#i really liked this idea but god fucking damnit i'm so tired

[puffin-smoke]

redactedtober 18!! sorry for skipping yesterday, college is kicking my ass.

Huxley; Hanahaki

(tw for typical hanahaki stuff, blood, choking, ect)

It started off small. Innocent. Things he could dismiss.

The butterflies in his stomach. The tightness in his throat, the way he couldn't seem to breath whenever Damien was around. The hot flushes, the waves of nausea, the coughing fits.

Just a particularly bad fever. With all the time he spent in the woods it was bound to happen at some point, catching a bad bug that he'd just have to wait out.

So he waited. He hid the tissues from every time he would cough up his own blood, he leaned against walls whenever the world began to spin. He nodded and smiled every time someone asked him if he was okay.

"Course, dude! I'm fine, don't worry."

It became harder to deny it when he saw the first petals.

He had been bent over the toilet, hacking and wheezing, turning the water beneath him crimson and metallic smelling. Blood-soaked toilet paper littered the floor beneath him, ultimately forgotten as he struggled to breath. His throat was burning, the world was a mess of dark blurs.

He almost didn't notice the petals fly out of his mouth. The dainty way they hit the water, slightly curled at the edges.

But then he did notice. In between the fighting for air and the tears in his eyes, he notices.

Rose petals. Coated in blood and phlegm. A brilliant yellow turned muddied brown by his insides.

One was hanging off of the edge of his lips, glued on by blood and saliva. Huxley pushed away from the toilet and into a wall, sliding down it and into a mess of tissues. He let the tension seep from his body, exhaustion washing over him like a blanket. Limbs suddenly sluggish, almost entirely focused on forcing the air into his lungs, he plucked the petal from his lips. It left a trail of gore and sinew in its wake.

He rotated it in his hand, thumb running over it. Each breath he took hurt, scratching as though he had inhaled sandpaper. The petal tore in his hand.

"Oh, fuck-"

Another barrage of coughs thrust themselves out of his throat, the sheer force of each one making him buckle over, tucking his head in between his knees. It felt as though nails were being raked along his oesophagus, as though he were breathing in hellfire. Petals piled up beneath him, the bathroom smelling like an amalgamation of flowers and gore.

Eventually they stopped coming. But he still couldn't breath. He felt his tongue snag something, something spanning the breadth of the floor of the mouth. He felt a dust coat the tip of his tongue as his tongue lashed out blindly trying to dislodge whatever was there.

It wasn't working. Dark spots danced across his vision.

He reached into his mouth and desperately grabbed the mass, feeling it rip as he grasped it. He began to pull, wrenching it past his teeth. Another flower. A full flower. He dragged the leaves and petals out, gagging as they brushed the roof of his mouth. Sobbing as thorns carved swaths across his throat.

It took five minutes of careful pulling, but eventually he ended up with a rose and blood running down his chin.

It was only slightly easier to breath.

[ivycjl]

Epiphany

Summary: Benny's just about given up on your relationship. What will he do when you pull away, too?

Hi! Here's my second attempt at writing. I'm planning on this having a few parts if you guys want to see more. The conflict will be resolved at the end of part four, so no worries there. Hope you like it!

Content: Arguing, silent treatment, angst

“God damnit Benny, is it too much to ask for you to be at home? With your wife? For more than one night of the fuckin’ week?”

You had had just about enough of your husband. He worked all day, rode all night, and only came back home when he needed a place to crash. You two live together and haven't seen each other in a week, for God’s sake. Not to mention the way he was treating you like a roommate more than a wife. So, currently, you're retrieving the laundry while you fight with him.

“I have to be there.”

Have to. I just have to do this and have to do that. I have to do everything except treat you like I care about you.

You stomp up the stairs and into your room. Benny had taken to passing out on the couch after his long nights, so you weren't exactly sharing anymore.

“Not every night. Not when you work all day and never come home. I'm tired of begging you, Benny. Sometimes I even wonder if you want to do this anymore.”

He freezes. "Do what?"

You roll your eyes as you fold a sweater. “You know. This. Us. Your marriage. ‘Cause a hell of a lot of the time it seems like you don't.”

He scoffs. “I seem like I don't?”

“Well, you know, you're right. It would be a little hard to tell when we never fucking talk to each other.”

Benny’s jaw clenches, and you stop folding the laundry, turning around to face him. “Do you want this, Benny?”

“’Course.”

“That's all you have to say when I ask you if you still love me? If you want to be in this relationship anymore?”

You could see him getting angry now. “God damnit, I answered you, what more do you want?”

Tears prick your eyes. “I want you to tell me how you feel. I'm not asking you if you like the color red or not, I'm asking you if you love me.”

He sighed. “I'm still here, ain't I?”

You look him in the eyes, silently pleading that he say the words he knows you want to hear. Instead, he turns away from you and puts his colors on. “I gotta go.”

Your heart sinks. Tears are freely falling on your face, and you nod. “So that's it, huh?”

Benny brushes past you like you're not there, but stops when he hears your words. “I am just about done with you, Benny Cross.”

He takes a deep breath, then walks away. You don't allow yourself to break down until the front door slams.

Later that night, after you’d collected yourself, you lay in bed alone, hating everything. Him. Yourself. The motorcycle club. The way he talked to you. If that's how it's going to be, I don't want to talk to him anymore, you think. Maybe I’ll just ice him out for a while and see what happens. The idea has some potential, you think before drifting off into sleep.

When you wake up in the morning, there's no sign your husband ever returned from the night before. Good. You start making some coffee, trying to be happy that you're alone. It's better this way. There's no one to argue with.

You take a deep breath, soaking in the smell of the coffee, the morning sun, the birds. Being along can be good. Nice. You sit down at the little breakfast table, unable to remember the last time you really used it. There's a Vogue from a few months ago under some bills, so you take it out and start flipping through it.

The rumble of a motorcycle breaks your thoughts and dread fills your body. Shit. Just stick to the plan. You aimlessly restart the magazine, hearing the door open a few moments later. Clearly, Benny thinks you're still asleep, because you don't hear him stomping around and throwing his shit everywhere. At least he has some sort of common decency, you think.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him standing at the doorway of the kitchen. You don't acknowledge him until he clears his throat, and even then you drag out the time with a long sigh before raising your head.

He's in the same outfit from last night. Your immediate instinct is to jump on him, ask him where he's been, why he was out all night. But you have to give him a taste of his own medicine. Stick to the plan.

A short, awkward silence envelops the room before Benny clears his throat and says, “Morning.”

You look him up and down, trying to seem like you don't care before echoing his oh so sweet sentiments. You turn back to the magazine.

He just stands there for a second before walking over to the coffee pot and pouring a mug for himself. He sits down across the table from you, opens his mouth, then closes it. Your eyes stay firmly on Vogue.

Finally, “You don't want to know where I’ve been?”

“You're here aren't you?” You repeat him from last night. He pulls a face, shifting in his chair. “Really? You don't got nothin’ to say?”

You shrug, “Not much to say, is there?” Another one of his endearing phrases. You were pissing him off, which actually made you feel a little better. “Well fine,” he petulantly replies before leaving the room to change.

About five minutes later, you hear the front door slam again. Guess he's off to work, you think. You try to stop your heart from sinking. If he isn't going to treat you right, he won't get treated right either. That's final.

You return to your reading.

[auspicioustidings]

Hello there I have another questionable idea 😁

So 141 confusing reader home for a safe house and breaking in and the sleep deprived nurse reader is just like 😐 and patches them up cos they are hurt and that’s the start of an very interesting relationship

Thank you for everything you are doing and remember that you are amazing

Drink water not coffee

🎃anon

Pumpkin! Ohh so this is similar vibes to this which I never wrote because sometimes I love a concept but am rubbish with execution :')

I have, however, tried my best to give you a little bit of your ask <3

Hippocratic Oath

Words: 550

Nah, for real if someone was breaking in you didn't care but they could at least be fucking quiet about it so you could go back to sleep. You had not slept in an actual bed in fucking days, only catching what could barely be described as a nap in the cots at the hospital between emergencies. 

“Find a first aid kit, we need to get him stable!”

Oh come on. The people robbing you were injured? Stupid fucking hippocratic oath. Technically it said nothing about having to help people who had broken into your house, it just said you couldn't harm them. So if you laid here and ignored it then Apollo couldn't say shit. 

…God fucking damnit. You dragged yourself out of bed, honestly too tired to react to the gun pointed at you with anything but a withering look, and went to pull the first aid supplies from their place. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is my house skull mask, who the fuck are you?”

There was a man with a mohawk bleeding all over your couch. You grumbled about that a little but dutifully knelt by him and started to cut the clothes around the problem area so you could clean it out and stitch him up. A heavy tactical vest was on the floor, leaving him in just a t-shirt. The other young man was pushing a wad of bandages to stem the bleeding. Good, he was doing a good job. 

Kyle looked at Price who only furrowed his eyebrows and nodded, giving him permission to follow your instructions. So that's what he did. 

“We get a bonnie medic with safehouses these days Captain? Cannae say I'm complaining.”

“Shush or you'll wind up biting your tongue off when I do the stitches” you said, prepping the needle and thread. 

You looked quickly around his get up, seeing he was wearing jeans with a belt and undoing it. 

“I've definitely seen a movie like this” the skull mask man said which you elected to ignore.

“Tell me more LT.”

You shoved the belt in the man's mouth and he took it between his teeth immediately. Not his first rodeo then. Made sense, they were probably soldiers. He was a model patient as you stitched him up, not squirming at all. 

Your focus overrode your exhaustion for long enough to give each of the others a once over, making sure there wasn't anything else serious you needed to treat. By the time you got to the last man, the one your patient had called Captain, you were completely dead on your feet and your eyes were starting to sting. 

“Thanks luv, c'mere.”

Being scooped up by some military man who had broken into your house really should have caused some sort of fight or flight response, but you had nothing else left to give. You were asleep before he even made it to the bedroom, putting you right back under the blankets. 

–

Your alarm never went off and you frantically called in to work to let them know you'd be there as soon as possible only to be told in no uncertain terms you were on leave for at least the next week. 

It was with some shock that you emerged from your room to find that dream wasn't as much of a dream as you thought.

“Let's have a little chat about the next week hm luv?”

Ah fuck.

[sharksa-shivers]

Want an idea of the beginning dynamic? Aitey lol

(Early af group chat stuff lol, Kristy still getting used to things…Max just drags her into one and then Sharky after a while lmao)

Kristy: Look, i'm fucking terrified of him okay???

Kristy: How in the hell are you not??? Did you see what happened earlier??? With that fish??? And you're still so set on him being harmless??? THAT WAS HORRIFYING TO WATCH HONESTLY…

Max: Lmao, i never said sharky couldnt be intimidating or scary or anything, he hella fucking can if he reallt wants to

Max: thing is that last bit tho, "wants to" would be your key phrase lol. Sharkys chill as fuck 99% of the time…Also he's a giant puss and would coward the fuck out of doing any of thay shit your so scared of. He memes but hed never get over it mentally if he actually hurt somebody like that lmao

Max: he harmlesssssssss uwu, you juwt don't wanna fuckin listen again

Kristy: IM…ARE YOU SERIOUS????

(~Mr. Darktide Rising~ has been added to the group chat. Welcome!!)

Sharky: Yo

Sharky: ….Oh we're on this shavinksta again? Ok.

Kristy: MAX, WHAT THE FUCJ???????

Max: lol, needa get over it, i ain't lettin ya worm out of friendship that easy

Max: Sharky, tell krista something fuckin cool, legit, like whatever

Kristy: God fucking damnit Max!!!!!!! AND IT'S KRISTY

Sharky: Erghhhhhh, hmmmm…

Sharky:(sends a picture of packaged gel pens)I got some new glitter gel pens, can't wait to use these bad boys on some art.

Sharky:(texts picture of a blue rock)Also got this cool aquamarine rock earlier too. It's my birthstone so that's pretty neat. (March, if you were wondering)

Sharky:(sends bunny gifs and stickers)Also bunnies.🐰Bunnies are cool.🐇 You like bunnies Kristy? Pretty sure everybody does… Kristy: anxiety overwhelming, can't do this, fuck…

(Kristy - Has left the chat)

Sharky: ……..Oh, ok.

Max: Man, don't feel bad, just gotta keep trying…

Sharky: I shouldn't fucking have to keep trying to get some basic fucking respect but whatever…

Sharky: Never mind, fucking hell…Gonna draw, maybe rest. Dunno, just…I need to calm down, fucking hell…

Sharky: Fucking hate myself more and more every damn day…And I never actually fucking do anything to earn that…I haven't ever hurt anybody but everyone fucking hurts me…Sick and tired of it…

Max: Dude, fuck, cmon!!!

Sharky: Nah, i can't like…Handle this right now, i need to lay down, really upset now…Just want alone time…

Sharky: I know you want to fix it and i appreciate it Max but you can't fix everything, you can't. You just can't…And some people are always going to fucking hate me for what i am and i can't change that either…

Sharky: Ffs…So fucking done…

Max: Plz, just wait a minute!!!

Sharky: Anyway, laters, peace…

(~Mr. Darktide Rising~ has left the group chat)

Max: like fuckin hell i wont at least try to fix everything

Max: ……..This ain't over and i ain't deletin shit…Ima keep dragging both of you together until you get along on basic terms, this is fuckin ridiculous as fuck ------------- Yeah, so this is more a starting point lol Kristy at first is ABSOLUTELY PETRIFIED of Sharky...And for all the usual reasons... At first Sharky tries to explain and befriend her and whatnot but Kristy is so scared and distrusting of everyone (Probably because she got...yknow, kidnapped and dragged halfway across the world or something, idk lol) She doesn't trust him at all and is constantly thinking the worst of him... So thusssssssssss Sharky starts getting more bitter and pissy and angry towards her because...Well, fuck it. He's tired of being nice to somebody that's constantly throwing shit at him...Which, i do not blame him. (Sharky does have his limits as does...Everyone...) And Max is just like...The awkward middle man that's trying to fix shit because Sharky's his best friend/brother and Kristy's like his new bestie and "wellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll we're a team now so you two dumbasses are gonna have to get along to some capacity!!!!" And Max isn't wrong there with the last point either lol... Kristy warms up more to Sharky as she gets more comfortable being in the Campsite and being forced around Sharky and whatnot...It just takes time...And Sharky isn't going to reject somebody who wants to change their mind on him (because he's had to do that a ton of times in his life and...He always wants that circle of close people to get bigger so...) Yeah, yknow lol Also Max is bad at remembering people's names (with Kristy tho, cuz she's being urhhh so bitchy towards the Campsite people who had absolutely nothing to do with her kidnapping and everything, he starts saying the wrong names on purpose cuz it pisses her off lol, that's a beginning joke...) And also also, in case you're wondering: Sharky ate a fish alive in front of em, that's what Kristy was going off about in the beginning bit lol...

[toastywatchesstevenuniverse]

S1 E49

The Message

Is it me or does Greg look....different?

He legitimately looks more tired than he did in his earlier appearances. Or maybe I'm just seeing that after knowing what he's been through in the last few episodes.

Okay honestly? I know I've been harsh on his character but holy shit this episode just made me feel so fucking bad for Greg. Look he's kind of a shitty dad but he's genuinely gotten better consistently with every appearance & it felt like the gems in this episode were....uncharacteristically mean to Greg. Like they were WAY meaner this episode than they have been prior. Like they were way more noticeably shittier towards the guy than normal. But I can forgive that as it didn't last long & it was quickly resolved & I was too sidelined by that ending to have more time to focus on that. I'm sorry butnthat ending kinda just fucking piledrived me so hard that I cannot talk about the rest of the episode now. This ending is too powerful.

I thought it was gonna be a filler episode but no evidently this episode just fucking told me "shit is about to go down get ready"

But it's fine because it wound up leading to an actual surprising ending. Holy shit.

I am NOT ready for the last 3 episodes....

First off: HI Lapis you're still my second fav. Love her. ❤️

Also

I'm sorry they keep building up Peridot as a big threat but I can't take her seriously after the dendy thing. 😭 This is just Dendy's quirky wine (probably bi or lesbian) aunt.

Still, I have no idea where this is headed but I get the feeling it's gonna get really depressing or confusing.

Or both.

I'm assuming both.

I literally just talked about how I'm NOT ready for whatever trauma Garnet has & this episode just confirmed my suspicions true. I knew it.

I FUCKING KNEW SHED HAVE SOME TRAUMA GOD DAMNIT REBECCA YOU CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS.

Thanks Rebecca can't wait for you to cause me more pain & agony. Awesome.

[5sosxqueen]

Luke

< Part 1 , ~Part 2~ , Part 3 > , Part 4 >

Luke in a cowboy hat. That is all I have to say.

Warnings: depictions of illness, vomiting, choking, mentions of hospital

Written in 2018

Published (Wattpad) - Jan 31, 2018

Word Count: 1498

Updates are every Tuesday and Thursday

Also Available on Wattpad and AO3!!!

Part 2:

Luke's POV:

     "Fuck" I choked out between hacks. "C-can't *cough* bre- *cough* breathe..." I felt a tear run down my cheek.

     After about 45 seconds of constant choking, Cash rushed over behind me, placing his arms a couple inches underneath my rib cage and grabbing one of his wrists, bracing one of his thighs between my ass cheeks (not awkward at all), and trusted my body upward a couple times,pressing his arms into my stomach, dislodging the bite of sandwich that was wedged in my throat. I had seen this done in movies, but to have it done to you is a totally different story... And man is it painful as hell!!

     Although I had my throat clear of food and could finally breathe, I once again felt a rush of food come barreling up my throat. I jogged over to the sink and spewed bits of sandwich and stomach acid onto the bottom of the metal with a sickening sound, only enhanced by the square basin. The sound caused quite a few other gags. "Sorry guys..." I gagged again with a bit of bile spilling out of my mouth. They walked over and rubbed my back as I started to dry heave.

     "It's fine Luke, you can't help it." Ashton spoke in a comforting tone.

     "At least this time it wasn't as bad, thanks to you Cash." I said looking over slightly toward Cash. My head shot back over the sink as I lurched forward with another gag. "Damnit..." I heaved and closed my eyes so I didn't have to look as my I lost my stomach again. Calum must have noticed this action because he reach over and turned on the tap. "Tha-" I was cut off with another gag.

     "Shhhh bud, don't talk, but you're welcome." He said gently. I nodded and dry heaved. This bout of sickness was worse than last time. Once it eased up I pushed myself up and away from the sink. Taking several deep breaths, much to my satisfaction, I looked over to Cash.

     "So, what's the next course of action? Clearly that didn't work..." I looked back down at the sink and my stomach swirled at the thought of what just happened. I felt my stomach lurch and I willed myself not to go into a fit again.

     It didn't work... I pulled myself back down and gagged up more bile. "Dang, get it up." Michael cooed. It's frustrating because just as I feel my stomach is empty, it proves me wrong. I vomited just as much as I had the first time. "How?" He simply questioned. I shrugged I had no idea either.

      "I think I'm actually done." I stated as I finally felt my stomach settle. I looked back to Cash with a long sigh. He smiled sympathetically and patted my back.

     "We need to get you to the hospital to get this further looked at." I hated the thought, but I understood. I turned to go get ready, but he grabbed my shoulder. "Luke, we can wait for a bit if you'd like... I have to warn you that they will want to do the same thing I did in order to get a definitive answer."

     "Ya. Ok, I'll wait for a while. Thanks Cash. Can we maybe go in the morning?" He nodded. I was really tired and I hoped to God nothing serious would be come out of this. 'It won't be anything serious.' I thought getting into bed.

     We decided to try again this morning. Just one more time, before I go to the hospital. Maybe, just maybe the first couple time we're flukes. Maybe I'm fine and nothing would come of it.

     We decided I would try to eat some eggs. "Softer food might go down a bit easier. We will try some different techniques, as long as you feel up to it. If nothing works, I'm afraid you will have to go. No questions asked." I didn't fully like the sound of that, but quite honestly what choice did I have in the matter? I agreed. "Ok. Take a bite and chew it until there are absolutely no chuncks. Keep trying that... We can make more eggs if you finish them." Cash explained.

     "Fair enough, I suppose." I stated, shoveling a forkfull of eggs into my mouth. "I am, quite honestly, starting to become terrified of eating guys..." That is something I never thought I would say. They all looked at me sadly.

Michael's POV:

      We all ate before Luke even got up. None of us are wanting to eat around him at this time. I really feel bad for him. Eating is something we all take for granted. I couldn't imagine not being able to eat all of a sudden, just the thought alone terrifies me.

     We watched Luke as he carefully chewed the eggs. He scrunched up his face as he tried to swallow... It seemed like he was worse off than yesterday. He shook his head and spit out the eggs into a napkin. "I can't.. At all. It won't go down." He started tearing up. "What's happening to me!?" His breathing picked up and he started shaking.

     "Luke calm down. It's ok." Calum shushed him.

     "NO. ITS NOT OK CALUM! I CANT FUCKING EAT.... you really think that's ok?" He shouted and stood up with tears streaming down his face.

     "No. I'm sorry, I didn't-" Calum started tearing up and rapidly excused him self from the table.

     "Really Luke? I understand you're scared, but was that called for? He was only trying to calm you down. You we're going into a fit..." Ashton said, getting up to check on Cal. Luke looked down I can see the shame written on his face.

     He slammed his hand against the table, causing Cash and I both to jump out of our skin. "Damnit all to hell!" He cursed. I have never seen Luke so fumed. He left the table leaving us stunned.

     I got up and followed him back to the bunks, where he went over to Ash and Cal. His knees were drawn to his chest, and he had his head buried into his arms. Ashton had his arm wrapped over him. "Cal..." Calum looked up at his name being called, his eyes red rimmed. "Cal... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. It's just, not being able to eat is really taking it's toll on me, although there truly is no excuse for acting that way. I'm sorry... Please forgive me!" Luke crashed to his knees in a sobbing mess. Calum rushed over to Luke, putting his feelings aside in favor of Luke's.

     "Of course I forgive you..." He said engulfing him in the biggest hug possible. "I understand that you are irritable from not eating. You haven't truly eaten in a couple days now. I think it's time. Don't you?" Luke looked up tearfully and accepted that he needed to go. Waiting was no longer an option. I helped get him and Cal off the ground and we all walked back over to Cash, who was still seated at the table.

     "What's going on guys?" He asked standing up from his seated position.

     "It's been officially decided that we are making the trip to the hospital now. This lad needs it now." I said, tossing my arm over Luke's shoulder as I spoke.

     "Alrighty. You guys got everything you need?" We nodded. We didn't need much of anything. Worst case scenario, we come back and gather things up. As we walked out of the bus and to Cash's van, Luke broke down. I gently picked him up and carried him to the van.

     "I'm so weak... Physically and mentally, I'm drained. I hate this so much." Luke bawled into my shoulder, clutching my shirt into his balled up fists. I rubbed his back as he cried.

     "We a couple more minutes buddy ok?" Cash told Luke, as he glanced back at him in the rear view mirror. Luke nodded and tightened his hold on me.

     "I'm so scared Michael..." He cried.

     "And you have every right to be, babe. I would be too, believe me." He looked up at me willing his eyes.

     "Really?" He looked so hopeful. Seeing him like this even brought a tear to my eye.

     "Of course. We are here for you Luke. No matter what happens, ok?" He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my chest. I felt a sad little wet spot forming on my shirt as I continued to rub his back. Ashton reached over and lovingly gripped his shoulder.

     "You'll be ok Luke. Everything will be ok. We will figure this out together. He is right we will stick by you every step of the way." Luke let go of me and then turned to Ash and repeated the same process with him. 'Poor baby' I caught myself thinking as I watched luke fall apart.

[ronearoundblindly]

Yes, I do know that feeling...which is probably why I sat on this truly wonderful comment for a couple weeks.

I've come back and reread it a bunch of times because, holy shit, does it feel great to have someone really get what you've worked hard to do.

In reality/canon, Ransom is probably a full-blown, unredeemable asshole, but I've always had sympathy for the actual experience of how characters developed that way. His parents are hands-off, emotionally distant, and downright cruel in their indifference. They expect loyalty for nothing and are privileged to the Nth degree. Of course, Ransom would never escape learning all those behaviors, and it would take a significant amount of time and immersion to have him see there's a different way to act.

That's where Reader comes in, and Ran thinks he knows. He thinks he can read people because he can read people like him. He's not exposed to people unlike him because wealth is practically a closed system. It breeds the same type of people over and over again. Reader has to be a hybrid, basically, and that's what I always thought of Harlan as.

Harlan came from nothing (sorta) but kept his connection to 'average folk,' he fostered relationships with Marta and his staff, and he kept a respectful understanding of what money changes in others. Harlan sees that Ransom is capable but lazy. He doesn't try because he doesn't have to, and so like a muscle that's never used, Ran's weak this way.

He gets tired and frustrated with you, but it feels good to challenge himself. It's like a runner's high. He's accomplishing something. He has this amorphous, ambiguous goal of getting you--of understanding you.

He gets there, and that would be enough except for canon gave me the perfect opportunity to make that fucker walk on land after only swimming the ocean floor his whole life. Damnit, it was fun, too. Ran's such a little whiny shit even when he's up for the challenge...

Absolutely, Reader says 'yes,' but I don't know about Lil'Hughs. I'd never thought about it. I obviously think way too much about this, so I'll have to get back to you on that one. Just know that I'm probably forever changed by your lovely words because, ya know, after building this shit up in my mind for six months and then painstakingly molding 32,000 words around the idea, I was really hoping it made fucking sense to someone. And it did! So yay \o/

oh my god i think i inadvertently convinced myself this is happening...

The Root Of All Ransom (Finale)

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series or previous)

Summary: Ransom figures out how to undo his disinheritance.

Warnings for language (I'm never kidding about how many f-bombs this boy drops), smut (blowjob, p in v sex that is consensually unprotected, general smuttery), vague contemplations of murder but we ain't going the canon route. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist. This is not your story!

I have somehow managed to put Ransom Drysdale deep in his feels. This is only OOC if you haven't read up to this point, but we do end on a soft!Ransom note. WC 6954 (oh my fucking wat???)

Ransom huffs out a foggy breath in the night air, cold in more ways than one. All the windows glow from the mansion, yet it looks completely different in light of what Harlan’s done.

Thrombey Manor is his birthright. He doesn’t love the architecture or the eccentric layout. He hates the furniture. He’s never really enjoyed anything about the place. It’s the polar opposite of his own house, but it was his in a way, part of his status, part of his baseline of existence. He’s not prepared for any other eventuality. Ransom built his life on a perfectly stable bridge that some idiot just blew up with C4.

No, no, not some idiot. His own family. The only member of his family he would think could never do this to him. Fuck Harlan.

Ran’s been flying high on a lie, and the magic money carpet’s been ripped away.

He has one lifeline, one option he’s grasping onto.

If he can manage this, nothing will change. He won’t lose the allowance. He won’t lose you. You’ll never know how unworthy he is. He can just have everything and never speak of this again.

Harlan. Marta. Inheritance. Killing two birds with one liquid stone.

Ran could do it. He will do it, but you cannot know. He can’t have you around. He has to push, to start giving you a safe distance, to leave you plausible deniability. If you suspect, you’ll leave him anyway. 

If he succeeds, worst case? He’s rich and alone. If he does nothing? He’ll be poor and alone.

One of those scenarios used to be acceptable, but not now, not anymore.

Pushing you away tonight might be the last time you ever look at him without pity, and he’s not ready for how heavy that sits in his roiling gut. He has to though. He has to make you leave, if only for the rest of the night—but it might be forever, his brain reminds him. Fucker. It’s not like Ran’s pleasant to be around. Getting away from him shouldn’t be a hard sell.

When you emerge from the house, however, what he hoped would sound sharp and dismissive sounds oddly open-ended.

“You could just walk from here,” he tries wishfully.

True to form, beautiful, pissed-off you sidesteps his expectations.

You take his coat, your coat, and the Birkin to the passenger’s side with a ferocious look.

“Get in the car,” you manage through tight lips.

Fuck. He misses you already. He hasn’t given up. He won’t, but his center of gravity is gone. He’s reeling from this.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale revolves around money.

His whole life he has stretched wide and greedy limbs to capture numbered, green rays of meaning. He hasn’t only lost the light of his sun now. No. Nuclear winter has just stripped him bare and knocked him on his ass. Ran cannot articulate all the reasons he’s so upset.

He values you and him together for relatively selfish reasons. From all he’s seen, you don’t need any more people in your life that exist so far below you. You don’t need ‘help.’ You need an equal, a free and independent equal. Ran isn’t even fucking close anymore.

With a stroke of a pen, he’s now dependent. It’s pathetic. If he stays without even the means to be your not-quite-equal, then he’s everything he hates. He’ll be clingy. He’ll be needy. He’ll be in the way. He’ll finally do it; he will annoy you.

He will bore you.

What a fucking world.

You snap him out of his dashboard stare.

“Do you want to talk about it now or at home?”

“Neither,” he quips easily. “I’ll drop you at the Carlyle’s.”

His eye twitches at his faux pas. You don’t have to correct him. He knows it’s your place, your name, your property, and your right to claim. He doesn’t need reminding.

His key twists in the ignition just as your hand comes up to his shoulder.

He can’t even glare at you properly because a tap rings off his window pane. Both of you jump in alarm because night fell hours ago. Who sneaks up on a car in the fucking dark?

Ran’s father is fucking who. Of course. The window peels down, and Ransom feels as if the last seconds of his life are draining away after the plug’s been pulled.

“Trouble in paradise, you two?” Dick asks with cheeky concern.

“No, Mister Drysdale,” you say politely, no hint of insincerity in your smile.

“Richard, please, honey. You’re practically family.”

Smug asshole, do NOT call her ‘honey.’

“Eat shit,” Ransom mutters overly loud again, but your sudden slow grip on his kneecap tells him to behave. Ol’ Dick has no right to call you ‘honey’ though. Ran’s not even sure what he’s allowed to call you, and he’s pissed, sure. He’s…something else, too; he’s obedient beneath your hand.

Richard ignores Ran’s attitude. “Listen, son, I just wanted you to know that whatever happens, your mother and I will always love you. In case…ya know, in case you ever doubted, and…well, we’re family. We stick together.” He even gives Ran a squeeze on the shoulder for emphasis.

Ransom has no fucking clue what his father intends with that entirely useless statement but doesn’t fucking care. “You know what?” He’s about to lunge out the window to choke that fucking prick. “Definitely eat shit.”

Your grip tightens, and Ran’s insides clench, knowing he toes a line.

“We should really go,” you add with a now painful, strained civility.

“Okay, you crazy kids,” Richard pats his heavy hand on the door frame. “Thanks for coming to the party and we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course, Richard.”

Ransom rolls the window back up without looking at you. That sure as shit was not his father’s reaction to Harlan throwing millions at Marta fucking Candelabra. He can’t be near these people anymore, so Ran slams his foot on the gas, peeling out of the driveway, and scattering gravel in his wake.

Your sigh releases with the pressure on his knee. “I suspect it’s about his affair.”

As if that narrows it down. “Which one?”

“The first one as far as your grandpa knows,” you snort, “which hopefully Linda buys too from the way you’ve talked about it. Jesus, really? Slow down!”

Ran doesn’t want to slow down. The car is finally catching up to his racing thoughts and a plan coalescing. If Harlan knows about Richard’s affair, then his mother will absolutely divorce him, leaving Dick with nothing—and if you know that Harlan knows about it then—

“Hugh—” the hand has slid from his knee to his crotch, the heel of your palm gently digging into the stiff fabric of his jeans “—we should have taken care of you before…”

Fuck, that feels good.

You’re right, of course. Ran really should have planned a few minutes of privacy for you both to get off after the airport. Not that it’d have to be private for him (parking lot, terminal, or tarmac—he wouldn’t fucking care), but the thought flashes in his mind like the bright spots behind his eyelids that he might not get to fuck you again. That’s profoundly upsetting, and your grip on the outline of his swelling cock is profoundly distracting.

He swats at your arm, blood rushing to his tension-white knuckles only for a second, but you simply swivel in the seat to change hands, dragging down his zipper.

“Sweetheart“ slips out. Is he allowed to say that anymore? He should still act normal, right? Except he’s been a raging mess for a quarter-hour already and oh fuck. “What are you…”

Ran’s been wrong this whole time: you are a road head bitch.

He’s so taken aback by your spit-slicked lips cooly brushing the head of him that he nearly elbows your spine. The car swerves slightly as he strains to collect himself, to think of just one other thing instead of your fucking tongue sliding down his length to tease at his still-covered balls and—

Mother of fucking mercy, he has to pull over.

Only by some miracle, some blessed (or horrible) gap in his distraction, is he able to consciously choose parking off the lane just beyond the menagerie elephant statue because, otherwise, that pervy-ass groundskeeper could relive his long-forgotten past of grainy porn. Because that’s what this is turning into. Pornographic is the only way to describe the choked grunt Ran finally lets out as he slams on the brake and you snap the car into park just to get the gear shift out of your way.

“I’m only here three days,” you say around a mouthful of cock, bobbing a few more times before switching to your hand. “I’m not letting you ruin it by being fucking baby.”

“I’m not—fuck—“ he’s not expecting you to climb over him in the cramped car “—you don’t understand.”

“So you don’t want me right now?”

He shakes his head furiously, half in hope of collecting genuine thought, half in desperation for you to continue.

Space is so limited between Ran’s body and the steering column that your bent knees pin his arms to the door and the console. It should hurt but fuck if he’s gonna say anything while he watches you peel your panties to the side and line yourself up. 

“Gah, you just—“ he pants as his heart rate spikes. Instead of putting him in you, Ran’s paralyzed to stop two of your fingers from sinking into your soaked pussy. You’re drooling for him, mouth and cunt, and goddamn, he is so torn between pounding you into next week or tossing you out of the car to get on with his plan.

It’s about an 80/20 split in favor of fucking you.

And then he thinks…yeah, he could definitely get off and get you to the Carlyle’s—your place—in time to sneak back. So he just lets go, shoving his face forward to capture your lips, enjoying the wet sounds as you prep for him, and eating up your moans and curses. He knows you’re purposefully dragging your knuckles against his dick as you bring them out with each stroke. Why are you so fucking hot? Why can’t he just have this without Harlan’s help? 

He’s dependent.

Ran realizes he always was, but he fucking hates it.

Removing your fingers makes the bunched-up dress pool over your hips and graze his raging erection. Great, now your spit and his precum are smeared all over your clothes. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. Normally, that would be even hotter. Now, Ran wonders how much that damn thing costs because he never even looked; he just knew it suited you.

A steady grip at his base and suddenly Ran can’t wonder about any fucking thing under the sun. Your walls welcome him inch by inch like he’s goddamn worthy of that silky squeeze, but he can’t say shit. All he can manage is craning his neck forward to mouth over your nearest breast, arms still pinned. Fuck it. More fluids on the dress. If you don’t care, he doesn’t care. Maybe. Maybe he’ll just care later. Maybe he’ll learn to look at the cost of things. Maybe he won’t have to when he succeeds at fixing this dumpster fire of a situation.

His teeth graze against a barely felt but hard-peaked nipple, and you gasp out another moan. You have to shift to wedge your leg down by his side and repeat with the other one. One of his forearms is tingling, asleep, so he switches his mouth around and uses the functioning arm to play.

You’re moving so slow, too slow.

“You fucking love to mess with me,” Ran growls, all but biting through the layers before yanking at the neckline, savoring the plush skin he exposes. “Love fucking me,” he mutters again.

“Yeah, baby, why do you think that is?” You use the name so condescendingly and roll your hips so deliberately that Ransom bites back a ‘fuck you,’ instead forcing out a strangled whine. You just drag yourself up and down until he answers, pushing his t-shirt and an errant tail of his cardigan out of the way. Your fingers gently scratch the flat plain of his abs.

“Say it.”

He knows the answer. He’s known for a while, but that’s not something Ran’s ever gonna be ready for. It’s just already the truth.

It’s as soft as a hum against your skin.

“Say it, Hugh. Tell me why.”

He can tell by how you’re getting sloppier with your movement, by how hard you grind forward against him, that you’re close.

“Because you love me.” Ran winces at how desperate he sounds. It’s almost a cry, but he can’t really resist repeating it. “You love me.”

Your hands bury in his hair, and he’s literally covered in you while trapped in this fucking steam room of a car. He can’t control anything he’s doing.

“You love me,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby.”

You’re fluttering around his cock like a dream, shouting encouragement, and it just slips out.

“I love you.”

He has no idea if you even hear him because you come so hard that your back bends, slamming you against the steering wheel.

The horn blares in the quiet woods.

You wait for him to yank you forward and erupt into sated giggles while Ran is a whole different kind of paralyzed, hiding his face in your chest for as long as you’re simmering without care.

Your fingers card through sweaty hair, your heartbeat slowing more than his does.

“Think you need this,” you say in a breathy whisper. You pull away to cradle his face.

He’s terrified you’re gonna ask. You’re gonna want him to say it again, he thinks, and Ran’s not sure he can with your eyes boring into his, knowing what he knows, being what he is until the will is void.

“I want you to come, Hugh.” Your thumb traces across his bottom lip, gaze following before it flickers back up.

You sound so fucking innocent while your slick is smeared all over his low belly and seeping through his underwear. His boxers are kinda in the way but kinda immovable while in such cramped quarters. Pushed aside, they hinder only as much as your bunched-up panties do. Easy enough to live with.

You keep staring expectantly.

“Do you want me to stop—“ fuck NO “—or will you give me what I want?”

Ran’s whole chest clenches, and it’s only because he slams his mouth to yours that you can’t see his eyes roll in fucking ecstasy. Perfect. You’re goddamn perfect. He couldn’t deny you anything much less this, and he knows that if this is the last time, he has to take advantage.

Sliding down slightly on the seat (because everything operates in centimeters at most this close), he takes two giant handfuls of your ass and spreads you, lifting so he can thrust his hips up at a brutal pace. He doesn’t fucking care if his knees bang against unyielding metal. He doesn’t care that a vein in his neck might snap from strain. He just needs this one thing, and then he’ll let it go. He’ll be ready for whatever outcome Harlan’s death triggers.

Because Ransom needs money. He had money long before he had you. It’s what he needs the most in life. He loves money.

If losing you is what it takes to keep the money…

That’s the thought he can’t finish as control of the urge to come slips from his bruising fingers. His desire for his status quo is faltering. His equilibrium’s changed.

He does love money. He does.

Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if he can keep both.

But friction is friction. He’s surrounded by the feel and sound and smell of sex. It’s familiar and more than a little haunting to him if this is the last time, but Ran crests that mountain before any coherent thoughts form. He can’t trust himself to speak. He might repeat what he never should have said aloud.

The groan when he empties himself inside you is almost pained, swallowed immediately by your adoring and hungry kiss. He’s sweat straight through his t-shirt and his jeans are a fucking mess. Your dress is damp, stained, and wrinkled. You’re practically bonded to the leather seat, but he just absently runs the back of his fingers up and down your thighs while he comes down.

When you release his mouth, your arms settle across his shoulders, and he buries his face in your chest again, hiding, relishing, stalling.

Shit, he’s gonna miss this.

After a minute, you rest your forehead against his and lift your hips until his limp dick slides out of you. Through half-closed eyes Ran watches you bite your bottom lip, gnaw on it like he wants to, like he moves to—

“Is this about the will?”

Ran freezes.

“Did—Harlan told you, didn’t he?”

“WHAT THE SHIT.” Ran’s rage explodes, heaving you off of him and into the passenger’s seat. “YOU FUCKING KNEW?!”

He shoves himself back in his pants and scrambles for the damn zipper.

“Ransom, it’s fine. He just—“

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you warn me? Jesus FUCK.” He’s unlatched and kicked the door open before you even get a word out.

“Harlan is my friend and—“

But he slams it shut, leaving your words muffled while Ran fumes in damp fucking clothes in the frigid air.

His fists almost—almost—pound on the hood of his car as he bites out, “I could have killed him.” 

Ran’s pacing toward the tree line when you finally shuffle from the beamer, pulling your dress back into place.

“Harlan’s my friend and he asked me in confidence if it made sense.”

“I’m sorry, he asked you? As in, my grandfather might not have done this if you hadn’t thrown me under the bus.”

“It wasn’t just about you.”

“It makes sense to leave me destitute? And you knew! You lying bitch,” he growls, immediately wishing the word hadn’t popped out, clawing at his scalp in a punishing attempt to think. “You watched me throw all that fucking money away and didn’t think I deserved to know?!“

“I’ve met you. Why would you listen to me about how to spend your money? That isn’t something you do, Ransom.”

“That’s not the point!” And stop calling me fucking ‘Ransom.’ “I can handle myself.”

“Then I guess your answer is ‘that’s how you spent the money,’ by choice.”

“I wasn’t given a choice. You lied to me. You’re the one who didn’t trust me.”

Your stalk forward in the dry leaves, stopping just outside of arm’s length away. “What the hell did I just say in there, huh? I love you. I said I love you, then you go and call me a bitch, so who’s the liar between us, huh? Who’s got trust issues?”

Ran’s face scrunches in distain. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Guess,” you spit back easily. 

Well, he isn’t fucking saying it now. Fuck you. Fuck this. This is the worst-case scenario: poor and alone because if you know, he can never get away with his plan.

“Why do you always do that?” he growls with a venom that poisons no one but himself. “Why the fuck are you here then?” Why are you with him?

“I’m here to support my piece of shit boyfriend at a piece of shit family event because Hugh asked me to.”

Nope. The right name is wrong. It sounds much worse than he expected.

Ran doesn’t know what to do with all this sick energy churning in his gut except burn through it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with his life.

“There it is. There’s the truth,” he yells, leaning into your face. “I know it. You know it. This isn’t going to work. We’re not the fucking same. We’re not even close—“

“I don’t want someone the same as me.”

“I’m a useless—”

“Ran.” Your hands fly to gently land on his face.

“—talentless—“

“Seriously, please.”

“—sack of shit and you—“

“HUGH!” The grip at his jaw slips as he jerks back.

Ran tenses, shoving his chilled fingers into his jean pockets, pushing the wet material in front away from his crotch. He goes awkwardly quiet.

Yelling. He remembers the yelling. He’s been comfortable with yelling for longer than he’s been comfortable with affection.

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” You cross your arms over you chest and shiver. “This. This bullshit is why I didn’t tell you, but so what? You don’t have your own money. How do you think Harlan and I started out?”

He gives a look that shouts back everything he can’t put into words.

“You’re not useless or talentless. You’re entitled. That’s all, and you can change that state of being pretty fucking easily.”

“How? What am I supposed to do? Be a houseboy who eats you out once a week?”

“A week? Well, I hope I pay better than that.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he grouches.

You giggle. You fucking giggle at that. “You started these jokes!”

“You don’t have to rub it in—”

“—just rub it out, huh?”

He doesn’t want to laugh. It’s not funny. His fate isn’t a laughing matter, but like everything else tonight, he fucking fails. A smile twitches at his lips.

“Ok, asshole, you want to be useful? How ‘bout driving us home? I’m freezing.”

He starts to protest but is cut off by a flinging arm.

“If you don’t get in this damn car, you will be helping me balance to pee in those woods.”

“Fucking gross,” Ran whines.

“Yeah, well, your ability to self-access is appalling too,” you jovially clap back, “but we’re working with what we’ve got.”

Fair.

Savage but fair.

He frowns and follows you into the car.

You talk his ear off on the way to his house, but he isn’t in the least bit annoyed. He’s engrossed. It’s all a type of flattery Ransom can hardly fathom: honest praise.

“I was miserably alone before you.”

He wouldn’t have pegged that based on how he saw you at all those events, but now that he considers how you’ve opened up about your frustrations and the exhaustion of being the center of attention, it makes sense. Ransom takes attention away from you. He loves that shit. He doesn’t even care if it’s negative attention. Hide behind his broad back and shine that spotlight on him; he’s game.

“You know what people you pay to be around you—people who want something from you don’t do? Argue. No one has a real conversation. No one has an opinion contradictory to yours. No one calls you out on your shit. It’s so…”

“Boring,” he whispers without thinking.

There’s a long pause until you continue softly.

“No one calls me out on my shit except you, only you.“ 

Your hand finds his. Though your skin is cold, he’s warmed by the touch. 

“So no, I don’t think my money will change anything. If money—mine or yours—were going to change you, it would have done it by now. I mean, sure, you could stand to be less of a dick sometimes, but you don’t have to. I already…”

Your voice trails off, and Ran knows. That’s just it. You love him and he’s a dick, the poor asshole who understands what the feeling is, the one who can’t say it, not on purpose, not yet. The tectonic shift in his life’s framework leaves him uneasy. As wonderful as you are, as perfect as this has been, he has to start over.

He has to build himself up from scratch. He’s been transplanted to an alien planet that he doesn’t have the means to make hospitable. Money was his means to everything. Money provided for him. Money protected him. Money separated him from others.

He never had space for two in his now-demolished castle of selfishness.

“I thought I’d be with someone so different from you,” you laugh without heart. “I’m…glad I was wrong.”

All he can manage is a squeeze of your hand.

“But Hugh, you’re proud of my success, not fucking threatened by it. You let me work, but you also know when I need a break and won’t take one. You’re devoted without being smothering because you have your own damn life, things you want to do. You aren’t intimidated by all this shit in my stupid world or the money. You don’t give a fuck what other people say.”

That’s true.

“You make me laugh,” you say quietly, and though he can’t see your face in the dark of the road leading to his neighborhood, he hears your smile. “You asshole.”

As he turns into the driveway, he glances over and winks. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

He watches that throwaway statement melt you, and then he realizes why.

Ransom trying to do absolutely fucking anything is a big fucking deal, and he has tried. He simply has no idea where to go from here.

He turns off the beamer and makes no move to get out.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Your hand releases his to glide up his arm and lace through his hair, lightly rubbing the base of his neck. “Help me,” you breathe.

“How the fuck would I help you?”

“Hugh,” you cock your head to the side, retracting both arms to brush your palms down the fabric of your (ruined) skirt, “you know damn well you’d like to control my whole wardrobe. You would do far better dressing me for all those functions than I do…and undressing me.”

He knows what you’re doing, but instead of smiling or laughing, he tightens his jaw and huffs. “Can I burn some of your—“ he does half air-quotes “—'wardrobe?'”

It’s so hideous. That one black dress you keep fucking wearing? No amount of dry cleaning will make that look new again. That’s getting flambéed.

You purse your lips. “Donate, but yes. I would consider that a huge help.”

“You’re serious.” Ran’s not sure whether he means it as a question or a statement.

“Yes. I am. Thank you for noticing.” You swivel to open the door. “Now, you can also help get my bag in while I use the restroom.”

The dance of readying for bed becomes you pointing out things you have now that you did not have before him. Taste being one of them, Ran thinks to himself. The important thing is he could say that to your face, but he’s strategically not pushing his luck tonight.

It’s true. Nearly every article of clothing and every toiletry now links back to his insistence that you have nice things that are for you, not just for life in general. You come before the rest of the world; you come before your work. That’s his gift. That’s what he’s good at, and you make it clear: you need him for that talent.

All of these nice things, all these reasons he seems good to you, and all this need for him have Ran feeling some sorta way when you crawl into his bed naked and reach to turn off the light.

He grabs your hand before you make it to the switch, forcing it back to the mattress, keeping you facedown. His heated breath and heavy body roll over you, teeth grazing your shoulder and moving slowly to your earlobe.

“You know what else I’m good for?”

His free hand slips between your thighs and finds what slick you couldn’t clean up. The knowledge that some of it is his cum still inside you makes Ran shudder. How would he ever have lived without this?

You sigh, your mouth falling open at the intrusion, and your eyelids flutter closed.

“Fuck,” you moan, high and quiet.

“That’s right, baby,” he hisses, mimicking your condescension from the car. Oh yeah, he’s gonna ruin more than that goddamn dress tonight.

He takes time to torture you with his fingers, his weight rendering you immobile. Ran sweeps falling hair out of your face with free reign to pepper open-mouthed kisses across the stretch of skin he’s claimed since that very first fuck.

You always knew what you wanted. He never thought you’d truly want him, certainly not for more than a day. After tonight, it’s inconceivable you want him still, yet here you are, burying your face in the sheets to muffle little cries as he humps your ass cheek to get harder and harder.

Good god, why do you want him? He fucked around, he yelled at you, he called you horrible names, he left you for weeks at a time in a foreign country alone, and yet you are here.

Then your words spring to mind. He argues with you. He has opinions. He makes you laugh. He treats you like the independent person you are. He treats you like your money doesn’t matter.

Because it didn’t to him.

Ransom realizes now that you treat him as if his money didn’t matter because it doesn’t to you. Nothing changed when you knew he wouldn’t have it anymore. Not a single thing. Somewhere over the last months, Harlan told you his plan, and the only perceptible difference to Ran was you falling in love with him.

Because you love him. He is so grateful he’s almost angry. You could do better. He can give you better.

By the time you come on Ran’s fingers, he’s completely feral thinking about all those little ways you showed your feelings, all the ways you showed him kind touch is not weakness. You also showed him that touch doesn’t have to be weak to be kind. He can be rough with his feelings for you, intense as they are. He can sink his cock into you, practically screaming that he loves you, too, but the words aren’t spoken.

He presses a thick forearm across your back to keep you pinned. He spreads his legs to widen yours. He thrusts in possessive and messy movements. No words escape. His range of motion is limited this way, but he gets all of your glorious noises. They’ve become his favorite sleep track. It’s hard for him to rest without hearing your happy, panicked pleasure beforehand.

You make desperate fists in the sheets and arch your ass up higher. He sees the unnatural strain in your body, all for him, all so he can have just that fucking tiny bit more of you.

He can’t stay in this position forever though. You’ll never come again like this, and he wants to see your face. The car was dark, but the lamp is still on. He can watch you fall apart with him deep inside.

“Turn,” he orders, enjoying how dazed and shaky you are as you struggle to control your muscles.

You’re a sight. Erratic breaths hardly settle your gasps. Pliable and ruined. Torn to whimpering pieces and stitched back together only to be split apart again.

He drinks in his handiwork, climbing slowly between your legs, delicately helping to cross your heels at his ass, and sinking back into your heat slowly, so slowly, like your teasing in the car.

“Hugh,” you mutter, and fuck, he has never heard you beg.

Ransom has always loved sex, but this is different. He meets your glazed eyes with floundering blue depths and wonders why he can’t just enjoy it as basic sex anymore.

He’s always loved money, too, and although he doesn’t want to take it from you, Ran feels the weight of your charity. Money was his sun, his whole world, but it was not enough. You provide more, warmth that lets him spread out in contentment, light that keeps him from withering.

Money doesn’t need his love; it’s indifferent.

You, on the other hand, you are fucking radiant, glowing and hot with his arm tucked beneath your shoulders to grab at your hairline. He makes you look at him. Your fingernails scratch at his back while your hips grind together.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles, nose almost touching yours. “Come on, sweetheart—“ Ran drops to lave kisses down your bared throat “—one more for me.”

This time, you have no words, only grunting uh and hng as he speeds up. Your noises get higher. Ran gets rougher, a brutal rhythm for a brutal realization.

He can’t hold back when he sees you like this; he’s gonna say it.

He gets close, so very close to breaking, but you fall first.

“Please—ah.”

You fucking writhe beneath him, your whole body spasming like your silky pussy ripples over the sensitive skin of his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos in your ear. “That’s right. Good girl.”

He has to chance meeting your eyes because he wants to see you unravel again. Ran always does whatever he wants.

He slows his hips to intermittent thrusts that sizzle your nerves over and over, pulling his arm out from under you to lift your chin. You’re open for him in every sense of the word, and he is fucked in every possible way.

He’s an amoeba of a man staring evolution in the face.

You’re his. It’s clear in the light that he owns you. He’s earned you, or at least, he’s trying to. That’s a big deal for Ransom Drysdale.

Quivering, your mouth hanging open, his thumb rolling over your swollen bottom lip, he gets one word.

“Daddy.”

Barely a whisper, partly a question, but mostly an invitation. He slides his thumb up into your mouth, only letting you suck on it for a moment before it drags out.

Ran never thought you’d ever say that. He never imagined you’d beg either. You’ve always known what you want and taken it. You have never needed anything from him.

“Please,” you say again, holding your mouth wider still.

Shit. He throbs at the prospect, and he’s too far gone to deny you this. He plants one small peck on your jaw before pulling out and clambering over your hips and chest.

“Ah fuck,” he moans when you suck on one of his balls, stroking him with a smooth and firm grip. “Love y—love your mouth…so much.”

Ran leans against his headboard, hand clamped over his trap in a desperate attempt not to blabber, but you continue. You’re in tune with when he’s ready, when you’ve taken the teasing far enough and he needs to come. His hips stutter to shove himself just a little farther down your throat. He collects his wits only enough not to choke you, muffling a cry.

You’re gentle with him as he loses his absolute shit trying to keep it together, thighs shaking, breath hindered, biting the fuck out of his hand.

“Sorry, I…” he tries.

“I…I—“ he tries again.

He just can’t fucking do it.

Ran digs his palms so hard into his eyes he sees stars. His chest is tight like it’ll explode any second. The relief of orgasm has evaporated instantly, and he just really fucking can’t.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, shifting up onto your kneels behind him, “it’s okay.” Your warm arms encircle his chest, over one shoulder and under the other, and you pull his own pliable and ruined body toward you.

He collapses back on his heels, leaning against you.

“Hugh, it’s alright.” Your whisper makes his eyes sting. “I know.”

Ran raises his arms to hold your wrists. His head drops to kiss the back of your hand. He still stays silent.

“I know…”

Your bare legs stretch across his lap, and Ransom lets the hand warmed by his mug grasp your ankle gently. You’re off in your own mind, staring out the window of his living room, worrying your bottom lip. He watches while you don’t notice.

Ran never particularly liked the unknown, and after Harlan’s shit last night, he’s off surprises for a fucking lifetime. This, however, this with you, sitting in comfortable quiet, makes him feel perfectly at ease with an unsure future.

For someone so fascinating to him, you’re so normal.

Sure, you’re beauty trumps the view outside, you’re dedicated to your work, and you’re smart enough to run circles around anyone, but…

You’re just you, sitting with a hot drink on his couch in the morning, wearing one of his sweaters again. Could be a sixty-dollar sweater from a thrift shop—or six cents for all Ran knows about secondhand sales—or the six-hundred-dollar one that he stoopidly bought three weeks ago; it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing that matters to him now is who wears it. That garment means nothing without you in it.

You sip at your tea, and he follows, staring at you staring at the world.

You two spoke more about it last night in the dark about everything but that one little phrase that’s eating him alive, a tangled mess of yourselves and the sheets. Nothing has to change except where the money comes from. Ran gets what he’s wanted all along: control over your wardrobe and, essentially, your entire presentation to that world you’re staring out into. He is not, however, permitted to burn your favorite Little Black Dress, but for fuck’s sake he’ll get all of its seams checked and the damn thing refitted. He’s hoping if he makes enough fuss, you’ll choose to toss it just to shut him up.

Fucking rules. Ran hates rules. If you kept standards on par with your New Money maybe he’d follow your rules. He’ll get you in the good stuff: the good house with good furniture, the good clothing with good lingerie beneath, right down to the good wash and lotion.

You can keep your perfume. He likes your perfume.

Yes, he’ll get you into what he wants, when he wants, where he wants, and all that implies. Ransom always gets what he wants…because you let him.

It’s remarkable what you let him fucking do, too.

He slides his hand from your ankle to your knee, knocking you out of your reverie just in time for his phone to buzz.

He holds your legs to him while sneaking a glance at the screen. Linda. Fuck no, he’s not answering that. It’s not Sunday and he’s not ditching anything. Fucking wait. Fucking choke for all he cares.

Ran instead sets his nearly empty mug down beside your two phones on the coffee table and curls up in your corner of couch. You open your arms to tuck him into your chest, and sure, it’s cutesy and gross in a way that should make Ran want to gag, but who fucking cares when he’s this comfortable. He plants a kiss right on your nipple through the knit for fun, feeling you shiver, then listens to your heart.

His phone vibrates again, dancing closer to the stoneware he just put down.

His mother’s persistence is as admirable as it is annoying. Predictably, Ran’s bored by her usual shit and ignores it again.

Instead of pushing up his sweater to wrap an arm around your waist though, he shoves his now chilly fingers between your hot thighs and sighs. His ear rings with the airy sound of your laugh through flesh.

Then your phone dings, and he just fucking knows it’s her. His groaned protest goes unheeded as you swap your mug for the device and bring it to you.

Ran snorts, and you smooth your free hand over his hair.

“Hello—“ there are harsh but restrained mumbles but he can’t make out the words “—Linda, why on Earth would I be with a man the night he yelled at me like that?”

Because you love him, Ran thinks, but he hears garbled disappointment from the other end.

“And after how your brother and his wife acted—” more rushed excuses “—I don’t have time to go around looking for your adult baby. I have work to do and a plane to catch.” There’s obvious desperation in Linda’s tone, but you don’t care. “Goodbye.”

You let your phone drop to the rug, carding fingers through his hair before finishing with little scratches. Your nonchalance is still pure honesty. You wouldn’t waste time on him, not if you didn’t want him, and you did not let him speak to you that way for more than three sentences because you knew exactly how to shut him up.

“Vicious little bitch,” you mutter.

And…in all your perfect, honest, niceness, you called his mother a bitch—not to her face but you’ll get there, Ran’s sure.

He fucking loves you. He is really so fucking in love with you that it’s fucking gross. He’s disgusted and doesn’t fucking care.

After a big sigh, your hand finds his between your legs and moves it to cup your sex. “Where were we?”

Ransom shifts up over you at the same time as you slide beneath him on the buttery leather cushions. His wildly true and blue eyes meet yours with stern sincerity.

He’s looking at everything he ever wanted, and it’s not money. There are all sorts of things he can use to survive, loads of things he can replace, an infinite amount to take, but only one you, only one complete package. Not a thing. Not replaceable. Finite. Earned. New. Fascinating. Teasing. Messy. Sexy. A total hardass badass with a great ass.

Ran lays his hand heavier on that thin layer of silk, possession laced in the caress, and the words just flow right out.

“Marry me.”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

Oh my god, gang, I can't believe I fucking did it. Truly, this fic has been one of the craziest things I've ever attempted, and honestly, I'm so damn proud. I'm proud that I wrote it, I'm proud that it's over, and I'm proud of whatever reception it gets. I murdered my soul for this and am delighted. Thank you all so much for reading!

[Main Masterlist]

[ardent-musings]

“Strike Three?” A Neville Longbottom Smut

EVERYONE IN THIS STORY IS OF LEGAL AGE AND CONSENTING

Warnings: NSFW 18+, sub!nev, dom!femreader, swearing, slapping (one hit), oral (f and m receiving), vaginal sex, teasing, slight degradation, unprotected sex. (WRAP IT UP YALL)

He wasn't happy anymore.

No matter how hard he tried to convince you he was happy being an Auror, his growing exhaustion and increased amount of nightmare alerted you to his unease. Your once happy and relaxed Neville would come home, only to be reminded of his time in the war. When he was recruited by the Ministry to work for them, he felt honored; for the first time he was really being recognized for his strength and bravery.

But that wasn't who he was. Neville wasn't made to hunt down dark wizards his whole life. He was made for something kinder. Something that wouldn't make him come home looking half alive.

Just like he did today.

"Hi, bubs," you sighed as you caught notice of his dark sullen under eyes.

"Hi, petal," he responded while dropping onto the couch with a huff. He started rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

He was hunched over and tense, the veins in his neck were popped from the strain his job put him under. Unable to see him suffer, you went behind him to rub and massage the sore spot near the base of his neck.

"Love," Neville groans at your skilled fingers working at the knots in his muscle. His deep throaty whine made your stomach twist.

"Does that help any, my love?" You hummed near his ear, massaging behind it to release the ache in his neck.

"It feels perfect," he replied quietly, mewling at the soft digs against his skin.

His head dipped back, exposing the expanse of his skin to your greedy eyes. Neville was always a cutie pie; however, the boy really grew up. Ever since he ran DA during his seventh year, Neville was a combination of gentle power and taunt muscle. He grew out of his baby fat, and sprung up into the attractive man you knew and fell in love with. You loved him however he looked; but his tight shoulder muscles looked beautiful under your fingertips.

Neville's eyes were closed, his mouth dropped open at the feel of your hands against his skin. But before he could enjoy it too much, you stopped massaging is neck and rounded the couch to face him.

He was tired and sore, but his eyes burned into yours with lust, but there was no signs of fire or fight in his olive brown irises.

You knelt down, sitting on your heels as you rubbed up and down the expanse of his work pants.

"I wanna play with you, love," you whispered to your tired boy.

He whined lowly, a sound that lit up the fire in your stomach and sent a chill down your spine. Neville was always so beautiful when he gave up all premonitions and embraced your control.

"I wanna play with you," you repeated while unbuckling the silver hardware of his belt. His eyes closed, brows furrowing, and chest heaving as you toyed with the waistband of his jeans.

"Love," he groaned, although, the words barely escaping his pouty pink lips, "God, please do whatever you want to me."

"Is that an order?" You cautioned. Neville was not going to be in control tonight; both of you knew it. But you needed him to be aware of the power dynamic this given night.

"No!" he cried. "No, no, that wasn't an order."

"Then what was it?"

He shifted in his seat, wiggling as you dragged the belt out of the looped holes and began making quick work of his zipper.

"What was it?" You asked with a bit more grit.

"A plead? Fuck!"

Neville's explanation was cut short, the feeling of your hand wrapped around his cock was already an overwhelming feeling and the most release he had gotten all day. You gripped onto his thigh with a firm grasp, nails digging lightly into the soft skin, making your boy groan at the light scratch marks that littered his leg.

"Wanna feel good, baby boy?" You teased. "Want me to play with your pretty cock until I get you off?"

"God, fuck yes," he whined, the words coming out in pieces as you flicked your wrist, pumping only the tip of his dick. You knew just how sensitive he was there.

Neville cried out at the slap you administered to her thigh, making him jump and groan in pleasure at the tingly sting. The pale skin already started turning red: a sign of your time together.

"Yes, what?" You teased as you kitten licked him all while you massaged his heavy balls in a single hand, the other one teased the inside of his thigh.

"Yes, ma'am," his brows furrowed in the middle, a mixture of both pain and pleasure etched across every inch of his cute face.

Having literally the situation in the palm of your hand, you wanted to fully take advantage of the strong man in front of you. Your speed increased, making Neville whine and moan out quiet whimpers at the feelings you were imposing on him.

His neck covered in a thin layer of sweat and goosebumps, every nerve and neuron was fired up at the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. You giggled and slapped him against your tongue, treating him like your little toy to play with.

"God fucking damnit," Neville pouted, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your neck, bucking up into your warm mouth for even more friction. He just needed a few more pumps to get off.

But you wouldn't let him.

Strike one.

With a pop, you rose from your kneeled position, just to straddle his lap and grab him by his throat, pinning him to the back of the couch. Neville's eyes were blown wide from his delayed high, his mouth dropping in pleasure at the squeeze around his neck.

"Did I say you could touch me, sweet slut?"

"No," he groaned, his dick leaking desperately against his work shirt, "I'm sorry. Please, god, I'm sorry. Love, please make me cum."

"You wanna cum?" You mocked back to him in a sickeningly sweet voice, your grip tightening slightly around his neck. "Does my big boy wanna cum for me?"

Your boyfriend mumbled his wishes and desires, his thumb grazing the exposed skin at the hem of your shirt, just yearning for a touch of your skin.

Strike two.

"I said no touching, Nev," you chastised as you grabbed both of his wrists and pinning them to the couch cushions, leaving him laying down beneath you. "Shirt off. Now."

The sweet, sensitive boy responded immediately, his work shirt was gone in a second. He was now fully naked beneath you, his skin was littered with scars and healing bruises, and yet he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. And he was yours.

"Get to work, pretty baby," you instructed as you shuffled up his chest, hovering your clothed pussy over his chest. "Think you're up for the challenge?"

"Yes, yes, please, love. Sit on my face, petal. I'll make you feel so good."

Neville had totally disregarded his own release, the idea of getting you off gave him something to focus on. And you weren't going to ask a second time. So within seconds, you sat with knees around his shoulders, waiting for Nev's next move considering his wrists were still pinned above his head.

"Want me to sit down, honey? Think you can eat my pussy as good as you can fuck it?"

His head craned higher, trying to get a taste of you before he was even given permission. Your teasing was growing to be too much, his cock rested on his lower belly, dreadfully sensitive from being left on the edge.

Graciously, you lowered yourself to his face, grinding lightly against his crooked nose for the meantime. Neville groaned at your taste, his tongue dipping to trace along your panties and to suck against your clit. The one thing Neville was always fantastic at, was eating your out. But seeing his arms pinned above him, made you even wetter; it was always a sight to see when Neville grew so desperate to get you off.

"Keep your hands up," you ordered as you then brought your hands the his hair, tugging and dragging his face against your cunt, doing your best to get off before he ever could.

Reluctant moans left your lips, Neville was just too good with his mouth.

"Wanna get me off, toy?" You taunted, finding it filthy how all your boyfriend could do was moan in response against your panties. "Think you can even get me off like that? Only using your mouth to get me off, yeah?"

Once again, all your boy could do was groan against you, taking in every grind and hair pull with a smile and a twitch to his cock.

"Fuck, Neville, you're gonna make me cum. Get me there, honey. Get your girl to feel good."

And he did. It only took a few more swivels of your pussy against his hungry lips to make your back arch. You dug his hands into the couch beneath him, fully grinding his face as if it were a pillow. He made you cum incredibly hard, your legs shook around his head as you filled with the feeling of your high.

You released his hands and resituated your legs to cradle his hips, now straddling him. Neville's chin was glistening in your cum, making him lick his lips as if he had just eaten some delicious candy or butterbeer.

"Now's your time baby," You promised as you grabbed his cock and lined it up with you. "But you gotta work for it."

Neville's confused look amused you, you could see the gears turning in his head.

"I'm not gonna sink down onto your cock, pretty boy."

It took Neville a second to understand, but he got the memo. Without touching you, he began snapping his hips up into your soaked and sensitive cunt. His deepness was surprising, given the fact that you refused to put in  the extra bit of work. But Neville was desperate beyond relief, his hips jutted off the couch to fuck you deep and fast even if you weren't meeting him halfway. You rubbed at your clit as Neville threw his head back at the squeeze of you against him.

"Gonna cum, pretty boy?" You asked while gripping onto his hair.

"Yes, yes, yes, fuck.." Neville groaned out loudly, his hips stuttering as he worked himself into a sweat. "Fuck, please let me cum. Let me cum. Love."

"Go on, love," you moaned above him, growing close to your second release. "Cum for me. "

Neville cried out loudly as you began bouncing furiously on top of him, giving him the friction he needed. He fully forgot the "no touching" rule, as he ran his hands up and down your smooth thighs as you both came in unison.

His cries and your demands were like a catalyst to the other, making your orgasms so incredibly intense. You fell on top of his bare chest, placing kisses against his collarbone and Adam's apple. A gentle blow of air against his neck made Neville groan, his body sensitive from all the teasing but so wonderfully taken care of all the same.

He twirled you hair between his fingers, finding comfort in your softest features.

"Thank you, petal. I needed that so much," he admitted with blushing cheeks.

"Of course my love, I just hate seeing you so stressed from work. You deserve to do something you adore, honey."

"I adore you."

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“So that’s how you want to play this, love?" | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey My Lovelies! I hope all is well today! I received a request ages ago from @activist-af to do something like this, as you will read below. I honestly aimed to fit the movie night theme in there but it was swallowed up pretty fast! I only meant for this fic to be 3000 or so words but, as it always seems to do, it got away from me.I truly hope that you enjoy this, you've given me an unwavering amount of support these past few months while I was battling a major bout of depression and writers block. I can't repay all the kindness and love you've given me but I hope this is a start! Much love darling! And much love to all of you lovelies! Please have a fantastic evening for me! <3

Please read before continuing: I usually wouldn't write this much before my story but I wanted to add this: this story is my first full blown smut. I'm honestly not sure how well it will go over but I tried to make it as loving and healing as I could. I take my writing very seriously. I know sex for many is a touchy subject, and that truly pains me. I sincerely hope every single one of you reading this feels all the love and saftey I tried to incorporate into this peace. I wish you an eternity of love and healing. Be safe my loves!

Request: "Could u do a mikaelson boys x reader? Any plot really, but I’d very much love it if it was a bit more Kol focused. there’s just such a lack of content for all three of them and I love your writing so much. If u need any plot point ideas maybe a movie night kinda thing? I really hold him a bit higher than the other boys. Or something similar to the fic with the Klaus + Eli being injured? Fluffy ending please, smut is fantastic too 🖤"

Description: Y/n is upset that the boys won't let her come on their mission with them, feeling isolated and useless. Kol is supposed to stay behind and watch out for her however things get heated after she tells him off.

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Fem!Reader, mainly Kol and Elijah

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! This is a full blown smut, I honestly do not know how it happened, probably 4000/5000 words are pure sex scenes, also there's a bit of fighting/angst at the beginning of the first scene but it doesn't last

Word count: 5343 (I'm so sorry)

Tags: ANGST, SMUT (full on), FLUFF

(Pics aren't mine but the moodboard is :) )

“I really don’t see why you guys are leaving me behind, again,” you run an agitated hand through your hair, huffing indignantly at the two boys in front of you.

Yes, boys. Not men. If they aren't going to treat you like the full grown woman you are then no way in hell are you going to give them any validation either. Even in your head.

“It’s too dangerous,” Elijah’s chocolate eyes are stern, his hands clenching at his sides, “I can’t risk the witches doing anything to you as a way to get to us. You’re too important.”

Your chest warms slightly at his words but it isn’t enough to break down your resolve. Three hundred years under your belt; they’re going to need to do better than that if they want to keep you away. There are only so many times you can stay away from a fight, only so many times you can watch them come home hurt knowing that if you had gone with them then maybe you could have prevented it. You’re a family and you’re tired of feeling like you aren’t pulling your weight.

You narrow your eyes at the tall boy, still not man, trying to peer through all the red you’re seeing, “I’m not a child, Elijah.”

He stares right back, not backing down, his face cut like marble, unwavering. Beautiful but harsh. Stone. He wears a white shirt, the first button popped and the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His veins are prominent and tempting. Elijah means business. You swallow the lump in your throat, pushing away the heat growing in your stomach.

“Love, trust me, we know you aren't a child. Any other time I would gladly rip you upstairs and prove it. Right now, though, I agree with him. You’re staying here,” Klaus’ softer voice pulls your attention from your staring match with the eldest Mikaelson.

He has a leather jacket on, the material clinging tight to his arms, ready to burst. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his crystal eyes. He folds his arms neatly in front of him. He’s not going to budge either.

You scoff at him, shaking your head, “I want to come, Klaus. I need to.”

A new voice joins the three of you in the foyer, “I can make that happen, darling, but you’ve got to stay home with me if you want that.”

You don't even need to turn around to hear the smirk on Kol’s voice but you do anyway, meeting the youngest Mikaelson face to face. He has a grin on his lips, one that, in any other situation, would have you weak in the knees. He has a sweatshirt on and a pair of sleep shorts. He’s on babysitting duty, he doesn’t need anything else. You only roll your eyes at him before facing Elijah once more.

“I’m part of this family, too, you know. It should be my choice,” you have to will your voice not to crack, keeping your tone as low and as steady as you can, “I’m not useless, Elijah, as much as you’d obviously disagree.”

You rub your hands over your bare arms, fending off a sudden chill. You feel like there’s ice coursing through your veins. A traitorous tear tracks down your cheek but you make no move to get it. Elijah’s hardened face softens when he notices.

“Baby, come on,” he reaches to grab you but you step back, not allowing him to touch you.

He can’t do that, make the decisions for you. Maybe if you were still human it would be called for but now it’s not. Sure, you aren't a millennium like they are but you’re not a piece of glass either. You’re strong, whether they want to acknowledge it or not.

“Don’t, Elijah,” you back away further, your cheeks drenched but your eyes fierce, “I’ll see you guys in a few days. Be safe.”

You turn and walk away, ignoring all three brothers as they call out to you, heading up to your room before any of them decide to follow you. You close the door, not slamming it but not exactly shutting it gently either. You can hear Elijah sigh from the front hall and you know he’s tugging on his hair. Klaus swears, his frustrated voice floating up to your ears. More tears fall but you brush them away angrily, lifting a pillow from your bed and screaming into it. No doubt they can hear it but, right now, you couldn't care less. The front door shuts and your heart plummets.

You sit on the edge of your bed, gripping your dark comforter tightly. Usually you like being the one they take care of. You like being held, how small they make you feel. Right now, though, it’s too much.

A soft knock draws your attention to the door, Kol’s careful voice cutting through the wood, “darling?”

“Leave me alone, Kol,” you try your best to make your words harsh but you only sound tired.

“Not likely, love,” he presses, “you know I can go all night, now it’s up to you what that means.”

Your cheeks flush and, as if he can see you through the door, he chuckles. The sound echos through your chest, stirring the remains of anger and frustration and mixing them with something hot and untamed. You pull the door open, coming face to face with the smirking Mikaelson.

“Sorry you landed with babysitting duty, Kol, but I’ve kept myself alive for three hundred years now and I’m pretty sure I can handle two more days on my own. Why don’t you go help Elijah and Klaus, yeah? Seeing as you are the only three who can actually do any good. I’m clearly not strong enough to do anything so I’ll just sit here and look pretty and do absolutely nothing at all because I’m useless. Okay?”

With that you close the door in his face. Well, you try to but he wedges his body in the way so you can’t shut him out. Whatever smile had previously been on his face is long gone and in its place sits a deep frown. His brown eyes ice over slightly and he stands taller than he did mere seconds ago. You can feel a switch in the atmosphere and suddenly you’re face to face. You honestly can’t tell which one of you is more pissed off.

“So that’s how you want to play this, love,” he pushes closer to you, “you want to get angry, yeah? Alright darling, I can do that.”

You open your mouth to protest but before any profanities can fly out his lips are on yours, fierce and strong. He uses his foot to kick the door closed, slamming it into place. It’s done merely for effect. No one is home but the two of you. He spins you around aggressively, pushing you roughly against the hardwood. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, no doubt drawing blood. As if on cue a copper taste fills your mouth, drowning your senses in red. This time, though, the anger is mixed with a wicked kind of lust.

Your hands find his hair without your permission, tugging harshly at the roots. He groans into your mouth, a sound that makes you want to slap him across the face and wrap your legs around him all the same. His hand snakes around your waist, squeezing your hip with a fervour that will no doubt leave bruises that will take longer than usual to heal. He pushes against you, every single part of him rock hard.

“God fucking damnit, Kol,” his lips find your throat with painful ease, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth in a way thats just this side of painful over pleasurable.

Right now, though, you crave every bit of pain that Kol lays on you. In a sick way you’re proving that you can take it. That you’re strong enough to do the things that they do. Another flash of red floods your vision when you think of the other two Mikaelson's who refused to let you help. You drag one of your hands down Kol’s back, scratching hard enough for him hiss against your neck.

He jerks away from you quickly, only long enough to rip the sweatshirt over his head before he attacks your neck again. He sinks his teeth in at the same moment he rips your tank top in half, lulling you into that sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, hate and lust once more. His shoulders are deliciously toned under your searching fingers and this time when you drag your nails down his back you know you draw blood. Serves him right anyway.

“Fuck, baby,” he wraps a hand around both of your wrists, pinning your hands above your head, “that kinda hurt.”

You want to claw the smirk off of his face. Or kiss it. You can’t quite decide. His other hand is slowly sliding up your back, inching towards the clasp of your bra. His eyes burn into yours, the inferno behind them nothing less than intense. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears so loud it’s almost hypnotic when combined with the tantalizing draw of his hand. It lulls you into a false sense of security, your eyelids heavy in anticipation. He stops moving when his fingers are about to undo the hooks.

He pushes his hips closer to yours, locking you between his body and the door. His stomach is hot against yours and cut like marble. Your fingers itch to feel every bump and dip with agonizing intricacy. Every inch of your skin is alight, every hair raised waiting for anything to happen. You can feel every breath he takes as if it’s your own, your covered breasts just barely grazing him with each rise and fall of his chest. It’s delicious torture.

“Before we go any further here, I need to know what you want. Do you want some quick fuck that’s going to leave you more angry when it’s done?” He rolls his hips against yours, sending sparks flying through your body at the first real touch you’ve had tonight, “or do you want me to make love to you like you know I can. And make all these terrible feelings go away. It’s your choice, darling?”

His words tangle and knot in the pit of your stomach, weaving through the white hot hatred that had been building in your stomach until it explodes. They hit you right at the source like missiles aimed with the utmost precision to destroy every bit of anger left in you. Tears prickle at the edge of your vision, your senses overloaded from the sudden loss of your fury. All that’s left in its wake is this gut wrenching feeling of not being good enough. It’s the original problem and he just effortlessly broke through to it.

“I,” you tug your bruised lip between your teeth, if only to keep it still, “make it go away, Kol. Please.”

“That’s all I want to do, darling.”

He releases your wrists, opting instead to haul your body into his arms and slamming his lips against yours once more. You waste no time running your freed fingers down his sculpted chest, admiring the way his muscles tense as he holds you up. You push yourself as close to his body as you can get, wrapping your legs around his taught stomach and clinging on for dear life. He kisses you slowly, as if drawing all the negative energy out of your body with his lips.

He walks the two of you backwards towards your bed, sitting on the edge, leaving you straddling his hips in the most delicious way. You push your hips to bring you closer together, wanting to feel every part of him that you can. He meets every movement with his own energy, wrapping an arm around you back to keep you pressed against him. Your body is warming up once more in his arms.

He pulls his lips from yours reluctantly, his hand snaking back to the clasp on your back, “this needs to go.”

You shiver at the light touch of his fingertips on your spine, arching with the click of the hooks coming undone. He pulls the lace from your chest slowly, his thumbs grazing down your arms, memorizing every inch of skin he can get his hands on. His eyes meet yours again and he drops the fabric on the ground next to your bed. His hands, now resting on your hips, trail fire up your stomach as they trace their way over your ribs.

“Kol, please,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his chest so close to your own, “I need you.”

There’s a glint in his eye again but this time you don’t want to slap him. No this time you want him to do heavenly things to every part of you. You want him to take the last remains of this awful feeling and snuff it out with his mouth. His hands finally crest the remainder of your ribcage, his thumbs teasing the underside of your breasts with tantalizingly careful circles. Tears sting your vision again from all the pent up energy inside of you.

“What shall I do, darling,” his thumbs draw along the sides of your breasts, stoking the untameable fire in the pit of your stomach once more, “tell me how you want me to touch you.”

His fingers dance closer to their target, each stroke driving your brain further into it’s Kol induced frenzy. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell is the boy in front of you.

“Kol,” his name falls from your lips in a desperate moan, “please just do something, god.”

He chuckles, a sound that flows like honey and wraps around every inch of you like silk. His eyes sear into your own, daring you to break his stare but you don’t. You can’t

“Well I could do this.”

His thumbs roll over your hardened nipples, as if to punctuate his words, and you see stars. You don’t even try to stop the moans that tumble from your lips, turning to clay in his hands. You give him free reign to mould your body in any way he desires, as long as hands never leave your skin. He pinches each bud between his fingers gently, pulling more praises from deep within you. His eyes never leave your face, drinking in each expression with unashamed greed.

“Or maybe I could do this.”

You know what’s coming when he leans forward, It’s quite clear what his intentions are. However, what you aren’t expecting is for the first gentle nip to send you so violently crashing over the edge that you have to squeeze your thighs around him to avoid falling off the bed. He doesn’t stop when you cry out and you don't want him to. Every swirl of his tongue around your nipple sends you spiraling further into the sweet oblivion he’s created just for you. He rocks his hips against yours while his mouth assaults you, pressing the delicious hardness against you while you fall apart.

He detaches his lips from your lips when you start to come down from your high, kissing his way up your sternum, over your collar bone, before settling on your throat.

“So beautiful darling,” he pulls your skin into his mouth as if he didn't just get enough just moments ago, “so damn beautiful.”

You press down on his hard length again, pulling a groan from deep within his chest, “I want all of you, Kol. Please.”

That's all the encouragement he needs to flip the two of you over and lay you on your back. He kneels between your legs, hooking his thumbs in your plaid sleep shorts and pulling them off much faster than he had down with your bra. He’s more than warmed up now, something that excites you to no end. You’re left laying in a pair of black lace panties that match the bra on your floor.

Kol’s eyes go dark at the sight, a growl that hardens your nipples again rumbling through the air. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling the lace off of you once more and adding it to the growing pile of clothes. He kisses the junction of your thigh next, sending electricity rippling through your body. It restarts the heat once more and the familiar wildfire rips through your abdomen. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to stand many more orgasms if each one is to be like the first.

“Please just make love to me, Kol, I need to feel you.”

He lifts his head from your thighs, a sight that you will never grow tired of, and his eyes set ablaze, “I was made for nothing more.”

Your heart flutters rapidly in your chest, a warmth spreading like butter over your bones. He kicks his own shorts and boxers off quickly, moving back up your body to rest between your legs. You drink in the heat radiating off his body, allowing it to soothe the remaining ache leftover from your small throw down. His one hand slips under your head, lacing through your hair gently. The other reaches between you, lining himself up against your opening. The slightest touch of him against you is enough to have you mewling his name already.

He teases you slightly, taking his sweet time before pushing in. The first thrust is pure magic, filling you in the way that only Kol can. Each of you boys feel different. Kol lights every one of your nerves on fire with his slow movements. He makes you feel every deliberate movement. He makes you know that every circle of his hips, every time he joins you together is done to perfection exactly how he intends. Kol makes you aware of your entire body and just how much control he has over it.

He pulls back slowly before thrusting back inside of you hard enough to rock your bed into the wall. You clench around him without warning, pulling your name from his lips with mouthwatering ease and sending small shocks through your lower half.

“Christ, baby,” he rocks his hips deeper into yours, burying himself all the way inside you, “how are you so close again already.”

You giggle quietly from underneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips and rolling your own to meet his thrusts. Your hands glide over his shoulders, soothing the scratches you left earlier. You draw his face to your own, pulling his lips down to graze yours. You want him to feel every word you say.

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what you’re doing,” the end of your sentence is blurred with unrelenting moans.

His hand grabs your leg, pushing your knee to your chest before pushing you into the mattress with a world altering thrust, “you’re right darling, I just like to hear you say it.”

He closes the gap between your lips with another shattering push, your walls clenching harder than before around him again. You swallow each moan that slips from his mouth and into yours. His nutmeg scent clings to you and you know it will take days to scrub him off of you, not that you want to. You could very well spend the next century wrapped up in Kol in every single way possible.

He picks up the pace, slamming into you with controlled ease. Your hands lace through his hair, keeping him as close to you as possible. Your senses are overwhelmingly heightened, allowing you to feel every damned inch of him. You’re in serious danger of falling apart. The fiery ball in your stomach is at its peak once more. When he pulls your lip between his teeth, and you taste the crimson, it explodes.

This time you don't just see stars, you see the sun and the moon and every planet in the solar system. He continues to move in and out of you, drawing out the intensity of your orgasm as he rides his own out. You cling to him with everything you have, refusing to breathe anything but Kol. Everything in this moment is about him and the way he makes you feel. Nothing else matters anymore. Perhaps nothing even mattered before. All there is, all there has ever been, is this one moment.

When you finally land back on earth, he slowly pulls out of you, giving you one last taste of electricity before drawing you to lay on his chest. Your ears ring from the energy you just exerted at Kol’s mercy, your skin deliciously sticky against his own. You're completely and undeniably spent.

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you go to speak, “Kol.”

You feel the sharp inhale he takes rather than hear it. Before you can blink the fresh wave of tears away he’s flipped you around, laying between your legs again and propped up on his elbows. His face is pure concern, his eyebrows creased together in a way that makes you want to smooth every harsh line away. It makes you cry that much harder.

“Darling, talk to me,” he runs a soothing hand down your thigh, pulling you close to him, “what’s wrong baby?”

The tears pour faster at the gentle tone in his voice, drawing an answer to the surface before you even process what you’re saying, “Do they think I’m useless? Do you?”

Your voice is shattered, all the emotions from today coming together in yet another crescendo. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears, drowning out the sounds around you. It’s probably the reason you miss the footsteps pounding up the stairs. You can feel Kol’s soft caresses but just barely. The only thing registering in your mind is the feeling of being completely and utterly weak. Why do they keep you around if you can’t even hold your own?

“God’s no, never. Not even a little bit,” just as Kol speaks, the door opens.

Well, the door slams open, hitting the wall with a crack that echoes through the large house. Kol isn’t startled. He should be but he doesn’t even flinch at the bang. You, on the other hand, tense underneath him, the pounding in your ears still as intense as before. A woodsy scent flows through the now open doorway, pine mingling with your already nutty skin. The pieces start clicking together, albeit at a slower pace than you like.

You’re almost certain you know who’s in the doorway but you look anyway to make sure, “Elijah.”

His name is a whisper and it gets lost under Elijah's own words, his dark eyes searing into yours, “Kol, do you mind giving us a moment?”

Kol glances down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. You plead with him to stay but this is Kol, he’s your hell-raiser. He places a soft kiss on your forehead before he stands, still completely naked, and walks out of the room.

He pauses on the other side of the door, settling a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “careful brother, she scratches.”

Elijah shuts the door when he leaves, much gentler than he had been when opening. Your boys, always the ones for theatrics. He leans against the frame, folding his arms over his chest. You stand from the bed, trying to meet his height but failing. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand but it doesn’t do much to clear the droplets. He tracks your every movement with a fire raging behind his chocolate eyes. You’re painfully aware of how much of your skin is on display for him; that is, all of it.

“What,” you pause when your voice cracks, stealing a moment to compose yourself, “what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off saving the day.”

He pushes off the door, taking a few steps towards you. You can see he's fighting back a lot of primal instincts. He's as affected by your lack of clothes as you are. His eyes shift rapidly between his usual brown and a deeper coal colour. Despite the situation, you can’t help the heat seeping from between your thighs. He stops a few feet in front of you. There’s no way he can’t smell you right now.

“I was needed elsewhere,” his eyes dip down momentarily, his jaw clenching, “by someone infinitely more important.”

You watch him squeeze his fists together, forcing his eyes to remain on yours. The determination in them is unwavering and fierce. He takes another step towards you.

“It seemed important a few hours ago,” you drop your eyes to your feet, breaking his stare.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him and, in turn, igniting your body, “I assure you it was not nearly as important as making sure that you’re ok.”

Your throat tightens, aching with the promise of even more tears. You wish you could just stop. You’re not afraid to cry but usually you can control it. Right now you can’t. Everything has been building, every little insecurity has pooled, and today was the chip in the damn needed to make the whole thing collapse. It’s too much.

“I’m not,” you wrap your arms tight around yourself, gripping your arms with bruising strength to try and hold back the tremors, “ I am not okay Eli. I feel so helpless. Everytime you come home bleeding and exhausted and where am I?” You run a trembling hand through your mussed hair, yanking at the roots, “Here. Always just here, useless, letting you and Klaus and Kol take it all for me. Am I really that weak? That I’m just extra collateral damage to worry about? What is it, Elijah?”

The words pour from you, each one making him flinch like he’s being hit by an invisible enemy. Every syllable is a bullet to his chest. His body tenses further, his eyes no longer holding any trace of their usual warm brown. Instead they're pitch black, the veins under his eyes a deep plum. The veins in his arms pop as well, his fists iron tight. He curses under his breath when you finish. His voice is gravelly and scrapes the deepest pit of your soul.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, whatever resolve he had been clinging to snaps. He pulls you towards him, wrapping his strong hands around your hips and lifting you against him, giving you a second to wrap your bare legs around his clothed hips.

“Elijah, what are you doing?” You cling to his chest, trying to avoid tumbling out of his arms when he begins walking you towards your bed once more.

He doesn't answer your question, laying you down against your ruffled comforter, “You aren’t collateral damage, baby.”

His voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it, emanating from somewhere deep inside him. He opens the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before making it even halfway down his chest. He drops it, much like he Kol had not long before, next to your bed. Kicking off his shoes, he kneels on the bed, coming to rest between your thighs. The heat emanating from you is now a furnace and it in no way goes unnoticed by him. His dark eyes swim across your naked body, drinking in every inch.

“Eli-” whatever you’re going to say is obliterated when he leans down and attaches his lips to the crook of your thigh, dangerously close to being exactly where you need him.

“You aren't weak,” he moves to your other thigh, nipping at the delicate skin and pulling unintelligible murmurs from your throat.

He kisses his way to your center, the anticipation growing like a knot in your stomach, begging to be unraveled once more. Even in the midst of falling apart you can’t get enough of these men. He lays a soft kiss against you, offering you the slightest glimpse of what you know his mouth can do. In the exact same way you had with Kol earlier, every part of you craves Elijah.

Your body arches willingly to meet the first swipe of his tongue, his name falling from your lips like a praise, “you aren't a burden to me, you beautiful creature.”

You cry out as he works his mouth expertly against you, his words humming ecstasy into your skin, melting away any trace of doubt in your mind. His arms wrap around your thighs, bringing you as close to his face as he can get you. The sight of him completely engulfed in your heat is almost enough alone to send you tumbling right there and then over the edge.

“You mean more to me than anything else on this fucking earth,” his dark eyes meet yours as he works you dangerously close to breaking before letting up once more, “and if I have to spend every hour for the next hundred years worshipping you to prove it then consider it done.”

He lowers his mouth against you harder, sucking your electrified warmth with renewed vigour. Your hands seek out his hair, tugging him against you and raising your hips to meet every pass of his tongue. The smell of pine trees and sex envelope you, brining you the closest yet to the kind of high only Elijah can draw from you. In this moment you’re nothing more than entirely his.

“I cannot lose you, baby,” he slips a few of his fingers inside you, “please let me protect you. I need to. Please.”

He curls his fingers just as the last syllable rolls off his tongue and into your core, shattering you into a million tiny pieces. Your hands fist his hair as your body clenches around his hand, pulling a delectable groan from his lips. Your third orgasm almost puts you to sleep on the spot, each of your muscles completely exhausted. Elijah watches you come undone the entire way through, nothing less than reverent awe locked on his face.

He wastes no time pulling your spent body into his arms, wrapping you as close to him as he can manage. You bury yourself against his neck, admiring how even the most unassuming parts of him have an undue amount of strength. He truly is your warrior.

“Eli,” you yawn into his chest, basking in the warmth of his skin, “I can protect myself.”

He tightens his arms around you, “I know you can, baby, but you shouldn't need to. I’ve been searching my entire life for a meaning. A thousand years of trying to be honorable. Then I found you and, all of a sudden, it all makes sense. All the searching and fighting and pain finally has a purpose: to protect you. Let me take it for you. Please.”

You’re speechless, there isn’t anything else to it. His words hit you with immense power, sinking into your skin and settling around your bones. You’re his, all of theirs, to watch over. You really didn't know he felt this strongly. You’ve always had to defend yourself. Perhaps you just aren't used to someone else being so willing to take on that task. Someone begging to take it.

He stands suddenly, with you still in his arms, and walks out of your room, starting down the hall. The faintest sound of rushing water fills your ears, lulling you into a welcome daze.

“Where are we going, Eli?” You have yet to open your eyes, stuck in the soft between being awake and falling asleep.

He kisses your forehead, resting his head on yours, “Niklaus said he wanted to take a bath, my love.”

[physcoticfrog]

heyo! i'm new to your blog but i've found your writings amazing! may i reguest the soulmate au "The voice inside your head is your soulmate's" with the sfw prompt "Look, I don't know you very well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone" for Itona Horibe? Thank you so much in advance 💝!

AHHH IM SO HAPPY TO GET A SOULMATE ASK

Ahh itona ✋😺 I love that man lemme just say that rn. (AND LISTEN IK I HAVE A FIC TO WORK ON BUT IM LAZY)

--

Pairing: Itona Horibe x reader

Prompts: Soulmate au where the voice inside your head is your soulmate's, "Look, I don't know you very well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone."

Warnings: Slight mentions of parental abuse

--

This week seemed like a very chaotic week. But then again, when were they not? You managed to gain a new classmate, and not only did he have a really fucked up life, he was hot. But did that really mean anything?

You thought of your mother and father. They already reprimanded you enough as it was for being in the E class. Not only that, but if you were ever late, you would get a long lecture. They weren't ever going to allow you to even have a boyfriend.

You were woken up by Terasaka. "Hey dumbass, wake up. Class is over." He deadpanned. You let out a harsh groan.

Next class was phys ed, and although you were good, it had never been your favorite. Especially when you're extremely tired.

You had also come to hate the fact that the voice in your head wasn't even your own. You always hated the idea of soulmates, but ignored it anyways.

"God damnit I hate this voice it's so annoying" you told Terasaka. It wasn't unusual for you to complain about it, and Terasaka was used to it.

He just rolled his eyes. "Come on, we gotta go." He said. You groaned again, but still reluctantly stood up.

-

When you got to phys ed, it was normal. But, Mr. Karasuma had decided to put you all in pairs. You got paired with Itona, the extremely hot and.. interesting one.

"Hey" you said.

"hi" he replied. Your eyes went wide. His voice. His is the ever so annoying one playing on loop inside of your head.

You had heard him talk before, but why are you just now noticing it? You didn't pay it much attention, and immediately just started going in for the attack as if it would make the class go by faster.

Unfortunately for you, Itona was incredibly fast. He dodged your attack with ease, not even flinching. He then grabbed your arm and had you pinned.

You huffed. "Fuck", you spoke, "how are you so fast?" You heaved out. You might've known had you been out the other night, but your parents had alarms on every window and door in the house.

He didn't even answer you, and let you go as Mr. Karasuma said that class was over. But, you were just glad to get a break.

After mulling it over, you decided to skip. Luckily for you, you had already picked out a place that is pretty much flat.

So, you walked away and climbed up the tree, and played down on one of it's unnaturally flat branches.

As you lay asleep, you realized that Itona had never, not even slightly, acknowledged the voices you two shared. After a while, you heard everyone leaving to go home. Had you really managed to miss 3 different class periods over a nap?

When you got home, you immediately felt your mother's gaze move to you. She seems livid. "Why are you home late?" Your mom spoke through her teeth. That cause you to look at the time. 3:07. Two minutes late.

"I- I'm sorry", you muttered and bowed, "I did not intend to be late home today." You stated, trying to lace sincerity into your voice.

Your mother crouched down in front of you, smilingly a sickly sweet kind of smile. "It's ok pumpkin, we are never going to do that again, right?" She said, almost too sweet.

"right." You answered. You knew there was no right answer to this. You held your breath.

"You're wrong.", she stated, angry and gripping your shoulder, "You have never once changed this behavior. I will not believe you until things change." She said, borderline yelling. Her grip tightened on your shoulder, causing her to hit a pressure point and you passed out.

--

When you woke up the next day, you immediately left for school. You brought your uniform but were still in your pajamas. You climbed up the mountain, entered the building and made your way towards the bathroom. Hazama looked at you weird.

"don't ask." You stated at her. She then threw her hands up and went into the classroom.

Once you got changed you looked into the mirror. You looked like shit. The bags under your eyes were more noticable than ever, and your eyelids felt so heavy like they could collapse any minute.

You eventually moved your pajamas into your bag and went to class.

As soon as you walked in, everyone took notice for your crappy state. "Y/n, are you doing ok?" Karma asked you. You were honestly surprised, it wasn't like him to ask anyone if they're alright.

But, you let it slide and smiled. "Yeah! I'm doing great, don't worry about me." You laughed as you scratched the back of your neck.

Class went by like a blur, and you didn't even notice. You honestly were zoned out the entire time and didn't even remember anything Koro-Sensei said.

You got up and walked out, but decided to go to your tree. You were definitely going to regret it when you got home, but that's a story for another day.

And Itona's voice? You didn't even know how to start going about that.

As you lay down, you started falling asleep. How long? You really didn't know. "Hey, Ritsu?"

"Yes?" She responded.

"Can you wake me up at 4:30?" You asked her.

"Yes I can!" She said sweetly. It was so kind, not a sickly or bitter kind of sweet like your mom. And there was no anger like your dad.

You were passed out. It was crazy how easily you slept on that tree. You, unfortunately, were startled awake.

You almost fell out of the tree, but someone grabbed onto you. "I'm sorry, I just heard your phone playing some sort of alarm sound, so I came to check it out." It was Itona.

You put up your casual and shy facade, "Oh! Thank you, I'm sorry." You laughed out.

He made a face of disbelief and concern. "Are you ok?" He questioned.

You smiled, "why wouldn't I be?"

He frowned at that, "Y/n, you came into school today in pajamas." He deadpanned. Your smile faded.

"Oh! That, yeah I was in a bit of a rush because I woke up late." You then became panicked. "Oh no. Oh no." You repeated. You chanted it like a prayer.

"I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Itona." You tried leaving, but he grabbed your arm. When you looked back at him, he had an expression of extreme seriousness.

"Look, I don't know you very well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone." He stated.

"I- Itona, thank you so much. And I get that we're soulmates and all, but I really need to get back home." And then you froze. You just told him you were soulmates. Yeah, he probably knew, but he hasn't said anything about it.

He also froze. "I- I'm sorry? We're what now?" He questioned.

You rolled your eyes. "Have you not noticed? Have you not realized that the voice in your head is mine?" You stated.

His eyes then widened. "Yeah. I seriously have to go now. Thanks for your concern." You told him. However, his grip on your arm didn't falter. " Itona, let me go."

"No. I'm not letting you go until you tell me what's going on." He told you. And although his face was unreadable, his voice was filled with worry.

You sighed. "If I tell you, will you please let go of me?"

He nodded. You decided to be as vague as you possibly could. "My home life isn't all that great, and I'm also super stressed out about the whole soulmates thing." That seemed pretty vague, right? "Now will you please let me go."

His grip loosened, and you moved away from him. "Um.. since we're soulmates and all. Do you.. maybe want to give this- us- a try?" You hesitated though. Your parents would be furious, but who are they to decide if you get to date your own soulmate?

You nodded. "Yeah.. let's give us a try." You jumped down the tree and then sprinted back home while trying to prepare yourself for what was to come.

---

A/n: Alright! Not my favorite thing I've ever done, and I'm sorry that this took me a while. But uhh yeah! I did my best 😅 I really hope you like it.

[xxisxxisxxis]

AU: Gateway Drug | "Forty-Something" [PT. 1]

[Pt. 2 HERE]

**This was not my idea, the credit goes fully to an anon that suggested it!!

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1988

"Shh!" I try not to laugh at Izzy as he nearly trips coming around the corner, bracing himself against the wall as I'm tucked under his arm to help him keep his balance. 

"When the hell did this get here?" He asks in reference to the wall, fumbling for his key when we get to his room. 

"You gotta slow down some, Izzy." I tell him softly as he struggles to get the door open but he eventually does. 

"I know, I know, I hear Axl bitch at me about it constantly, trust me I know." He rolls his eyes, careful not to drop his cigarette as he reaches for a lighter. 

He can't steady his thumb enough to light it, though, and I sigh and snatch the lighter from him, lighting the cigarette before he can complain. 

"Thanks." He falls back on the bed, chuckling a little as I stand at the foot of the bed, my arms crossed. "Don't take this the wrong way but you look hot even when you're knocked up." 

"And you're high." I roll my eyes. "And drunk." I add. "And I'm leaving you to it because I'm tired." 

I go to leave but he sits up. 

"You can crash here." He offers and I raise my brows. 

"Izzy, if this is a part of some grand scheme to be the next in line to have sex with me--"

"--You're pregnant. I don't fuck pregnant chicks." He wrinkles his nose, laying back down. 

"Gee, thanks." I mumble, crawling onto the bed and laying on my back beside him. 

In a moment of quiet I glance over at him smiling smugly. 

"What?" He questions, taking notice. 

"You love me so much you don't even know how to handle it." I tell him. 

"Like hell I do." He denies it in a sharp scoff. 

"You don't want me to leave you."

"That doesn't mean anything." 

"We're friends." I say next. 

"No, we're not." 

"You love me." 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." 

I keep my smile for a few more moments, before I close my eyes. 

I feel him scoot the tiniest bit closer to me before settling down, too.

"Psst," he says in a few minutes and I open an eye and look at him. 

"What is it?" 

"You wanna get married?" 

I furrow my brows and turn to face him fully. 

"How the hell do you go from denying we're even friends to wanting to marry me?" 

"I'm high and drunk, like you said." He admits and I sigh, shaking my head a little as he clears his throat. "You and Nikki are getting divorced, you and Duff aren't together, either...everybody I know is getting hitched. I'm left out." He shrugs. 

"Be thanking God." I tell him and he chuckles. 

"Oh, c'mon. It wouldn't be that bad." He argues. "It would work out because Duff's in the band so he'd get to see the baby all the time so you wouldn't have to worry much with working in visiting and stuff. My mom would fucking love you, your dad already likes me...we've already seen each other naked so we know what to expect." He adds.

I hit his arm and glare at him. 

"Well, we're together a lot so we know each other's habits and stuff...I think it could work." 

"You're high. And drunk." I reiterate, getting back on my back. "And full of shit." 

"Okay, what about that old pact that desperate lonely people make? Like, 'if we're forty something and neither of us are married, we'll get married to each other'?" 

Knowing that by the time we're in our forties we most definitely won't be single, I humor him. 

"Izzy, if we even make it to forty-something, and you're sober and have your shit together, I'll marry you." I agree. 

"Deal," he holds his hand out for me to shake, and I do.

"Now go to sleep." I urge, turning over to face away from him. 

"The cold sex shoulder is already starting to settle in and we aren't even together yet." He aggravates and I reach my hand back and swat at him, making him laugh. 

1989

"Izzy, stop touching it!" I bark, hitting at his hand.

"Viv, I'm good, that fucking pixie stick didn't do shit." He bites back, his fingers on his nose as I'm holding ice to it. 

"Jeffrey Dean Isbell." I snap. 

"Vivian Estine Kinston." He says right back. 

"Fine!" I shove at his nose and he winces. 

"Jesus fuck, Vivian, I said it doesnt hurt to touch it, not fucking reset the bone, damnit!" He gripes in pain. 

"Oh, no, that fucking pixie stick didn't do shit." I remind him. "And you deserved it, by the way." 

"Here we go," he grumbles, leaning his head back in the car. 

"No, I mean seriously, Izzy. Drunk or not you can't go one night without being a complete asshole to a woman? Especially if they're your friends' wife, you're supposed to have extra respect for them, jesus." 

"I'm not friends with that little squealy bitch." He declares. 

"You still respect his wife. You don't pull her dress up and then hit her when she raises hell at you for doing it." 

"I didn't hit her, I karate chopped her. There's a fucking difference." He informs. 

"Either way, you're a moron." 

"And you're a bitch." 

"I don't take anything seriously from someone who snorts so much coke he only has one nostril because the size of the hole burnt into his septum." I hiss. 

"That's perfectly fine because I never took anything you've said seriously just because." He doesn't miss a beat before he drops the ice for a moment to light a cigarette.

"You're such a jackass."

"Are we saying vows right now?" He asks in reference to our insults. 

"I said when you're sober and forty-something, although right now I don't see you making it to forty-something."

"We should probably go ahead and consummate it, then." 

"Oh, gee, how tempting, I don't know how I'd possibly ever resist such an idea." I sarcastically let out and roll my eyes. 

"Vegas is only a few hours away," he points out. 

"The loss of blood from your nasal cavity is definitely getting to you." I scoff. 

"Viv, what could possibly be so bad about marrying me?" He blows smoke put of his mouth. 

"Well, for one, when you want a girl to marry you, you don't ask her while you're strung out or on a coke binge or drunk. You don't ask her while blowing cigarette smoke in her face, and you certainly don't ask her after getting your face beat in for sexually harassing and physically assaulting your acquaintance's wife." 

"I was fucked up, and that doesn't make it alright or whatever but I really do feel like shit about it, you know."

"Then you need to call Vince as soon as you can and explain that to him and apologize to him and Sharise. Because it really embarrassed her and hurt her feelings." I tell him. 

"Then will you marry me?" 

"I'm not talking about this anymore, Izzy, drop it." 

"Fine." He doesn't argue...but I do see him glance at me from the corner of my eye, a smirk on his lips. 

1990

"Tommy, I can't just up and fly out to Toronto tomorrow because me and Duff are going up to visit his family for a few days with Monroe." I explain, putting mascara on. 

"Well, think about it alright?" 

"Tommy, I'm not thinking about it, there's no way for me to go to Seattle and Toronto at the same time." 

"Well--"

"--I'll see you guys in a couple weeks, anyway, so what's the deal?" 

"The 'deal' is that you act like you don't want anything to do with us now that you and Nikki aren't togther anymore." He accuses. 

"That's not true." 

"Anytime you come out to a show is if Sharise or Heather are out on the road, too, and you just hangout with them the whole time and avoid us." 

"Gee, Tommy, could that possibly be because you idiots wore me down so much over the course of six years that I just don't have the energy to even be around you too much even when you're sober?" 

There's silence on the other line. 

"Not trying to be an ass, Tommy, but it's the truth. I love you, but I can't make it to Toronto. I'm sorry." 

More silence. 

I just sigh and hang up, finishing my makeup before I hear a horn honking out front.

"Monroe," I peek my head into his nursery, seeing his butt up in the air, thumb in mouth, tiny snores coming from him. 

I gently shake him awake, picking him up when all else fails, heading to the car. 

As soon as I get out there, I hand Monroe to Izzy, who's behind the wheel, as I get Monroe's carseat in his car. 

Once the toddler is locked in, I get in the passenger side and let out a breath. 

"You alright?" He asks me. 

"Yeah, just...a lot...I told Tommy I didn't want to go see them because I don't have the energy to be around them now that they're sober due to how they acted for so long when Nikki and I were together." 

"So...you don't want to be around them, but you'll come be around all of us." He points out. 

"I'd rather be in a room full of messed up Guns N' Roses than sober Mötley Crüe." 

"Ouch." He mumbles. 

"So, where we going?" I ask him. 

"The courthouse." He explains. 

"For what?" 

"To get married." He answers casually. 

"Ha, ha, funny...seriously where are we going?" 

"To the courthouse to get married." He says, again. 

"Izzy. That's not funny." I state. 

"I'm glad it isn't because I'm being serious, Viv." 

"Izzy, no you're not." 

"Yeah, I am."

"Stop the car." I order and he sighs, slowing down. 

"Damnit, Viv." He says as I open the door and get out, feeling too trapped in the car. "Now, you know I've been asking you for the past two years, Viv, I'm tired of hearing, 'no'. You think I'm kidding when I ask you but I'm being serious." 

"You can't be serious, Izzy, because it literally came out of nowhere the first time you even suggested it! 'Everybody else is doing it and I'm left out' is a shitty reason to want to marry someone--and you're not even four months sober! The last time a high idiot told me he wanted to marry me, I said, 'yes,' and I was in hell for it for years! So, yes, Izzy, I apologize if I wasn't taking you seriously all the times you've asked me about it because the idea in itself is just so freaking ridiculously stupid, I thought surely you'd have more sense than to think we could!" 

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Good! We aren't even friends anyway so screw you!" He throws at me. 

"wE aReN't EvEn FrIeNdS aNyWaY sO sCrEw YoU." I mimic his voice, walking around to get Monroe, who's still sleeping, out of the back. 

"Viv, get back in the car." 

"No."

"Vivian, get back in the damn car." 

"No!" 

"Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?!" 

"The same reason you have to be so full of shit!" 

1991

"Monroe don't run!" I chase after the three year old backstage, grabbing his sides before he can get away from me. 

"Where's daddy?" He asks me with a chuckle, fingers in his mouth, his eyes switching over people passing by. 

"I don't know, baby, but we can go find him." I suggest. 

"Yeah!" He excitedly exclaims. 

"Yeah!" I reply, laughing…

"I said 'this' much cranberry and 'this' much Vodka, man!" I hear Duff complain, followed by the splattering of liquid hitting the floor. 

I turn the corner to see Duff face to face with their manager.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Monroe kicks his legs, wrestling to get down. 

"Monroe—"

Duff looks at us, this look coming to his face. 

"H-Hey, man." He walks over to us, smiling at me. "When'd you get here?" He asks me, going to kiss my check but I lean back, wincing. 

"You smell like b-o-o-z-e, Duff." I scold him as he takes our son from me. 

"Yeah, don't worry about it." He assures me easy-goingly as Monroe hugs him tightly, grinning and laughing. 

His girlfriend...more so drug buddy, Linda, walks by and he glances at her. 

"Babe, you coming?" She asks him, raising her brows. 

He looks at Monroe, then me, then her again, before frowning slightly. 

"Go, we'll be okay for a few minutes." I insist. 

"Are you sure?" He questions.

"Duff, we just got here. You don't have to spend every second with us right away. You've got stuff to do." 

He sighs, looking at me, then Monroe again. 

"C'mon, baby, daddy's gotta get back to work." I tell Monroe and he reaches for me again. 

I take him and Duff kisses his head, and mine. 

"See ya before the show." He tells us, waving bye to Monroe. "See ya in just a few minutes, Roe." He assures him as Monroe waves back. 

I sigh, Monroe looking around again. 

"When's daddy coming back?" He asks me. 

"In just a few minutes." I assure him.

He's soon looking over my shoulder, his eyes wide and bright, a wide smile on his face as he brings his finger to his lips and goes "shh." 

Before I can turn to see who he's looking at, a sharp pinch on my ass has me snapping around, ready to throw a punch, only to be met with Izzy. 

He and Monroe laugh together at my expense and I hit Izzy in the arm. 

"Tailhole." I hiss out, watching my language and he chuckles some more. 

He looks so much healthier than he used to. 

He used to be scraggly and high looking all the time...now he's filled out a little more and his skins glowing. 

Of course that also probably has to do with him finding a girl he's full blown in love with.

"Duff leave you out here?" He asks and I shrug. 

"We just got here, he's with Linda." 

Izzy wrinkles his nose the slightest. 

"Duff's to Linda like Nikki was to Vanity." He mumbles. 

"Don't I know it." I state, knowing a crackhead girlfriend/boyfriend when I see one now that I've had experience with Nikki and Vanity, and Tansy and Sparkie. "Where is she at?" I ask once we get to his dressing room and see a picture of the Aneka girl he'd been telling me about in bits and pieces the past couple months. 

"Visiting her family." He tells me as there's a small knock at the door. 

"Yeah?!" Izzy calls and the door opens. 

"There he is!" Tansy says excitedly, Monroe laughing and showing a mouthful of teeth, getting down from me and running to her. 

"Tans!" He replies to her, just as happy to see her. 

"Oh, my goodness, you have gotten so tall since I last saw you." She tells him and he puts his bicep up and she grins, squeezing him to her. "You wanna go see uncle Axl?" 

"Yes!" 

"Is that okay? Just for a little bit." Tansy asks me and I nod.

"Yeah, that's fine." I say and she picks him up. 

"Alright, c'mon." She giggles and he waves at me. 

"See you in just a little bit." I tell him, waving. 

When she shuts the door, I fall back on the couch and groan, making Izzy raise his brows. "When we first got here, all I could hear was, 'daddy, daddy, daddy!'" I refer to Monroe and Izzy takes the cheap shot. 

"Sounds like you on a good night." He says before I can finish and I glare at him, making him laugh. 

"Sorry." He shrugs. 

"Anyway...we finally get here and all he sees is his dad throw a fit because he didn't have the perfectly formulated ratio of Vodka and cranberry juice." I state and he lets out a soft breath. "And then Nikki's drinking again, and I know he's drinking again because he calls me in the middle of the night, drunk, to complain about his wife--which I told him not to marry her because he barely had time to really get to know her but nope. Nobody ever listens to Viv. And Tansy said that tweedle-Duff and tweedle-Slash wake up and start their morning with alcohol, which is comforting...I've been talking to Steven's mom a lot and she said he's been going down hill again after he tried to sober up some…"

"Yeah, I heard." He rubs the back of his neck. 

"Axl's keeping Tansy from seeing anybody, he won't even let her call to check up on Steven right now. He thinks it'll trigger her to go off the deep end and get back on smack." I add. "Everything is just a shitshow at this point." 

"Yeah…" he mumbles, before a long pause sits between us, and he finally clears his throat and sighs. "Um, I need to tell you something that I haven't told any of the guys yet, and I don't know how you'll feel but just know I've thought about it a lot and think I should do it." 

"Izzy, I don't care if you're gay." I tell him and he sighs, giving a little smile…

"This is pretty serious." He says and I furrow my brows a little. "I want outta the band, Viv." 

I feel a punch in my stomach. 

First Steven, now Izzy...this is not how this was supposed to go…

"W-What?" 

"Izzy, c'mon!" Their manager calls. "You're on soon!" 

"We'll talk about it later, alright?" He says and I'm at a loss for words.

"Izzy," 

"It'll be alright, we'll talk about it." He assures me before stepping out.

Later that night, after Axl finally got on stage and the show was barely completed, Izzy and I split a room, Monroe and I taking a bed while Izzy takes the other. 

Once Monroe is tucked into bed after passing out on the way to the hotel, I sit and wait for Izzy to get out of the shower and end up dozing next to Monroe.

I slowly blink awake when I feel fingertips tapping at my forehead, and Izzy's crouched down by the bed beside me...a little smile on his lips. 

"Hey," he chuckles. 

"Hey." I say back, blinking once more…

"It's not about the music anymore, Viv. The egos and drugs and booze and pussy--it's all coming first. I'm tired of having a show at 8:00pm and not getting onstage 'til 11:45pm, and only staying on stage until 12:30am before Axl gets breathed on the wrong way and storms off." He says softly not to wake Monroe up. "And it didn't help when my royalties were in talks of getting cut...and then when Ax is constantly coming up with lawsuits or contracts or NDA's, it's bullshit. It started out as five of us against them. Now Steven's gone, Axl's God and Slash, Matt and Duff are killing themselves. I just want out." 

"You're breaking my heart, Izzy, you know that?"  I sniffle tiredly, trying not to cry. 

"I promise I'll be okay. This isn't gonna spring me into a relapse or anything." He assures me.

"I'm sorry for all of this happening." I admit and he shakes his head. 

"Nah...it doesn't have anything to do with you. Me and the guys just have our own things going and it's just time for me to go my own way." 

I just sniffle again, wiping a stray tear, and nod. 

"And we'll still stay in touch and stuff." He adds. "You'll still see me around."

"Promise?" I ask. 

"How else are we gonna keep tabs on each other to see if we gotta go through with our plan at forty-something." He shrugs. 

"Oh, please, you'll still be with Aneka and won't even be bothered with me." I tell him and he shakes his head a little. 

"Viv, I harassed you for nearly three years to marry me--even thought I didn't even fucking like the idea of marriage. If I went through that much trouble, I'm not gonna up and leave and only talk to you every blue moon." 

I smile a little, rubbing my lips together before saying, "does this mean you're finally acknowledging that we are, indeed, friends?"

He rolls his eyes and stands back up. 

"I didn't say that." He tells me and I chuckle. "G'night, Viv." 

"Goodnight." 

[whumpbby]

Somehow, I'm in a total Stray!Jay mood. I can't stop thinking about little homeless baby Jay -who knows that Catwoman sometimes gives big chunks of her stolen money to local charity and woman shelters- warning Catwoman when Batman is coming or causing a commotion to help her get away and Selina spots the tail end of him and when she finds him jacking the freaking batmobile's tires not half a year later, she just can't help herself. If Batman can have a Robin, she can have a little kitten, damnit

I love the idea that Selina has absolutely no idea how to take care of a child - give them food and a bed, right? That’s it? Beans on toast sounds fine, right? It’s Jason who has to remind her that she should probably send him to school and that he needs help with homework?

Like, she has no maternal instincts to fill out a thimble to begin with and at the beginning treats Jason like he’s a small adult, it takes time for her to realise that he’s a really traumatised child and she needs to step up, that he’s not one of her cats and won’t come to her crying in obvious distress when something goes wrong - she needs to be more attentive if she wants to keep him, she can’t keep being the Cool Aunt forever... she has spent so much of her youth proving that she’s a strong woman who needs no man and isn’t one of these women who just want kids and white picket fence... that now she’s in her early thirties an has no idea what to even feed a child of 11... 

(I like to think that she was a rebellious teen and her rebellion was based on proving that ‘she’s not like others!’ and she can be like a cat, a slick and smooth loner... except it took her years to realise that cats are very social creatures and she brought into one stereotype while trying to escape another, and that ‘these women’ were not at all inferior to her ‘strong womanTM persona’ and that she spent years rebelling against her own sexist views... which left her humbled with a realisation that she missed out on some powerful human connections. Just like Bruce, who shrouded himself in his Mission, her shroud was named Independence.)

As humiliating as it is, she needs to turn to someone more experienced for help, and who is there to advise her on taking in a poor orphan boy? But it’s not like she’s going to outright ask Bruce, that would give him something to lord over her... So, she sets out to observe how he acts around his Robin and his son. She reads a few parenting books, even books an hour or two with an adviser and talks to her therapist about it (she got herself a therapist as soon as she could afford them, she’s not stupid, she saw what untended grief did to Bruce and may others) and armed herself with the knowledge of Entering Parenthood.

And she talked to Jason, she had to talk to him. He was a distrustful and skittish boy, so smart, damn, she lucked out, but he obviously went through a lot of shit and the look in his eyes was something she knew so well, the way he hoarded food, the way he kept his backpack ready, the way he shied away form men - it was all familiar. It was heartbreaking, but she knew that. God knows she wouldn’t know what to do with Dick Grayson if she had him, they’d both probably end up dead within a month, but this little street rat? This was like looking into a mirror. 

And she doesn’t set up with the idea of making him her sidekick - she wants him to go to school, to help deal with his emotions, to feed him up, because he’s so tiny... weeks pass and with each of them she wants more and more for him, soon enough nothing is enough, she wants the world for her little kitten and starts to set things up to achieve it. Alright, maybe she’s going over the top, maybe she’s a bit dramatic, maybe she let the ‘motherhood’ get to her head... but, hell, Bruce pretty much built his son a whole damn tower of operations for his sixteenth birthday, she couldn’t ever reach that level of ridiculousness, could she? What was an investment fund or two when compare to that? 

Except Jason ends up tangled into her affairs anyway, and what a charming little kitten he makes! Smooth talker with vicious elbows, he’s a great backup and takes to their night job like a fish to water! And she did make sure to get him decent pants and sleeves, for fuck’s sake, he was thirteen! 

[marvinswriting]

scary damian scary damian scary damian scary d-

prompt: the title speaks for itself lmaooo thank you bear for dealing with me sending you every other paragraph to make sure i got the energy of the fic right orignal g/t mg

I shoved my phone into my pocket, approaching the tiny pick up zone. I felt bad pulling Damian out of class but I'd feel worse if I passed the fuck out from exhaustion and got him worried.

Nothing telling my teacher I'm going to the nurse won't fix. 

I walked through the tiny halls, the unfinished ceilings and led beams hanging down. The occasional light flicker really setting in the horror genre feel. I tried not to concentrate on the hallway decor too much, it hurt more than anything. The half-assed drywall with bulletin boards hung occasionally. There were tiny lockers that went largely unused and some vending machines that haven't been refilled since I was a freshman. 

I yawn, approaching the tiny pick up zone. 

As expected, the hallways are quiet. The occasional student walks past but nobody pays me mind. I liked it better that way anyway.

I slumped against the wall, letting my head fall forward. I was exhausted. Don't know why. I actually got sleep last night. Can too much sleep make you more tired? Oh well. Gonna get more.

More footsteps pass the tiny pick up zone, but these ones pause before backtracking. I look up to see Shane Omen. 

Because who else?

I lower my head again, too tired to deal with this. 

"Yo, space dyke." Shane doesn't seem to happy to not get a reaction out of me. "I'm talking to you."

"Sure you are." I feel like I should be running, but my brain is sluggish and I don't feel any fight or flight kicking in. When I would normally be up on my feet, creating as much distance between us as possible, I'm just trying not to fall asleep.

I have enough energy left in my brain to know being unconscious around a giant, especially Shane Omen, isn't the smartest idea.

"Space Dyke." There's a hand reaching for me.

That makes me flinch backward but- its too late at this point. 

Is it bad to call this interaction familiar at this point?

Because it was.

I made a noise of surprise as Shane grabbed me off the platform roughly. My hands weren't pinned at my side this time, as I fruitlessly tried to push his fingers off of.

They wrapped around my entire body even pinning my legs together. 

"Shane, please!"

"Are all tinies as rude as you? Never respond when they're being talked to?"

"Shane-" 

I was not in the mood. My body felt as though it would shut down at any second and this interaction was frankly sending me into overdrive. My brain was panicking, trying to stay awake, trying to find the strength to fight back, trying to find energy where there was none. 

"I always find it amusing. You tinies are so big and bad with giants. But when you're alone- look what happens." Shane's fist tightens.

"Where's you giant, huh? Isn't that something you freaks do? You try and twist our words positively? Embrace it? Hate to break it to you, it doesn't seem to be working. You're still a pathetic annoyance."

Shane's right. Where is Damian?

"I could drop you right now," Shane says, and my blood runs cold. "It'd be ruled as an accident. They don't check the cameras about these things. You're just a tiny. You freaks fall off ledges all the time. Your name would be in the school newspaper this month and then never spoken about again."

Shane's grip loosens and while it's normally a welcoming sign, I struggle to find purchase, grabbing at his fingers, not wanting to fall.

"Shane, please."

"Please what?"

“Please, get your hands off my tiny."

Both Shane and I turn to the new voice. I could cry in relief. There stood Damian walking down the halls. He looked pissed but I knew him long enough to see he was as scared as I felt. 

Damian never said 'my tiny'. I called him my giant, sure, and he knew I was his tiny, but he always said despite it being embraced among tinies, he felt like he was taking ownership of a valuable life. Which was totally valid and I understood, but to hear him say it now put a smile on my face, despite the situation I was in.

The smile didn't last long as Shane's fingers once again tightened painfully around my body.

"And why should I?"

Damian was in front of us now. Shane wasn't short, but he wasn't tall. Damian was tall. He glared down at Shane. 

Holy shit.

None of my giant friends were fighters. Yeah, Cady has verbally chewed out some people, Gretchen has paid jocks to beat up others, but none of our giants were physical. But right now? Damian looked fully ready to throw hands.  

"Please hand me Janis." He held out his hand expectantly and for a second I thought Shane was just gonna comply. His grip loosens and his hand moved forward slightly before pausing. "No."

Shane said it with the authority of the girls on TikTok who bully people in the comments, saying no and throwing a heart emoji after.

"I'm sorry?" Damian's voice was low. Like the night Cady threw the part, but this time he wasn't trying to hide his anger or keep calm. "I heard what you said. About dropping her? Yeah, I think it's clear I'm not gonna let you do that. What you said counts as a threat by the way. If Janis wanted to report you, they'd check the cameras and you'd get into some serious trouble."

Shane seems metaphorically cornered for a second. Only a second.

God, I'm so fucking tired. I just want to be in Damian's pocket, where it's warm and safe and I can sleep, god damnit.

I can't tell if it's the total exhaustion or Shane's tight grip on me but my vision feels like its fogging up-

Oh my god, I can't breathe. 

How fucking tired do you have to be to notice you're not breathing?!

I let out a very incoherent plea and both giants look down at me.

"You're hurting her."

"Am I?"

"Knock it off dude. Let her go that's not funny."

"Let her go you say?"

The fingers wrapped around me are suddenly gone as I let out a gasp of surprise and for air. Shane Omen fucking dropped me. Wow.

I didn't fall far before landing on another hand. I knew it was coming but that didn't make me any more prepared as I land with an ungracious thump.

I'm not held by Damian for long as he gently places me on the tiny pick up zone. As much as I love Damian, I'm grateful to be back on solid ground as I stumble backwards leaning against the wall. 

"What the fuck is your problem, Shane." Damian isn't bothering to hide his anger at this point. 

Shane takes a step back, his hands going up in defense. "Chill dude. It's just a tiny. I don't understand why you get so upset. You're like the only one who gives a shit about space d-"

Shane didn't get to finish his sentence as Damian suddenly swings his arm, fist connecting with jaw.

I jump back, out of surprise more than anything.

Holy fuck.

I suddenly felt a lot more awake and in tune with the situation going on in front of me.

Damian never got violent. He was always the teddy bear friend. But this teddy bear had one good right hook. Where did he fucking learn that?

My illusion of big scary Shane Omen is broken as Damian towers over him, Shane bending over, hand on jaw. If anything, it's Damian who looks scary right now.

That's something I never thought I'd say. 

Damian shakes his fist out like he's trying to flick away the pain. "Don't ever talk about Janis like that again. If you or any of your friends use that nickname again, I'll-"

"We won't!" Shane is quick to reassure. "Swear on it, dude. Uh- Damian. We- we won't."

Damian doesn't seem convinced at this as he continues to glare at Shane. Shane turns to me and I instinctively flinch back. He raises his hand in defense. 

"Sorry- Janis."

 I don't think I've ever heard Shane call me Janis before? It's always been space dyke. Woah.

"I'm," Shane points behind him, skittishly. "I'm gonna go now, so-" He doesn't finish his sentence, just turns and speed walks down the halls. 

The second he's out of slight, the pressed lips and stiff posture fade and Damian looks a lot more- well, Damian.

"Are you okay?" His voice is back to a hushed concern. I jump regardless.

"I'm fine. Now." I say slowly. My brain feels like it's rebooting from what I've witnessed. It needs time to let the files load.

Damian punched somebody. 

Damian punched Shane Omen.

Shane Omen was scared of Damian.

Damian Hubbard the dude who wouldn't hurt a fly if he was paid to, punched Shane. Omen. 

And it was equally a mix of badass and scary.

I never thought I would call Damian scary. He hates being viewed as scary. And for the most part, he's not. But that? That was scary even if it wasn't directed to me.

"Janis?" 

My head snaps up. Damian looks nothing like he did thirty seconds ago. Now he stood timidly, like he was afraid to move and set me off. "I know you don't like yelling. I'm sorry."

I nod. "Thank you for coming when you did."

I pushed down all uneasiness I had. It frankly made me feel guilty. It was just Damian. He wouldn't hurt me. I didn't think he'd hurt Shane Omen either but-

No.

It's Damian.

"You really had Shane ready to piss his pants," I say lightheartedly. "It was tits, dude."

Damian chuckled nervously. "I just saw him holding you and I got so nervous and I-"

"Hey hey hey-" I rush to the edge of the platform. "I'm here right now. I'm okay."

Yeah, it was pretty scary watching Damian tower over his peers aggressively. But it was also badass. And if Cady did the same I'd be gay. But the Damian I'm seeing right now? That's my best friend who would never hurt me. That's my platonic soulmate who goes out of his way to keep me safe. 

Which he was doing earlier, just in a new way. 

Damian scoops me up, holding me to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat slightly faster than normal. 

He was as worried as I was.

Just being held by Damian and the familiarity of being safe was all I needed for the exhaustion to set in again.

"I'm gonna fall asleep." I mumble. 

Damian laughs. "That is why you called me to pick you up, right?"

"Yeah," I say sleepily.

Damian shifts me into the familiar chest pocket and there's some rustling as I assume he puts on the whit pin before we're off. 

There's a couple of things we should talk about. Like him punching Shane Omen for starts. Or Damian calling me his tiny for the first time. But right now it's nap time.

Back to Damian's English where I can fall asleep without worry of Shane. Not that I think I'll be worrying about Shane for a while.

bear told me i write shane omen well and i guess that just means i make a good fucking villain lmao- also was damian at least a little in character? i tried. @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce

[wizisbored]

What are some of your favorite lines you've written for your fics? (Also I'm sorry things aren't going well right now. Sending love 💜)

right its time to go diggin im using this as an excuse to reread everything because i cant think of any lines off the top of my head even though i know theres a shitton

premptively putting a cut here because this will probably end up long as shit and you know what fuck yea to that because fuck yea to being proud of what youve made

SO

hallelujah, first thing i posted:

If those bastards want to make her part of their shitty musical, then she’s going to make it difficult. Or at least inconvenient.

The hive is not inconvenienced in the slightest.’

- idk if this is as funny as i think it is but i find it funny

"Nobody dies with dignity, Emma. There's no honour in the thing, however you dress it up."

- wrote that to sound creepy and now i cant decide whether i actually think its true

But he’s holding her like she’s his salvation, as if it’s his life hanging in the balance.

- salvation is just a good word tbh

It’s hopeless, but she refuses to be killed by a game of fucking ‘got your nose’.

purgatory, intended to be a shitpost but now i unironically think of it as the best thing ive ever written

After a few years (or maybe seconds, it’s not clear) / it takes a moment (or maybe it doesn’t, who knows?) / An undocumentable amount of time passes. /  They might have slipped into an uneasy silence lasting millenia - or milliseconds - if it wasn’t for the jolly tune that suddenly fills the air. / for minutes or years or millenia or maybe even eons / After a brief, indescribably long nap / But the incomprehensible amount of time seems somehow shorter this time.

- 2 in one of fucking with the concept of time and hinting at an unreliable narrator, hell yea. its about the weird atmosphere, baybeeeee

“Does one day of trying the hardest we could outweigh years of not trying at all?” Emma wonders aloud. Paul squeezes her hand.

“I damn hope so.”

He doesn’t ask if she believes in Hell.

- even without context i like this line but in context it really helped set the sombre tone so i could do a full 180 at the end of the chapter

Emma wonders whether they’ve been sent to musical hell for failing to stop the musical apocalypse

- love the implication that there is a hell dedicated to annoying people via musical theatre

“You said- you told her you’d never be in a musical?”

“Yes.”

“And then you died performing a musical number?”

“I- yeah, I did.”

“Brilliant! Now, that is stupid!”

- probably my best characterisation of death, sounds like something that would be said in a stupid deaths bit, i can hear it in his voice

teachers pet

“It’s only blatant if people know about it. So in actual fact this is secret favouritism.”

- hidgens gives absolutely 0 shits about the ethics of the situation good for him

“And if that is kidnapping, well, consider yourself kidnapped.”

- once again ethics simply do not matter

“Oh, where is your sense of adventure? Are you not curious about the results of washing baked beans?”

- this line hants me when im trying to make stew or just have some fucking beans on toast because I am curious about the results of washing baked beans

“Well, if it isn’t, and we both die, then I’ll be quite disappointed. We did spend all evening on this, after all.”

- priorities

finishing what we started, actually originally a scrapped ending idea for igtlt that i liked too much to abandon entirely

“How many bullets?” He eventually asks.

“Enough.”

- they just know what theyve got to do

Only thing left to say is a big ol’ fuck you to… God, everyone else in the fucking world. Oh, and God. Fuck you God, you prick.

- gotta love them tto refs

wildfire, almost 20,000 words of angst that im going to read through because fuck it why not

She doesn't understand the order, at least not yet; a dog doesn't understand the first time she's called to heel. But that can change. Though, from the bared teeth of this dog, the trader guesses it may take a while.

- this is actually something i really like doing in narration, calling a character something in dialogue or comparison and then directly calling them it in the narration

He understands; she doesn't want to show weakness to someone who could exploit her, doesn't want to show gratitude to someone she hates. But the tribeswoman is tired and scared and hurt, and it's obvious. She's broken, at least for today.

The loneliness, however, refuses to wane. It settles in her chest like a physical need, a craving for closeness.

- got inspiration for this description by thinking about hugging my partner while i was stuck in lockdown

"You can say that again," the older woman mutters, shaking her head. "God-fuckin'-damnit, Lauren, why d'you never think about the implications?"

Jemilla turns to her with a questioning look. "Who's Lauren?"

"She-" Molag begins to explain, then pauses. She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "I don't even know."

- crossover jokes hell yea

He’s tolerable, she’s decided, at least relatively so, but not trustworthy. If she could truly trust him then he wouldn’t be involved in all this. If she could trust him, she wouldn’t know him.

The thinly-veiled threat in his grin

She stares up at the man, shaking, whimpering, pleading. Wordlessly begging for him to stop.

- gotta love reaching the breaking point

She probably looks insane, bruised and bloody and laughing quietly to herself in a cage. She doesn’t care. They can think she’s insane, just as long as they don’t think they broke her.

laughing as they rediscover half-forgotten days spent as children let loose in a world that seemed so huge and yet so small at the same time

“You know, kids like Zazzalil - scrawny little things born as Autumn died - they’re not supposed to see Spring.”

- i will see any character without a detailed fleshed-out backstory and say ‘is anyone going to make headcannons about that’ and then not wait for an answer

Maybe the pain will shock her out of her head.

im going to live twice

It feels more like a bag of broken crockery than a human.

- this was the only time ive ever had to describe something really gory and decided to make it as uncomfy as possible

she notices with a concerning level of non-concern

Paul Matthews is gone, boy. And if I catch you using a dead man’s name again, well.

- its about the ✨forced disconnect✨

It stares at him, and for a moment he sees the young man that Benny used to be, silently pleading for the agent to tell him he'll be okay.

"In my defence, that was the Colonel's idea.” The man raises his hands in surrender. “I wanted to call you Lauren. I was outvoted.”

- i will take literally any chance to make a 4th wall joke and that is a threat

“I’ll see what can be done,” he assures it, knowing full well that nothing will be.

- xander doesnt flat out abuse emma in the way mcnamara and shaffer do but hes still cruel in subtler ways

“No chance of being hurt?”

Xander nods. “No chance of you being hurt.”

-  ✨foreshadowing ✨

If only he was free, free to just get up and go find Blue and tell her - actually tell her, out loud, with words - that she’s going to be okay. If only he could say that and have it be the truth.

She holds onto that piano. Right now, as she kneels crying into the tabletop, it's all she has.

- ‘sir thats my emotional support near-complete stranger’

smoke and feathers

Irony can be a cruel, twisted bitch.

- probably the best opener ive written

There’s a sort of pathetic irony in the fact that she slipped on a stone while wading across a shallow stream and broke her neck.

The stars move across the sky, and she still doesn’t know why.

- sounds poetic and all while also being a fuck you to the chorn twist because i hate it

It seems like every time she looks away the moon goes from waxing to waning and back again, time marching onwards in one unending night, swallowing one unending forest.

Even with her limited view of the person’s face, Zazzalil can see the softness in their expression. She’s hit with a pang of longing for Jemilla.

They share those tender looks that make Zazzalil long for home.

The kind of silence only shared between people who can appreciate the simplicity of each other’s presence

aaand thats pretty much all of em. i know when you said ‘some’ you probably meant less than this but i will give a consice answer to a question when pigs fly. i was going to do the double e au too but its past 1 am now and im going to bed. thanks for this ask because whether intentionally or not you just made me read 48,860 words of fic and thats a damn good distraction when things are getting a bit shitty :)

[mightevenwrite]

11/11/11 (again)

Thanks @nova-on-standbi for tagging me. I already did it but I wanna do your questions too lol

1) What’s your favourite place to write?

My room. I sometimes write when I'm waiting somewhere or when I'm on public transport but it always feels like someone is looking over my shoulder.

2) Favourite language?

Ooh this is hard. I only speak two but I think German is more articulate. Though English sometimes sounds better because idk on the one hand it sounds simpler but also more scientific. But adverbs suck and you need more words

3) The weirdest thing you’ve had to research/experience as a writer?

Oh I wouldn't remember. I'm always on incognito mode because I don't want to be reminded of the dumb shit I Google.

4) Favourite character you’ve written?

Hhmmm Lotte

5) What are your most hated tropes?

I don't really think about tropes that much but I'll try to list some things that I hate and hope they fit some trope

2 dimensional villains or heros- give people depth God damnit

Oh no I'm a weak woman and you're such a strong man. We've known each other for 5min but please I can't control myself, fuck me right now- listen, I love Star Trek TOS but God damn can you stop fucking everything that has legs Jim (I know they made things sexy so they could sneak their social criticism in unnoticed but uh it's so painful to watch)

Romanticized depression or mental illness - ew, just go

Nice guys depicted positively - if you're not trying to make a deep, satirical point that makes the reader think then just don't okay

Making bad solutions seem like a good idea-this one along with romanticized depression is just 13rw

6) What are your favourite tropes?

They're obviously in love and it's painfully evident but they're too stupid to notice - also why I love @crypticsx s WIP Pseudonyms so much, check it out (check out 100 years too once you're at it)

Friends that roast each other constantly but care for one another deeply - also people that pretend to hate each other but they actually sort of like each other

Friends/ lovers that have opposite interests but still found each other and love each other

Friends that care for each other shamelessly and just have a positive emotional atmosphere

Secure masculinity

There's so much more but idk what the tropes are called so whatever

7) What’s your favourite season?

Spring 🌼

8) What are you most proud of about yourself?

Is this about writing specifically? I'll just assume no.

That I managed to pull myself out of the hole I was in all by myself and am now better at every facet of everyday live (though I'm still not good at them or anything)

9) Do you have any writing habits?

Before we start I need a mug of tea or coffee when I'm tired and then we turn on YouTube and listen to old people music or orchestras.

10) Tea or coffee?

Tea

11) What’s your favourite thing you’ve ever written? (feel free to add excerpts)

Mmmm thanks for asking now I can shove it in your faces again :3

With all the force her aching head was permitting her, Lotte tried to bend open the fingers of her left hand.

When she finally succeeded all feeling suddenly returned to her hand and she screamed dreadfully. Her terrorized voice resounded through the empty, white streets.

Lotte started sobbing uncontrollably, her whole body was trembling. Her eyes filled up with tears, blurring her view. Dumbfounded  she looked at her hand. Even through her temporarily impaired sight she could see the color red taking up almost the entirety of it. Lotte blinked a few times and big tears ran over her cheeks into her mouth, leaving a salty taste on her lips. Now she could see it clearly.

The chain had dug up into her flesh. Aghast she watched the warm blood roll down her arm and drop onto the pure, white floor.

[tacky-sock]

Comfort in a friend

As you can see I suck at titles

Anyway, I wrote a little bnha drabble inspired by beautiful art from the lovely @eeshalies I hope you like it.

PAIRINGS:

Platonic Shoto Todoroki/Eijiro Kirishima, suggested Shoto Todoroki/Izuku Midoria, Katsuki Bakugo/Eijiro Kirishima

SUMMARY:

This takes place right after Bakugo is kidnapped. Class 1-A is at the hospital and Todoroki can’t sleep. Neither can Kirishima. And so a chance meeting spawns Bakugo’s rescue plan.

And now, on to the story!

How did we get to Kirishima and Todoroki working together for Bakugo?

Like this.

Todoroki had been wandering the halls of the hospital for what felt like hours and simultaneously no time at all. The U.A. students and their teachers had arrived at the hospital sometime in the wee hours of that morning and those with injuries were immediately taken off to be assessed. At some point after that, Todoroki learned that Izuku had been rushed into emergency surgery to try and save his hands. After Todoroki had been determined relatively uninjured, cared for, and released to his room for the night, he’d laid down and attempted to get his exhausted body to sleep. That lasted for about 30 minutes before he woke up sweating to the image of Izuku’s screaming face wreathed in horrible blue fire.

After that, sleep wasn’t really an option anymore.

And so he’d taken to wandering. Pacing the halls of the labyrinthine hospital and going over the previous night’s events again and again in his head. Thinking about what could have gone better, trying not to think about what could have gone worse. Hunched shoulders and hands in pockets, worrying about Izuku and Momo and of course Bakugo, as annoying as he sometimes may be. Bakugo... where had the Leauge taken him? What might they do to him to try and convince him to join their side? Todoroki’s face hardened. Whatever they did, Bakugo wouldn’t budge. He was sure of that. Bakugo was the most unreasonably stubborn and prideful person Todoroki had ever met. And that included himself. Unfortunately, he was also sure that Bakugo would rather die than become a villain, and that’s what he was afraid of. Maybe-

“Todoroki?” Todoroki stopped, turning to look behind him. Kirishima stood about two yards away with surprised look on his face. His hair was down and hung in, unnaturally red, waves over his face, partially hiding his eyes and casting his face in shadow. He looked tired, and sad, and his brown cheeks were flushed red as though he might have just been crying. Todoroki turned fully around and regarded Kirishima inquisitively,

“Kirishima.” He said, nodding to the other boy, “What are you doing out here it’s...” he looked at his wrist before realizing he had taken his watch off for to bed and didn’t actually know what time it was. “...early. I think.” He finished, glancing to the side to look out the long windows that ran the length of the hall at chest level. Cold, foggy daylight lit the world in a bleak, soft sort of white, making Todoroki’s already pale skin look sallow and colorless. If he had to guess, it was probably around 5 am. Kirishima laughed, a humorless little chuckle, and looked at the floor. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and muttered,

“I could ask you the same question.” Todoroki shrugged and walked up to him so that they weren’t standing so awkwardly far apart,

“I couldn’t sleep.” He said by way of explanation. “And sitting still wasn’t getting me anywhere.” Kirishima scowled, still looking at the ground.

“Walking around like this isn’t getting me anywhere either.” He said as though to himself, “I can’t do anything and it’s making me sick.” Suddenly, he looked up at Todoroki, eyes glinting with an anger Todoroki’d never seen in the usually happy go lucky boy. He looked like he was burning up from the inside out. “I can’t do anything Todoroki. Nothing. I’m completely useless just waiting around here while-“ He broke off, and looked down again. Todoroki’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as his mind raced for the proper response. Kirishima was obviously upset but god damnit he didn’t know what to do. No one had ever talked to him like this before. Was comforting friends in pain something you were supposed to learn how to do in your childhood?

“They took him.” Kirishima’s whisper brought Todoroki’s train of thought to a screeching halt. “They- god Todoroki.” Kirishima’s voice broke and he dug a hand out of his pocket to wipe at his face. He was still staring determinedly at the floor but Todoroki could hear the thickness of tears in his trembling words. “Bakugo,” Kirishima whispered as his tears hit the wooden floorboards of the hospital hallway. “Katsuki. I lost him. He was out there fighting, you were out there fighting for him and I did nothing.” He spat the last word out of his mouth as if it were something nasty. “I sat there in that classroom and I did NOTHING!” He was yelling now, hands balled into fists at his sides. Not yelling at Todoroki exactly, but to him. “I could have fought harder to leave, I could have snuck out, I could have never come back to the building in the first place to hide like a fucking coward,” he sniffed and rubbed at his eyes with his clenched fist, “but I fucking didn’t. And now he’s gone and they’ve taken him from me to who knows where and they’re doing who knows what to him and-“ Kirishima pressed his palms to his eyes and let out a strangled sort of yell in frustration.

Gently, slowly, unsure if this was the right thing to do, Todoroki placed a comforting hand on Kirishima’s shoulder, attempting to rub soft little circles into it the way he remembered Izuku doing for him once. Kirishima stilled under his hand, and for a moment Todoroki was worried he’d done something wrong, before Kirishima launched himself forward, wrapping his arms haphazardly around Todoroki and pressing his tearstained face into Todoroki’s turtleneck. Carefully, Todoroki returned the impromptu embrace, pulling Kirishima closer and running a hand through his hair. The hand on Kirishima’s shoulder continued it gentle circles as Todoroki tried his best to soothe his aching friend. Quiet sobs wracked through the shorter boy and he clung to Todoroki with all of his considerable strength. Todoroki shushed quietly into Kirishima’s red hair, hoping against hope that he was doing this right.

“We’re gonna get him back Eijiro,” Todoroki promised, reasoning they were close enough to use first names by now, “It’s okay.” Todoroki felt Kirishima’s jaw move as he ground his sharp teeth together. Kirishima took a big breath and let it out slowly, deflating under Todoroki’s arms.

“But what if…” Kirishima’s voice was still choked with tears and he took a shaky breath to try and stabilize himself, “What if he hates me?” he whispered into the blue fabric of Todoroki’s turtleneck. “What if Katsuki won't speak to me anymore because I just left him? I wasn't there for him when he needed me and now he’s been kidnapped what if-”

“Stop.”

Kirishima looked up at Todoroki in surprise, silent tears still making tracks down his face. Todoroki smoothed over Kirishima’s head with the hand that was still in his hair and gave him a look. “Do you seriously think Bakugo could just stop talking to you?” Kirishima’s cheeks colored and he looked away but Todoroki wasn’t done. “You’re his best friend Eijiro, not to mention I'm pretty sure the two of you are soulmates or something.” Kirishima’s eyes widened as the tears began to stop and they darted over to stare at Todoroki in shock. Todoroki gave him his best comforting smile; the one he’d been practicing. “So don’t waste your time worrying about that. You know there’s no way Bakugo could really get mad at you anyway.” Slowly, Kirishima nodded, letting go of Todoroki to wipe the rest of the tears from his cheeks.

“Thanks Shoto.” He whispered. Todoroki squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting go, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place again. Kirishima sniffled one last time before lifting a smile onto his face.

“Sorry about your shirt man,” he laughed, blush still high on his cheeks, “That wasn’t very manly of me.” Todoroki shrugged it off saying simply,

“What are friends for?”

Together they walked back to the wing where the U.A. students had been assigned chambers, both feeling very tired and emotionally drained now. Just before Kirishima left to go to his room, Todoroki stopped him.

“Hey Kirishima?” He asked as Kirishima turned back around,

“What's up dude?” Todoroki gave a quick glance up and down the hallway before he said quietly,

“I think I have a plan to rescue Bakugo, but we’ll need Momo’s help. And bringing Izu- I mean Midoria would probably be a good idea too.” Kirishima’s expression hardened into one of fierce determination. That anger was back, like hellfire in his crimson irises.

“Okay.” he said, “I’m down. Let’s hear it.”

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT HERES A LINK TO THE ART GO LOVE IT OK BYEEEE

https://eeshalies.tumblr.com/post/182335000529/kirishima-almost-immediately-after-bakugous