attention away from him; he swore to his mother that he’d protect him.”

“What else comes to mind?”

You swallowed thickly. “He interrogated me about how to care for my wings when I showed up injured once.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flashed. “Injured?”

“Took a bad crash through some trees on the way to see him; I think I was dodging some scouts. Either way, he hounded me about it until I taught him all I could.”

“Seriously?” Cassian again.

“Yeah.” You could feel the dopey smile spread across your face, but you didn’t want to stop it. “Cleaning, first-aid, the whole deal. And the best part? He never has cold hands.”

“Unlike you, huh?” Rhys teased. “Nothing but cold hands.”

“Truer words never spoken,” and unexpected but familiar voice said from behind you.

As soon as you laid eyes on him, you were stumbling to your feet.

There was a warmth in his eyes that had nothing to do with flames when he caught you and pulled you close.

Immediately, you buried your face in his neck. “How?” you whispered into the pale skin there.

Eris’s hand moved to rest atop your wing where it was tucked against your back, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “That would be a question for your High Lady.”

You glanced over your shoulder and saw that, sure enough, Feyre was now holding hands with the now-standing Rhys. “I thought you were with Amren?”

“I lied,” Rhys shrugged. “Eris was down there plotting with Keir, so I asked her to go grab him for you since you’ve been feeling down.”

When tears started welling up in your eyes, you blamed the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, little cousin. Now, I think it’s time for us to turn in.” His eyes shifted to look at your mate; surprisingly his gaze wasn’t near as icy as you would have expected. “Take care of her.”

“Until my dying breath.”

“Never a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ with you people,” Cassian scoffed, “is there?”

You smirked on behalf of your husband. “Never.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris imagine #eris x reader #acotar imagine #a court of thorns and roses imagine #reader insert

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animatedarchives · 4 years

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ALMOST IS NEVER ENOUGH

— 𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐔

author’s note: hi guys!! this is my angstvember piece for the @babythotshq brokenhearts club playlist collab ^^ i hope yall like it!! <3

genre: a lot of angst

warnings: death, hospitals, mentions of a coma and an accident, illness

word count: 2.9k words

The sun hung low in the vast amber sky as Oikawa clutched the bouquet of velvet red roses in his hand.

Today’s the day. Today’s the day I tell her I love her.

The sound of his footsteps echoed throughout the pristine white corridors, the smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant piercing mercilessly through his lungs. He’d visited you every day since you were admitted, and even then he still never got used to the smell. He couldn’t wait for you to leave this place.

It was your last day here after all.

You were finally going to be discharged.

He stopped right outside your door, bringing his hand up to knock a familiar rhythm. The same one you both had used when you were playing house during your childhood.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, poking his head into the room.

“I was wondering what took you so long,” you smirked as you watched him close the door behind him. “What’s with all the flowers?” you asked, nodding at the bouquet in his hands.

“What, I can’t surprise my best friend with something nice every once in a while?”

You scoffed. “You’re only nice when you need something from me.”

Oikawa gasped dramatically. “Y/N! How could you be so cruel?” he whined. You let out a small laugh at his theatrics, and he smiled at the way the sound fell so smoothly from your lips. He’d always thought you were so effortlessly beautiful. Your laughter died down and you spared a glance at the clock hanging on the wall opposite your bed.

“Can’t wait to leave?” Oikawa asked. You smiled and shook your head. He was always so attentive to everything you did.

“This place isn’t as bad as you think it is, you know. I think you’re more eager for me to leave than I am,” you teased. Oikawa pouted and you gently poked the side of his cheek. You didn’t press very hard but he absentmindedly leaned against your finger, craving your physical touch.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get out of here?” he asked. A strange silence fell as you contemplated your best friend’s question. He watched as you cast your eyes down to your lap where you were picking at your fingers, a habit you had when you were nervous about something. Oikawa’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong.

“The park,” you spoke softly. Oikawa snapped out of his thoughts as a pang of nostalgia hit him square in the chest.

“I’d want to go to the park,” you said more confidently, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His heart skipped a beat hearing you say it again, the memories from your childhood coming back to him in an unrestrained flood.

“Close your eyes, Y/N!” Oikawa said, watching as you eagerly cupped your hands over your eyes.

“No peeking!” he called behind him before running off to the nearest rose bush. He scrutinised every flower before plucking the one he thought looked the most perfect. You deserved only the best from him, after all. Oikawa quickly returned to the middle of the gazebo where you stood, a new gift in hand.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said and watched as your orbs lit up with pure delight at the sight of your favourite flower.

“My sister says I’m too young to have a girlfriend but if I told her that if I ever had one… I’d…” Oikawa trailed off but he steeled himself to say it.

“I’d only want it to be you.”

For reasons you had yet to understand, your blood began to pump faster and your stomach started to flutter. Oikawa cheeks turned pink as he slowly extended the flower to you.

“P-promise me that when we grow up, you’ll be my girlfriend and that we’ll be together forever!” he exclaimed, leaving you too stunned to react. “Promise me!” he repeated more earnestly, shaking the rose with growing desperation.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with your best friend was everything you could have dreamed of. You didn’t need to wait for your Prince Charming like the princesses in all the fairytales you’d read.

You had already found him.

“I promise!” you squealed as you grabbed the rose from him to officially seal the deal. “Let’s live happily ever after, okay?” you grinned.

Oikawa’s grip on the bouquet tightened, the crinkling of the plastic wrap sucking him back into reality. He didn’t expect you to remember, let alone want to revisit the place where the pact had been made. His heart leapt into his throat. Wait… Could it be?

“Tooru, I need to tell you something—”

“Y/N, wait,” he cut you off. He wanted to be the first one to say it. He had to be. “Let me say something first. Please.”

Oikawa sucked in a breath, trying to summon the same courage he had mustered all those years ago. He thanked fate for giving him the perfect opportunity to bring it up; it was his intention to tell you by the end of the day anyway. The golden rays of the setting sun streamed softly through the window, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. How romantic.

It was now or never.

“I remember the total despair I felt after being told that you’d been in an accident. You were in a coma for weeks and I came to visit you every day, wondering if you were ever going to wake up. I never brought up the promise we made during our childhood because I didn’t know if you still felt the same way. But after I thought I lost you, the regret I felt far outweighed any other emotion I had. I hated myself for being a coward, because even the slightest possibility of having everything I ever wanted was stripped away from me.”

Oikawa brought the bouquet up, taking in a shaky breath to calm his racing heart. “I don’t want to live with regrets anymore, and I’m not going to leave here today without telling you how I truly feel,” he said, bringing his gaze up to look you in the eyes.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you and I don’t want to take you for granted ever again. We’ve spent our entire lives together and I don’t want it to stop. You’re still the only one I want to be with and…” he trailed off, bracing himself as he finally said his thoughts out loud.

“I still want to spend forever with you.”

The following silence was agonising. Oikawa could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waited for your answer. All his senses were on edge as he watched your every move. Until finally, a small smile crept onto your lips, causing Oikawa to visibly sigh with relief. You reached out to accept the roses, as well as his confession. Your fingers brushed against his and even that small touch was enough to send his heart into overdrive. He was so completely and utterly in love with you.

“I love you too, Tooru,” you smiled at him, and he felt about a thousand fireworks going off in his chest.

“But…”

Oikawa’s face fell and the fireworks fizzled out as quickly as they were lit.

‘But’? No no no, no ‘but’. Why ‘but’? Everything was going so well, w-why ‘but’?

“There’s something I need to tell you…” you admitted quietly. Your eyes flicked back up at the clock, the setting sun casting a shadow over the room. Oikawa followed your gaze across the room and suddenly, the clock seemed so much more menacing, slowly ticking away like a timebomb counting down to an impending doom.

“You’re right Tooru, I am leaving the hospital today. But I’m not just leaving the hospital… I’m leaving for good.” You finally turned to face him and for the first time that day, he saw you completely unmasked, the despair in your eyes strong and apparent.

“I’m dying, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s chest tightened, and it felt like the air had been forced out of his lungs. Suddenly, it was hard for him to breathe.

“D-dying? What do you mean you’re dying? How much time do you have left?!”

As if to give a cruel answer to his question, your monitor started beeping erratically, forcing your chest to rise and fall until you were practically gasping for air.

None.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay?!” Oikawa rushed to your bedside, grabbing your frail arms with his large hands. When did you become so thin? Although the sunlight was slowly fading, it was only now that he could see everything with such clarity. It was like he had been given a pair of brand new eyes.

Your face had sunken in, your skin was so much paler and you looked terribly ill. As if on cue, you began to cough, reaching beneath your blanket to reveal a red-stained cloth, the same sickly shade as the roses Oikawa had brought. Had you been hiding this from him? His eyes widened in horror as you coughed heavily into the fabric, pulling it away to fresh splotches of thick, red blood. Oikawa didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t even react. He just stood there, rooted to the ground as he watched the love of his life slipping away in front of his very eyes.

“T-Tooru…”

Hearing you say his name in your now hoarse voice clicked something in his brain and he shook himself out of his daze. Oikawa rushed to the doorway to call for help, screaming for someone to rescue his dying friend, but no one was there to listen.

Oikawa panicked and quickly descended into a frenzy. He desperately tried to pour you a glass of water, even though his hands were shaking. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. He frantically tried to get you to drink the water, but all you did was cough it back up. That was when reality finally settled in.

And he completely lost it.

“Please Y/N, please don’t leave me like this! You have to stay so I can finally love you! So we can finally be together and I can finally call you mine! I still have to kiss you, we still have to go on our first date. I… I still want to marry you, to grow old together with you. I still want to journey through the rest of life together with you, all the way from the beginning to the end. We’re supposed to write our love story together, remember?” he cried.

“What’s going to happen to our happily ever after?”

You smiled sadly at him, trying to suppress the coughs that threatened to rip through your throat. You raised your hand weakly and brought it up to cup the side of his face, using your thumb to tenderly stroke his cheek. Oikawa’s eyes began to well up at your sudden affection, the type that he’d always wanted with you. The type that he’d never be able to receive again. He leaned into your touch as tears began to blur his vision.

“Tooru, listen to me,” you spoke quietly. You were always so gentle, so tender and loving.

“I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I remember when you carried me when I scraped my knee at the playground, how you used your favourite alien-patterned plaster to cover it, and then bought me ice cream to cheer me up.”

“I remember when my date ditched me at prom and you found me sulking at the corner of the hall.” You let your hand fall to where he was tightly gripping the rails of your hospital bed and laid your hand gently over his. You felt him relax against your touch, turning his hand upwards and interlacing your fingers with his.

“I remember you asking me to dance, holding my hand in yours as we slow-danced the night away,” you squeezed his hand, smiling as the feeling reminded you of how his hands had felt on you that very night.

“I remember every single moment with you, Tooru. How you held me up when I was crumbling, and promised me that you’d always be there for me. And you were. Because I remember when I woke up from my coma to find you asleep on the side of my bed, tired from staying up and waiting for me to come to. I remember how you hugged me and cried because you almost lost me. I remember how you made me promise to never do that to you again.” Your resolve began to crumble together with your depleting strength as you choked out the next few words.

“I’m sorry that I have to break that promise. Because this time, you’re going to lose me for good.”

Oikawa’s lips trembled as he shook his head in denial, his breathing ragged as hot tears poured from his eyes. Without another word, he leaned down towards you and closed his eyes, gently pressing his lips against yours. It was wet and sloppy, but still as sweet as he’d always imagined it to be. You broke the kiss and held his face in both of your hands.

“I’m sorry I have to say goodbye, Tooru,” you apologised, tasting the saltiness of your tears as they slipped between your lips.

“Don’t. Please,” Oikawa whispered in anguish. “Please don’t say goodbye.”

The wetness from his eyes began to fall onto your cheeks, mixing together with your tears in a concoction of pure sorrow. Your monitor began to beep faster, an incessant reminder of your limited time left together. Frustration began to roil within him.

“We were so close, Y/N,” his lips trembled as he cried. “We were so close to being in love.”

Your eyes welled up with more emotion as the truth of his words pierced right through your heart.

“I know Tooru, I know. But I know you’re going to find someone else one day, and they’re going to give you all the happiness you deserve. All the happiness that I couldn’t give to you. And when you find them, love them with all your heart, okay? Love them like you would have loved me.”

The monitor let out another blaring noise as your pulse began to plummet and the colour drained from your already paper-white face. Oikawa heard footsteps sounding in the hallway, indicating that help — albeit futile — was finally going to arrive.

Oikawa cupped your face as he poured out every emotion into one final kiss. The love for you that he’d harboured for years, the joy and nostalgia from reminiscing your childhood, and the grief of having your romance stripped away, all in a single moment.

Oikawa parted from your lips and proceeded to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your nose. Then back to your lips again. All of the years he’d spent with you he had taken for granted. And since he’d never have the chance to do it again, he might as well do everything he can to write your romance in these last few moments.

“I love you, Y/N. Always have, always will,” Oikawa sobbed.

You smiled and pressed the bouquet he’d bought into his chest, using the rest of your strength to reach up and get one last taste of his sweet lips on yours. You finally reclined back onto the bed, smiling forlornly as the nurses and doctors began to rush in.

“I love you too Tooru, and I’ll always be with you. Until we meet again, my love.”

You smiled and gently squeezed his hand, a tear slipping from your eye right before your monitor flatlined. Oikawa choked on a sob before he stood and gave way to the hospital staff. They hurriedly tended to you, trying to bring you back. But Oikawa knew you were gone. And you were gone for good.

Oikawa clutched the bouquet in his hands as he left the room. His eyes were trained on the ground as he walked out of the cursed hospital, towards the place that had meant so much to him. The place that had first sparked your love.

Pavement slowly gave way to grass and before he knew it, he was standing before the white gazebo, the same one you said you wanted to visit one last time before you left. Oikawa walked up to the centre of the platform, gently laying the bouquet on the ground where you once stood all those years ago.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N. You’ll always be my one true love.”

Silence was the only response he got, save for the rustling of leaves on that cold, desolate night. The sun had already set, and with it it took away the warmth and any embers of your unfulfilled romance. Inhaling sharply, he turned around and walked away, leaving the roses and all the empty promises they held behind.

Oikawa came to realise that life was no fairytale, and that ‘happily ever after’s with your true love didn’t exist. You could be so close to romance, yet have it ripped out of your grasp in the next second, before you could fully reach it. He cursed fate for mocking him, for giving him a taste of love before taking it all away forever. Oikawa chuckled cynically as he finally accepted how brutal reality truly was.

No matter how close you were to being in love…

Almost was never enough.

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