#pour point depressants | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cuckoo-on-a-string · 4 months ago

Text

Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

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

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

#fic: neighborly #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost

2K notes · View notes

beatrice-otter · 1 year ago

Note

I’ll be honest, when one party’s aiding and abetting the genocide and the other’s outright gonna kill all my friends, I don’t really care if the fascists “win”. They’ve won already.

You know who would be delighted to hear that? Trump and Putin. The US far right and the Russian government have poured lots of time, effort, and money over the last decade+ into convincing US leftists and liberals that things are hopeless, there's no point in even trying to make things better, and the Democrats and Republicans are functionally interchangeable. They do this because one of the easiest ways for them to win is if the left gives up and stops trying. Every person on the left they can convince to give up in despair brings them closer to complete control. Defeatism on the left actively supports victory on the right.

I think your statement is wrong on a number of levels, both factual and emotional. It comes from not understanding what the actual options are for the US government and the President specifically, either at home or abroad. And it will allow actual fascism to flourish and make the world far worse than it is now.

On an emotional level, the way to address this is to stop doomscrolling. Stop focusing on the worst things happening in the world. Don't ignore them! but don't let them consume you. Start looking for the things that are going well. Find places in your community that you can get involved in making things better. Even if it's only on a small scale like volunteering in a soup kitchen or homeless shelter, it will help you realize that you aren't helpless, that there are things that can be done to make the world a better place. Stay informed about things on a local, national, and international level, but limit how much time and attention you give to things that depress you that you can't affect. Instead of sitting there thinking about all the ways the world sucks and how awful things are, look for things you can do that are productive, and then do them. You'll feel better and you will have made your corner of the world a little better. And you will be a lot less likely to unintentionally fall into the despair, nihilism, and passivity that the fascists want you to be consumed by.

Always remember that the worlds problems are not resting solely on your shoulders, or solely on America's shoulders, and neither is the hope of fixing them. Everyone has things that we can do to make the world a better place, but there are also things that are beyond our control. We can control what we do; we cannot control what others do. We can and should try to make the world a better place, but focusing on the things we can't change has no positive benefits. Focusing on things we can't change accomplishes two things: it makes you feel bad, and it stops you from doing the things you actually can do to make things better. Neither of these things is good for you or anyone else. Look for things you can do and do them. Keep informed on the things you can't change, but don't focus on them.

On a factual level, let's look at "aiding and abetting genocide," shall we?

First, it's important to remember that the US President is not the God-Emperor Of The World. The US government has limits to what it can and can't do in other countries, and both legally and practically. If the US wants to intervene in a problem in another country, there are a variety of things we can do that boil down to basically four categories. It's a lot more complex than this in practice, of course, but in general here are the categories of things we can do:

Send in the troops. Invade, either by ourselves or as part of a NATO or UN operation. (Or maybe just send in a CIA wetworks team to assassinate the head of state.) I hope you can see the moral problems with this option, and also, we've done this a shitton of times over the course of the 20th Century and pretty much every time we've done it, we've made an already awful situation worse. On a moral level, it's pretty bad, and on a practical level, it's worse. Sure, we could stop the immediate problem, but what then? Consider Afghanistan and Iraq. We got rid of Saddam Hussein and the Taliban, and everything went to shit, we spent twenty years occupying Afghanistan with pretty much nothing to show for it. (The Taliban is back in control of Afghanistan.) Things were worse when we left than when we arrived. So this option is pretty much off the table (or should be).

Diplomatic pressure. Now, the thing is, they're a sovereign nation, they don't have to listen to us if they don't want to. We have a lot of things we can leverage--including financial aid--but the only way to force them to do what we want is to invade and conquer, and that only works temporarily. Since we can't force, we have to persuade. This requires us to maintain our existing relationship with the country in question, and possibly strengthen it, because that relationship is what we're leveraging to try and influence them to do what we want them to do. If we do not maintain our relationship, they have no reason to listen to us.

Cut ties and go home. Break off any existing relationship and support, loudly proclaim that they're awful and doing awful things and we wash our hands of the whole situation. This keeps our own hands lily-white and pure, but it also means we have zero leverage to work on any kind of a diplomatic solution. They have no reason to listen to us or care about what we think. We can pat ourselves on the back for doing the right thing, but we destroy our own ability to influence anything. Not just now, but also in the future. Let's say the current crisis ends, and then ten years later there's another crisis. If we want to have any effect then, we would have to start from square one to start building a relationship. Cutting ties would be great for making Americans feel better about ourselves, and there are times when it's the only option, but it should be a last resort. If there is any hope of being able to influence things for the better this will destroy it at least temporarily.

Cut ties and impose sanctions. Break off any existing relationship and support, loudly proclaim that they're awful and doing awful things, but also use the might of the American economy to isolate and punish them. We've done this a lot over the 20th Century, too, and it has never actually resulted in the country in question buckling down and toeing the line we want them to. What happens is the sanctioned country has an economic shock (how long it lasts and how bad it gets depends on a lot of factors) and then pulls themselves back together economically, except this time they're more self-sufficient and less reliant on international trade and financial networks. They tell themselves that America is evil and the cause of all their problems, and so not only do they not listen to us, they actively hate us. And they have fewer international relationships, so fewer reasons to care about what the international community thinks about them. So they're most likely to double down on whatever it is they're doing that we don't like. This one is completely counterproductive and utterly stupid. It's great for making Americans feel better about ourselves, but if we actually care about being able to use our influence for good (or, at least, to mitigate evil) this option shoots us in the foot. It encourages other nations to do the very thing we're trying to stop them from doing.

So, with those four options in mind, both option one (invasion/assassination) and option four (sanctions) are off the table for being immoral and counterproductive. That leaves "breaking our relationship and going home" and "using diplomatic pressure" as our only two viable options.

Biden has chosen option two, diplomatic pressure. Yes, he and our government have continued financial support for Israel ... but with strings attached. They have put limits on it that have never been put on any US foreign aid before. They have taken legal steps to lay the groundwork to target Israeli settlers (i.e. Israeli citizens who confiscate Palestinian homes and businesses). We've been hearing reports for months that Benjamin Netanyahu (Israeli Prime Minister, and a far-right-wing demagogue) hates Biden's guts, because Biden is pressuring him to stop the genocide and work towards peace. Biden is maintaining the relationship, and he's using that relationship to try and influence things to curb the violence and pave the way for a just peace settlement of some sort. Biden has also mentioned the possibility of a two state solution where Palestine becomes its own completely separate country. That's huge, because up until this point the US position has always been that Israel is the only possible legitimate nation in that territory. If Biden stopped US support for Israel, it wouldn't force Israel to stop what it's doing ... but it would let them ignore us. It would remove any leverage or influence we might have.

Biden's hands aren't clean. But the only way for them to be clean would be to also give up any chance of influencing the situation or working to protect Palestinians now or in the future. Only time will tell if it works, but I personally would rather have someone who tried and failed than someone who didn't even try. You might disagree about whether this is the right course of action, and there's a lot of room for honest disagreement about the issue (there's a lot of nuances that I'm glossing over or ignoring). But please do acknowledge that Biden isn't supporting Israel because he supports genocide; he's doing it so that he can continue to maintain diplomatic pressure on Israel to stop the violence.

Which brings us back to "aiding and abetting genocide." Trump is not like Biden. Trump is good friends with Netanyahu and backs Israel to the hilt. Trump thinks that all Arabs are terrorists (and all Muslims are terrorists) and genuinely believes the world would be a better place with them dead. Biden is continuing to support Israel, but using that support as influence to get them to stop or slow down. Trump would be using that influence to encourage them.

And those are the two choices. Someone who is trying to curb the genocide, and someone who actively supports it.

I really hope you can see the significant and substantial difference between those two positions.

But let's say that you're right and Biden's policy towards Israel and Palestine is every bit as bad as Trump's would be. If there was nothing to choose between them on foreign policy grounds, there would still be a shitton to choose between them on domestic policy grounds. You admit that the right wants to kill your friends, and yet you don't seem to think that stopping them from killing your friends might be a good thing to do.

"We can't save Palestinians, so we might as well let Republicans destroy the rights, lives, and futures of LGBTQ+ people, women, people of color, people with disabilities, poor people, non-Christians, and anyone else they don't like." "We can't save Palestinians, so why bother to try to save the people we might actually be able to save." "We can't save Palestinians right now, so there's no point in trying to build up a longer-term political bloc that might drag US politics to the left over the long run."

Do you get why there's a problem with that line of thought?

#us politics

3K notes · View notes

dyingswanpavlova · 2 months ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 16 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You get lucky and you get to go out. And then you're not so lucky anymore.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, oral sex, rough sex, choking, face slapping, biting, breeding kink, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The darkness wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t even the uncertainty.

The worst part was, that after everything that had happened, you were back in here.

Back in the closet.

Back in the small, cramped space of the empty closet, where you had spent quite a few days so far. Back then it had always been to discipline you, to break you, to turn you into someone you were not – or someone you knew you were, deep down.

Whatever it was, it was in the past. You had really thought it had been the last time back then, but there you were. On your knees, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall for support.

The dizziness was so apparent that you felt you might lose the ground beneath your feet any second. Something was off.

You had often felt sick in your life, but this was different. You were different.

You weren’t supposed to be there. No matter the reason. Not like this, not anymore, not-

How did it get to this point yet again?

You kept your eyes closed and tried to breathe calmly, shutting the darkness out. In your head, you recalled everything that had happened that day. It had started so good. Almost like you were in a movie. And now you were here again.

In and out. In. And out.

You remembered the water. Soft and warm, as he slowly poured it over your head. God, it had felt heavenly. His ministrations, his kisses on your neck and the warm water which glided down your skin in a way that made you melt. Nothing was sexual about it, it was simply…warm. And safe.

With your back pressed against his chest, you leaned back against him in the bathtub. It wasn’t all too spacious, but it was enough. It was all the better, actually. You felt him so close without really feeling him. Without the sensation of having his hands reach for the sensitive parts of your body. Instead he ran them up your back and gently massaged your shoulders, easing every knot and tense muscle until you felt like a new person.

You kept your eyes closed and sighed softly, reveling in the way the warm water hugged your lower body. The callouses on his hands sent shivers down your spine, while he kept gently massaging you. He went from massaging, to soaping and cleansing with a fresh bit of lukewarm water. The thing you loved most was when he slowly poured it over your head and gently massaged your scalp with his fingertips.

“Oh God, that feels so good.” You heard yourself whisper, followed by a soft sigh. You heard the way he smirked behind you, before he rested his chin on your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss against your cheek. That made you smile in return.

“Are you feeling any better?” He murmured.

You had spent the previous night tossing and turning, feeling rather dizzy, despite the fact that you lay down flat and had your eyes shut. That happened sometimes, it had always been like that. There were some nights when you simply felt sick and the only thing that helped was fresh air and a cool cloth on your forehead. Both things he had done for you. He hadn’t hesitated to pull out his chip and open the window. Then he went to the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth. He had placed it over your forehead and eyes and spent half the night sitting beside you, occasionally dampening the cloth anew. You had never seen him like that. So soft, so concerned. So…everything you loved about him.

Of course you loved his darkness all the same. Probably not all of it. You didn’t quite appreciate when he got angry and cut your hair. But that hadn’t happened ever since that one time.

He hadn’t dared to lay down or even think about sleeping, until you were firmly asleep.

The next morning he waited for you, when you woke up, a buttered piece of bread and a cup of tea by your bedside. You had somehow choked it down, because you didn’t quite feel like yourself yet, but it had helped. And now you were here, in his gentle embrace, enjoying his warmth and care.

“Very much.” You whispered back. “Thank you.”

He hummed in response and picked up a soapy cloth, with which he began to gently rub your back.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a content moan. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Someone has to.”

That made you chuckle. “And that someone has to be you?”

He briefly stopped with his ministrations and you could practically hear the way he raised his brows. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That gave you a warm smile. “Silly old man.” You murmured.

He laughed at that and pinched your side, causing you to shriek out a laugh and nearly flood the whole bathroom floor. “Who are you calling old?”

You chuckled and looked over your shoulder. “I won’t take it back.”

He cocked a brow and pinched your side again.

“Okay, okay!” You laughed breathlessly. “You win.”

He smirked and pulled you flush against his chest again, wrapping his arms around your torso. You gently circled his wrists and pressed a soft kiss against one of them. “I’m really happy.” You said quietly.

He was quiet for a moment, obviously caught off-guard by your words. It was like a part of him still expected you to try and flee if you got the chance, just like a part of you always expected his hand to twitch when you teased him too much.

“Why?”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “Can’t you ever just leave things be?”

He hummed and shook his head. “Why?”

You shot him a cocky grin. “Because the most handsome man in South-Korea decided to abduct me.”

“Abduct? Oh, please. It’s not my fault you got no sense of self-preservation.” He shrugged. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to get into strangers cars?”

“If I refused you back then, don’t you think you would have found another way to get me? After all, you did some pretty sketchy shit long before.”

He smirked. “Do we have to go on about this every day now?”

Now it was you who hummed and smirked right back at him. “After all, you went and stole my underwear. How original.”

“Don’t make me tickle you again.”

“No, no, no, no, no – ah!” You laughed and splashed some water in his face. He responded in kind, so you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

Low laughter rumbled in his chest, until eventually he fell quiet again and gently caught your chin between two fingers. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

You smiled warmly. You had no response for that.

You leaned back against him and closed your eyes. Everything was perfect. This was far better than anything you had ever read in any book, seen in any movie or imagined in your head. He was your dark prince, your savior. You were indeed made for each other. You saw it now. He was twisted, it was no secret and he had hurt you in more than one way. But none of them were irreparable. He had hurt you, locked you away, humiliated you, played with your life – but he had also freed you. He had shown you what love meant. What passion was. That you were indeed someone. Someone worthy of love and care. You were his.

And he was yours.

“Would you like to go out to eat today?”

Your eyes snapped open in a cartoonish way and you sat up straight faster than intended. You spun around and stared at him like a fool.

His lips twitched at the corners and his eyes twinkled in amusement. “So, is that a yes?”

You kept staring at him. A part of you expected it to be either a test or a joke, but despite his amusement, he seemed rather serious about it.

“Really?” You whispered in a voice that was barely audible. You wanted to be happy about it, but a part of you held back. Your mind was ready to, but you body braced itself for a fit of disappointment.

But his expression didn’t waver and instead, he nodded softly.

“I trust you.” He said gently. His words, combined with his soft voice, sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I trust you not to deceive me.”

Of course you heard the subtle threat behind his words. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. You were quite good when it came to reading his intentions. His emotions. They were there. Even when he tried to make it appear like there were none.

“I won’t.” You whispered further. “I’d never.”

Two hours later you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nervously fidgeting with your ponytail. You couldn’t tell what it was exactly that made you so nervous. Was it the fact that you hadn’t been properly outside in months? Had the world changed in the time being?

No.

No, it was something else.

You were afraid. Terrified, even. You were terrified of making a mistake and destroying the lovely cloud that had built around you. The safe space that you felt whenever you were around him, taking a bath together or cooking, while he stood behind you, a hand on your hip as he watched what you were doing over your shoulder.

“Take as much time as you need.” You heard him call out from the living room. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. You looked good. You wore the dark green dress and you felt as confident in it as you possibly could. It still felt kind of foreign for you to go out, looking like this, being on his arm. But you knew you would manage it. He would help you through it. Talk you through it. Hold you and guide you, the same way he always did.

And so you finally made your way out.

He sat on the couch, his ankle over his knee and he stared down at his hands, while he waited. He wore a suit and a tie, his hair slicked back casually like it normally was. He looked so effortlessly perfect.

Once he noticed you, he looked up and his entire face lit up at the sight of you.

“Look at that.” He murmured and you smiled.

“Can we?”

He got up and held out his hand to you. Your fingers intertwined with his, you slowly made your way towards the door.

“Don’t be nervous.” He whispered in your ear as he slowly reached for the chip in his chest pocket. “I’m right here.”

You nodded and nibbled on your lower lip, when you heard the soft click of the door. And it opened. Just like that. It was open, open for you. You trembled when you stepped over the threshold. For the first time in how many months? You were outside. Outside. In the real world. But you weren’t the same woman you were when you first came here. The timid mouse who knew nothing but the reality she made for herself. No, now you were here and you were his.

His girl.

You took the elevator to the first floor and took a long glance around. So many things you hadn’t noticed the first time. The black wall that was such a big contrast to the other, white ones. The ceiling fan.

The letter box.

The letter box – it had to have his name on it. It had to. He lived here, right? He had to be there, there had to be some kind of record of him. He was someone, he was holding your hand for God’s sake, he had to-

He followed your gaze and his hold on your hand tightened subtly.

He leaned down, so his lips grazed your earlobe and he whispered: “Go ahead. Take a look.”

It sounded almost challenging, but you were sure, he wouldn’t punish you. Not even if it was a test. Not here, at least. Not outside. Not now.

So, you took a shaky step forward and your gaze followed the rows of names.

48, Apartment 7c belonged to…Blank.

A frown pulled at your lips and he smirked down at you.

“Silly girl.” He mused. “I thought you understood that I’m a ghost. Now, come. You must feel famished.”

You swallowed down your disappointment and followed him.

The moment you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft breeze of the wind, you stopped walking for a moment. All you could do was freeze on the spot and close your eyes, relishing in the way that it all made you feel. How could you ever before have taken this for granted?

It was perfect. It was Heaven.

You hardly even recognized his gaze on you as all you could focus on was the fact that you were alive.

Alive.

And well. As well as possible, at least.

He smiled at the sight of you and stood back, his hands clasped together in front of his lower body.

“How do you feel now?”

You inhaled deeply and tilted your head back, enjoying the warmth, the love you felt.

It was a single word, but it was hardly enough to capture the way you truly felt.

“Perfect.”

The way to the restaurant went without any further incidents. You decided to walk, because it wasn’t that far and because you had practically begged him to. You wanted to revel in the feeling of this freedom for as long as you could. It didn’t take much to convince him, but he kept his hand on the small of your back possessively the whole way. You didn’t mind that though, not one bit. It was the perfect addition to this wonderful day actually. You belonged to him and he didn’t let you forget it.

When you finally reached the restaurant – a cozy, little Italian place – he led you inside and your heart skipped a beat. The place was filled with all kinds of people, all of them going on about their day and barely acknowledging you. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, obviously trying to gauge your intentions, trying to make sure you stayed in your place and didn’t try to play any tricks on him. But nothing could have been further from your intentions. All you could think about was how you were here, how you kept asking yourself if all of this was real.

Your eyes sparkled in the intimate light of the afternoon sun that shone through the windows as you kept glancing at everything as if you saw it for the first time.

It was like that of course, but it wasn’t your first time going to a restaurant. But it was your first time going out as the woman you now were.

As his.

His eyes followed you with a mixture of amusement and adoration.

The waiter came and he ordered something to drink for the both of you, as well as pizza, pasta and a salad. You hardly even recognized any of it, because you were lost in your own world. Once the waiter left, he reached for your hand and gently squeezed it, capturing your attention.

“How do you feel?”

You smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

He cocked a brow and leaned back. “That’s how you feel, hm?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I just…I feel so…” You sighed deeply and gently ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “I love it here. And I love you.”

His lips curved into a slow smile. “Looks like I’ll be forced to take you out more often then.”

Soon the food and the drinks arrived and you stared down at everything with wide, nearly wild, eyes.

“Dig in, darling.”

You took a bite of the Carbonara pasta and you immediatelyhad to bite back a groan. “Oh God, this is good.”

He smirked as he watched you eat in silence.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Give me a moment.” He murmured. “I’m appreciating the sight.”

That made you smirk. “Stop buttering me up and eat something. I feel like a caveman compared to you.”

That made him laugh. A warm, rich sound. A sound you adored and you wished to hear for the rest of your life, actually.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not the silly one. Open up.” You picked up the spoon and looked at him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Despite his reservations, he obeyed and parted his lips, allowing you to feed him a spoonful Spaghetti Carbonara. He hummed in response and licked his lips in a way that made your own mouth run dry.

“Delicious.” He purred.

You looked at him with the same mischievousness and slowly lifted the spoon to your lips, the same spoon he had just lapped at, and it disappeared inside your mouth.

His eyes darkened as he watched you with a playful gleam. “Tease.”

You smiled innocently and took a bite of the pizza. It tasted warm and rich, the cheese was practically melting on your tongue. “Me? A tease? Never.”

He grinned and playfully flicked your earlobe.

You laughed and swatted his hand away.

“Hey!” You bit your lip and tilted your head to the side. “I’ll show you what a tease can do.”

Before he even had the time to react, you placed your hand on his knee, sliding it up the tiniest bit on his thigh. His eyes widened and he nearly choked on his tea. Poor him. It was probably hot.

“Don’t you dare.” He murmured.

Your fingertips wandered up further, while you kept your eyes fixed on his. All the while you used your free hand to take another bite of the pizza.

“Don’t I dare what?” You murmured in feigned innocence.

He exhaled slowly through his nose as he watched you through his darkened eyes.

“You know exactly what I mean.” He said lowly.

Your hand just barely skimmed over the growing bulge in his pants, but you caught the way he closed his eyes and held himself back from making any sounds.

“You-“

You began to gently massage his hardness through the fabric of his pants and now you clearly heard the way his breathing sped up.

You had no idea what on earth was going on with you. This wasn’t like you, not at all actually. But the day had started off so wonderful and it only ever got better. He was so sweet and considerate, though he was always on guard. You just wanted to make him melt a little, like he always did you.

“You were saying?” You whispered softly.

He finally looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You looked deeply into his eyes and a new sort of heat covered your cheeks and inside your chest. You wanted nothing more than to see him crumble, to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.

“But I can.”

You glanced around and before he knew it, you were already under the table. The table cloth was so long that it covered you completely and kept you from prying eyes.

His own eyes widened and he nearly let out a startled breath. He glanced around as well, before his eyes settled on your form under the table. His gaze was as incredulous as it was hungry.

“Are you insane?” He hissed while you were already on your best way to free him from the confinement of his slacks.

You smirked devilishly and didn’t make any sound, you just focused on the task at hand. A second later he was free and yet another second later, your mouth enveloped him.

He tensed beneath your touch and his hand instantly tangled in your hair. You observed the way his eyes fell shut and he didn’t even try to keep a straight face.

“Oh God, you’re such a fucking idiot.” He breathed out and tightened his hand in your hair. “Oh God, yes, like that. Don’t stop.”

You gently sucked on the tip before you took him in completely again, causing him to bite back a groan.

You heard someone passing by and he quickly straightened up, schooling his expression, but the look in his eyes was wild.

You made a point of sucking slightly harder whenever someone passed by your table and he tugged on your ponytail warningly.

You smirked against his skin and flicked your tongue against his tip, before you slowly pulled back.

“Tell me that you love me.”

His head snapped up and he looked at you with a frown. “What?”

You nearly brushed your lips against him, but pulled back the last moment, leaving him aching and bucking his hips against the place where your mouth had just been.

“Tell me that you love me.” You whispered again.

He stiffened and glanced around, as if that was the most scandalous part about this.

He grunted and shot you a dark look.

“Stop this.”

You made a point of almost kissing him, before you pulled back again.

He let out a soft sigh, but didn’t try to guide your movements. He just stared at you with growing impatience.

“Come on-“

“It’s true, isn’t it? So, say it.”

You licked along his shaft, but missed the tip on purpose. His eyes fluttered shut and he cupped your cheek in his hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle. You had actually expected him to be beyond livid.

“I love you.” He breathed out and ran his thumb along your temple.

Your heart skipped a beat and you swallowed. He still had trouble saying it and you were well aware that it wasn’t the most elegant way to tickle it out of him like that, but sometimes you just needed it. You needed to feel like you were in control of something. And he needed to learn it, right?

After all you had learned so many things for him.

Dresses. Sex. Trust.

Pain.

And love.

“I love you, too.” You whispered back. But you didn’t give him time to think about your words or the fact that he had said them, because you quickly went back to pleasuring him and this time, you weren’t being teasing about it.

Instead you worked your mouth on him in a way that had him writhing and trembling in his seat. His grip on your hair was tight, but not in the way it usually was. He didn’t hold onto you to guide your movements. This was your show. You were the one in control. He just kept his tight hold on you to keep himself from making any sounds.

When you felt him spill himself into your mouth, his body was shaking so hard, it was probably obvious for everyone close-by. But you didn’t care and he obviously didn’t either, because he buried his face in his free hand and tried to breathe out as quietly as he could. The pleasure nearly sent him spiraling off his chair. After a long, tense moment his breathing slowly slowed down and his grip on you became gentle again. He looked down at you with a soft vulnerability in his eyes that you didn’t get to see often. You had caught him off-guard, while also making him feel like he was indeed the one in control.

And his eyes were soft.

He glanced around to make sure there was no one watching, before he swiftly pulled you back up onto the chair beside his. His draped one arm around your waist and used the other one to quickly get himself decent again.

“You’re such a minx.” He breathed out, still trying to normalize his breathing.

Your lips felt swollen and sore, but you didn’t regret it one bit. You had come to love doing this to him. Nothing turned you on as much as the way his eyes darkened in pleasure.

He cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. His perfect appearance seemed rather disheveled now and the sight made you smile. You loved being reminded of the fact that he was human. That under the whole act of being stern and angry, cold and emotionless, he was indeed a man with flaws, a man with a past, a man with a name.

He gently tipped your chin up, before he picked up his tea cup and lifted it to your lips, tilting your head back. The hot liquid burned down your throat, but you appreciated the way he always took care of you.

He never allowed you to feel used afterwards. Never. Not even when he was angry with you.

“You’re so beautiful like that, you know that?” He murmured as he set the cup back down.

“How?”

He smiled at you. “When you let go and you’re just being yourself.”

That made you laugh. “You think that was me being myself?”

“Mhm.” He purred. “It might be hard for you to believe, but I think exactly that. Under all that sadness and that silence of yours, there’s actually a girl, hungry for life.”

Your eyes softened as you stared up at him.

He licked his lips and released a slow breath.

“And I, darling, I am dying to be the one to satisfy that hunger.”

The rest of the meal went by without any further outbursts – and it was wonderful. You spent your time laughing and talking about all kinds of things. You learned more and more about him and he learned the things he didn’t already know about you. His family and his childhood were still a taboo topic, but you didn’t mind that. You were sure, once the time was right, he would let you in about that part of his life as well. Just like his job…and maybe, just maybe, even his name.

More than one and a half hours later, you were back outside, slowly making your way through the streets which became more and more crowded the closer you got to the city.

Since everything went on so smoothly, he decided to take you out for a small shopping trip as well. You still felt rather lightheaded after the short night you had, but you couldn’t bring yourself to protest. Every moment outside felt like a little piece of Heaven to you.

So, you walked in silence, his hand on your back and his gaze flicked to you every now and then.

He seemed to be rather deep in thought and you caught yourself wanting to ask him what was on his mind, but you didn’t. You were quite caught up in your own mind.

A few minutes later you reached the mall, a rather crowded space, something that made you feel a bit uneasy. You didn’t like places like this one, so you normally avoided them. But this time you weren’t alone. His hand on your back gave you a great measure of comfort. You curled into his side and took his arm, ready to walk the halls like a normal couple.

It felt surprisingly normal.

You still felt his slightly suspicious gaze. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t relax entirely. Not even the fact that you had just been on your knees for him, when you were normally so closed-off. He had a hard time trusting, something you understood well. But a part of you still wished he would finally try and trust you fully.

As if to reassure him, you shot him a soft smile. He returned it, surprisingly, and his grip on your back eased slightly.

“Where would you like to go?” He murmured into your ear.

You smirked and glanced around.

“The bookstore?”

That made him laugh. “Such an odd girl. The bookstore it is.”

You made your way through countless rows of books, reading and dreaming yourself into the stories, while he stayed firmly by your side and kept his gaze on you. Whichever book you picked up and held in your hand longer than fifteen seconds, he gathered it and propped it under his arm. By the time he scooped up the fifth book, you frowned at him.

“What are you doing?”

He frowned right back. “I’m buying them?”

Surprise flashed over your features, before you suddenly felt like laughing. “What? But I put them back.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to like them.”

You tried to hide the flutter in your chest. “But-“

“Shut up and keep looking, okay?”

You smiled down at your hands, before you set the book you had just held back down and made your way to the cash register.

Of course he picked up that book as well. You held it for a solid twenty seconds.

A few minutes later, you were back to wandering the mall. He had the bag with the books firmly in his hand and he had somehow convinced you to make a stop at Victoria’s Secret as well.

So far, your style had consisted of whatever fast fashion you found that was rather comfortable and didn’t bring you any fuss. But he insisted.

He insisted that you deserved more than that. That you deserved to feel like a princess.

And so he led you down the hallway until you made your way to the lingerie store.

And to your surprise, everything there was beautiful. You had expected to find it rather cliché, but no. Every piece you touched felt like a soft caress.

He made you try on at least seven pieces. A silky, red robe, lingerie of all kinds, a black negligee, a white corsage. And everything looked good on you.

You had half expected him to creep up on you in the changing room and retaliate for what you made him go through in the restaurant, but he waited in front of it patiently, eying every new fit with curiosity and awe. You felt rather relieved, because you still felt the tiniest bit dizzy and the thick air in there didn’t make it any better.

His eyes widened and he tugged at his tie, regarding you with a long look every time, making you turn around from every angle. And eventually, he bought them all for you.

What else did you expect?

He carried all the bags through the great halls of the mall and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling softly. It felt too perfect. He was too perfect.

When you glanced up at him that time, something felt strange and odd.

He didn’t immediately glance back at you. He wasn’t keeping his focus on you in a way that threatened to suffocate you. Instead, he walked beside you with the firm belief that you wouldn’t slip through his fingers. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. Was he finally growing more comfortable? Was he finally trusting you?

You kept staring at him for a moment, feeling caught up in your thoughts, unable to speak. You stared at him and the way his handsome features were tugged into a thoughtful, yet soft expression.

You loved him. And suddenly you wanted to tell him.

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words, when someone bumped into you from the side. It was an elderly couple and the woman quickly regarded you with an apologetic smile. You returned smile and looked back at him, just as quick, only to realize he wasn’t right next to you. Instead there was a group of about seven women, walking around with pink dresses and crowns on their heads. One of them wore a white dress instead and you realized it was most likely her bachelorette party. You caught sight of her face and she glanced right back at you. You smiled softly with a whole lot of fondness in your eyes and she immediately returned the smile.

What a wonderful thought. To have friends and well…A fiancé.

Was that something you could ever anticipate? Was that something you could allow yourself to dream about? Or were you destined to feel nothing but disappointment, whenever that topic came up in your mind?

The moment was fleeting and you quickly looked up to match his pace again, but you suddenly realized he wasn’t anywhere close by. He was a few steps ahead of you. It wouldn’t have been dramatic, if it wasn’t for the crowd of people that slowly built between you.

You saw him come to a halt and check the crowd between you. The softness in his expression immediately turned into something darker. The thoughtfulness turned into anger. And beneath the gentleness of his eyes, which had been there up until then, you saw it.

Panic.

You opened your mouth and raised your hand, waving and trying to make your way back to him, when suddenly-

You gasped out loud when someone suddenly squeezed your elbow. You yanked your arm back forcefully and shot the man a dark look, but he quickly held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Forgive me, miss.” He said in a British accent. “You looked like you speak English. Am I right?”

You frowned slowly and looked up again to catch sight of-

“I just wanted to know – Can you tell me where to find the…uh…” He fumbled with a piece of paper in his hands.

“I’m not from here.” You said, panic rising within yourself. If he thought you had left him? Oh God, of course he would think that.

“Yes, I could tell as much.” The stranger with the dark blonde hair smiled apologetically. “May I ask where you are from?”

“What did you want to know?” You nearly snapped.

You weren’t normally as uncivil, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your patience was wearing thin and you had long but lost sight of the man you loved and who would undoubtedly punish you for this, if you got really unlucky.

“Of course. Pardon. I was asking myself, do you know where I can find the market square?” He smiled hopefully.

“No.” You said shortly. “I told you I’m not from here.” In a softer tone, you added: “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll make it somehow. Pardon me, I really don’t mean to pry, but is it possible you’re from England? Your accent-“

“I really need to find my husband.” Husband. The word sounded equally as ridiculous as it felt thrilling on your tongue.

He held up his hands again and took a step back. “Forgive me.” He smiled. “I got the hint.”

“No, I’m not making this up.” You suddenly felt guilty. “I mean, I was just-“

In that moment you felt a hand on your shoulder, squeezing possessively and you knew it was him, without having to look. When you did meet his gaze, his eyes were blazing and wide, a small stutter to his breath. Your own eyes widened and you opened your mouth helplessly.

“I’m sorry.” You said gently. “There were those women and then this man asked me for-“

When you looked back to introduce him to the mysterious stranger, you suddenly realized he wasn’t there anymore.

“I know.” He hissed lowly in your ear. “I saw him. Now, move.”

He didn’t say a single word all the way home. His eyes were narrowed and he carried all of the bags in one hand, so he kept his other hand on your arm. He held you by your wrist, tighter than before. His tight grip and the tension is body gave away how he truly felt.

Furious.

You swallowed and tried to keep up with his pace as you silently stumbled alongside him. You knew the dynamic had shifted and you were probably in trouble. It felt like that one time he caught you by the open door, only that now you had the great hope that he wouldn’t cut your hair for it.

Or try to choke you to death.

He pushed you into the elevator and pressed the button, only for another woman to enter. He shot you a dark, warning look. It made you sad if you were honest to yourself. Just when you thought that maybe he trusted you, he suddenly didn’t anymore.

You forced a smile when the woman glanced your way. She returned the smile and a few floors later, you made your way back towards the apartment. Somehow, you had a feeling this would be the last time you felt any freedom, for a long time.

Still, you followed him quietly when he held the door open for you. He stepped inside right after you. The sound of the door clicking shut announced the end of your short-lived dream of love and freedom. You closed your eyes to brace yourself, but you hardly had any time to.

He let go of the bags and pushed you against the wall, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders.

Oh, no.

“Do you want him, huh?”

“What?”

“Did he touch you?” He growled without any concern for what you had to say. “Did he get his fucking hands on you, huh? Did you like having his dirty fucking hands on you?”

You knew you were probably supposed to be afraid. But what you felt rather than that was surprised.

Surprised and offended.

And also a tiny bit relieved.

You had expected him to be furious because you got lost in the crowd. Because he’d probably think that you tried to leave.

But he…he was angry, because of the guy?

Was he…

“Are you jealous?”

He slammed your wrists against the wall and gritted his teeth in fury. “Damn right I am.” He hissed. “Did you enjoy the way he ogled you? Did you fucking enjoy it?”

His hands were shaking with barely suppressed anger, but he was somehow holding himself back. For your sake, most likely.

Your chest heaved rapidly.

“He didn’t touch me.” You breathed out.

“Are you sure?” He spat out. “Are you sure you’re not lying to me? You’re such a-“ He stopped himself and closed his eyes.

“I’m such a what?” You said quietly.

His eyes snapped open and he glared at you. “You don’t get to give me an attitude. You better keep your mouth shut or else-“

“I’m such a what?!” You snapped back. “Say it! Say it, what am I?!”

He pondered with himself, it was obviously on the tip of his tongue.

His self from a few months ago would have had no trouble to say the word.

But not only you had changed. He had, too.

And now he seemed rather careful when it came to harsh insults which he had no right to throw your way.

“What am I?” You gritted out. “Say it.”

He took a long breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Did he touch you?”

“He touched my elbow to stop me. But I didn’t let him.”

He bristled and clenched his jaw so hard, you feared he might break his teeth.

“Did you enjoy it?” He spat out. “Did you enjoy his fucking hands on you? Do you wish he was here to fuck you, huh? Do you want him to fucking fuck you?!”

“No!” You took a shaky breath. “No. No.” You then whispered. “I told him I need to find my husband.”

For a second he froze and stared at you with an intensity that was almost painful.

Husband.

You saw the way his eyes flashed and his heartbeat faltered.

“That…that means nothing.” He forced over his lips. “You still let him touch you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he slammed his hand down over your mouth and pressed tightly against it. You gasped in surprise, but held still otherwise.

“Do you know him? Huh? Is he some bastard from work, who tried to get in your pants while you were there?”

Your eyes widened in horror and you quickly shook your head.

“Yes, I’m sure he is.” He gritted out and pressed his whole body against you, pinning you against the wall. “Or maybe he did. Maybe he did get in your pants, huh? Maybe the whole virgin thing was just made up to mess with my mind.”

A pang of hurt made your stomach churn, but you tried to suppress it. He didn’t mean this. He was just angry. And whenever he got angry, he said things he didn’t mean.

“Did he fuck you?” He spat out. “Did he fuck you? Did he push his goddamn, tiny cock inside you? Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy him?” His voice slowly turned into a whisper. His anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but that was not what you heard when he spat out his words. You heard desperation.

“Do you want him? Do you want him more than me?” His eyes held the same desperate, near-pleading look and you felt your heart soften.

You shook your head again and the look in your eyes mirrored his. Quietly pleading with him to believe you.

When he slowly pulled his hand back, you took a shaky breath.

“I’m yours.” You whispered breathlessly. “I’m only yours.”

The look in his eyes didn’t change, but he loosened his grip ever so slightly.

One of his hands slid down to cup your cheek.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Yours. I belong to you. Only you.”

“Again…”

“I…”

Your eyes fluttered shut when he captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Nothing about it was gentle. The softness of the last few days, weeks even – it disappeared. He kissed you like a man starved, desperate to claim what was his and remind you of that fact.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth and slid his hand further down, wrapping his fingers around your throat. You tilted your chin up and allowed him to. Something about it felt so incredibly thrilling. The way he controlled you, controlled even the fact if and when you were allowed to breathe – you trusted him with your life. And it turned you on like crazy.

You stumbled back to the bedroom, discarding your clothes on the way without ever taking your hands off each other. It was such an intense feeling, the overwhelming passion of being so angry and yet…wanting him.

Wanting him with every fiber of your being.

And he seemed to feel the same way, because he dragged you along and pushed you onto the bed with a low growl. He pressed down against you and moved his leg between your own, while he quickly unclasped your bra and threw it aside. He was only left in his slacks, which you undid with now rather practiced ease, after doing it nearly every day for weeks.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he responded with another deep growl, before he pushed his tongue back into your mouth. His hands ran down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He began to trace kisses down your jaw and neck, over the curve of your breast and back up, until you writhed underneath him, begging and arching your back.

“Stupid girl.” He grunted and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. You moaned and pushed him back, which he didn’t take all too kindly. He hissed and pushed you further down, biting your lip again and now you felt the soft, metallic taste of your own blood on your tongue. You whimpered in response and before you could stop yourself, your hand cracked against his cheek. It wasn’t a hard slap, but enough to catch him off-guard; enough for his head to snap to the side.

Your eyes widened and you let out a startled gasp. He stayed like that for a moment, before he slowly turned his head and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

A part of you was almost sure, oh God, you were going to die.

All of you, actually.

He kept staring at you for a long moment, his lip twitching in what could only be anger. And eventually he crashed his lips against yours again, soothing the bite with his tongue.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you swallowed your relieved sigh, the moment when you felt his hand wrap around your throat again.

“I’m the only one who’ll ever get to fuck you.” He hissed out, one second before he pushed himself inside you and left you gasping for air.

“Fuck, wait-“

“No, baby, no. I’m going to fuck you and you will take it. Aren’t you my good girl? Aren’t you daddy’s good girl?”

He began to fuck you in a punishing pace, not giving you any time to adjust to the sensation of having him inside you at all. You moaned in a mixture of pain and undeniable pleasure, because the feeling of giving up control like that, it did all kinds of things to you. He hadn’t had you like this in weeks, you couldn’t tell how many it had been. And somehow, you missed it.

Fuck, you missed it.

As if on cue he tightened his grip on your throat and you gasped in surprise.

“Do you like this? Huh? My naughty girl. My little whore. Aren’t you my little whore? Huh? My personal little fucktoy?” He grunted while he kept fucking you in a way that made you feel like you were being ripped apart. He kept hitting your sweet spot with such a ferocity that you were sure you were going to burst any second.

“Answer me.” He growled. “Are you my whore?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head, but you forced yourself to nod.

“Good girl.” He breathed out. He suddenly shifted so that he was no longer holding you by your throat with his hand. Instead he pushed his arm behind your head and wrapped it around your neck, pressing his biceps against your throat, while he kept fucking you furiously.

He cut off most of your air supply and you felt a sense of panic rise within you.

He was so strong, too strong for you, so fucking hard and…

You couldn’t breathe, so you clawed at his arm like a cornered animal.

He smirked. The fucking bastard smirked.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He mocked.

You tried to choke out a response, but all that came out was a strangled sound. You were nothing more than his toy to use, his to torment, but suddenly-

Ah, fuck.

You came with an intensity you had probably never felt before. Your eyes rolled back so far, you were afraid they might stay that way and your hips lifted off the mattress, pressing against his. You couldn’t speak, but that didn’t mean you were quiet. The strangled sound of your moans reached his ears and he moaned in response. Your walls clenched around him and it never seemed to stop.

It went on and on and on…Until the feeling finally passed.

He immediately pulled his arm back and you collapsed on the bed, hungrily gasping for air. You hadn’t even realized how you clawed at his skin so hard that you broke it.

He bit his lip and looked down at you with a soft frown. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking bastard.” You breathed out and now it was you, who silenced him with a kiss. He was still moving his hips, moving in and out of you, but with gentler movements now, so he didn’t cause your body to go into overdrive.

He smirked against your lips. “Bastard? That’s new.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You whispered and buried your hand in his hair, tugging on it. You weren’t exactly gentle about it.

“Feisty.” He groaned into the kiss.

“You have no idea.” You murmured.

With a swift movement, that seemed to kick all the air out of his lungs, you pushed him back and shifted so that you straddled him instead.

“What are you-“

“I said”, you said lowly, “shut up. You nearly killed me. You don’t get to speak.”

The idiot had the audacity to smile.

“You seemed to like it.” He teased.

Your face flushed red in embarrassment and you glared down at him. “I’m not…denying that. But still. It’s my turn.”

His brows rose in surprise, but before he could say anything, you lowered your hips down against his and guided his hardness back inside you. He groaned and his head fell back against the mattress.

“Fuck, there’ll be nothing of me left tomorrow.” He breathed out.

“Makes two of us.” You whispered. Your throat felt sore, but you didn’t care. You wanted to ride the hell, the life out of him. You wanted to see him broken, battered, bruised and satisfied to death.

You began to move your hips, moaning every time you felt him so incredibly deep.

“Are you sure you can handle this? Aren’t you maybe biting off more than you can chew?” He murmured, but it sounded strained.

“Do…you…ever…shut up?” You breathed and squeezed his face in one hand. A particularly hard thrust later, his façade finally crumbled and his eyes fell shut. You did that pelvic floor exercise thing on him you had read about, squeezing him in, taking him in, making him feel you even closer and something suddenly snapped inside of him.

“Fuck-“ He gripped your hips so hard, you were sure you’d have new bruises in the morning.

You kept grinding against him, once, twice, thrice…

And then you stopped. You pulled back and hovered in the air, holding yourself up against his shoulders.

The sound he made was pathetic.

Since it was him, it was a mixture of pathetic and furious, though.

“What are you doing?! Get back-“

“No.”

His eyes widened and he lifted his hips, but you pulled back even further.

“No? What do you mean No?!”

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” You said flatly. His eyes were so wide, he looked insane.

More so than usual.

“You’re- Not-“

That was his weak spot. No matter how terribly he yearned, ached for you, he wouldn’t fuck you when you weren’t in the mood. Right?

It was one of the things you loved so much about him. Sure, in the beginning he told you he’d fuck you whenever. But you quickly realized that wasn’t entirely true.

He did love to push your boundaries and make you take far more than you could, but he didn’t ever try to have you when you didn’t want him to.

“Unless you beg me.” You smirked down at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Mhm.” You purred. “Beg me and I might consider it.”

His eyes slowly closed and you saw the way he throbbed and twitched.

“No.” He murmured. “I’m not going to beg you.”

You rocked your hips down in a gentle movement, running your warm, slick core along his throbbing hardness and he moaned.

He moaned.

“Fuck- You’re so-“

“Come on.” You whispered as you teasingly rubbed yourself against his tip. “No one’s here. Just you and me. You’re the man.” You leaned down and kissed the spot below his ear, causing him to moan again. “You’re the man.” You repeated softly. “You’re in charge. You’re my everything.”

“Damn right I am.” He groaned out.

“My whole world.” You breathed out and pressed yourself against him again, which caused him to throb even more.

“Please.” He finally breathed out, barely loud enough to be audible.

You closed your eyes and lowered yourself down enough for his tip to be pressed against your entrance.

“What?” You whispered breathlessly.

He bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Fucking hell.” He grumbled. “Please. Please. Don’t be a fucking demon. I taught you everything you know.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. His forehead and his eye brows twitched in a way that showed off his internal struggle, his anger, his desperate need for control.

And you didn’t want him to feel like that.

Never.

So you breathed out a gentle “Thank you”, before you slowly pressed yourself down against him, letting him enter you carefully. He closed his eyes shut and moaned again.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?”

“Oh, I hate you far more.” You whispered and slowly kissed a path along his neck. You ground your hips down against his, causing him to let out a ragged moan.

“Fucking devil.” He groaned.

“I’m yours.” You buried your face in his neck and began to ride him slowly, sensually. Gently. But deeply.

He moaned and moaned, the sound making blood rush to your head. “Again.”

“I’m yours. Only yours. I’m…your…”

His release exploded over him like a wildfire, because you felt the way he gripped your hips painfully and held you down against him. You felt the way he came deep inside you, filling you with the promise of being his, being his forever.

“God, I- I-“ He moaned again and ran his hands up your back, causing you to shiver while he rode out his release. You had never seen him like this, so lost in his pleasure that nothing else existed.

It took him a full minute to catch his breath and regain the ability to open his eyes and look at you. The look on his face was nothing short of reverence.

“I love you.” He whispered.

His words surprised you. So far he hadn’t been able to say it without some kind of trigger, without some greater power than his own mind. But now he said it and you knew he meant it.

“I love you more.” You breathed out.

He scoffed breathlessly. “Impossible.”

You smiled exhaustedly and rested your chin on his chest. You loved the feeling of having him inside you until your bodies decided it was time to disconnect. That always took a few minutes.

“Totally not impossible.”

“Absolutely impossible.” He murmured. “I painted the fucking walls apricot for you.”

Your eyes widened and your lips twitched into an incredulous smile. “You did what?”

He smirked and averted his gaze. “Yeah. That’s the most remarkable thing I’ve done for you so far.” He murmured sarcastically.

That made you laugh. “Shut up, you know what I-“

There was a sound that interrupted you. At first you couldn’t tell what it was for it was so unfamiliar. But then you suddenly understood. The doorbell.

His doorbell.

He frowned, obviously equally confused. No one had had tried to visit him so far. He was a ghost. There was no fucking name on his mailbox. Who would possibly-

The thought of it being an ex-girlfriend of his suddenly sent a fresh wave of nausea down your body. You stared at him with a frown and he raised his brows in curiosity. But instead of asking you, he could probably tell what you were thinking. So, he did something else instead. He fumbled for his shirt, which he barely reached across the floor and pulled out the chip.

“Here. Go get it.”

Your brows shot up comically. “What? Me?”

A test. It had to be. A last test.

“Yes. Go on. I trust you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you took the chip with shaky fingers. Really? He trusted you?

Trusted you with the key?

You stared down at it and then back at his face. It meant so much to you.

“Are you sure?”

He smiled slowly and pulled you down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, you silly girl. Go.”

A minute later you had wrapped yourself back into your dress and slowly made your way towards the door. You were already about to press the buzzer, to let whoever it was into the building.

Who could it be? Most likely some housekeeper service again. The thought of the janitor still made your stomach churn, but you pushed it down for now. You had never even asked what he did to the body. The truth was you actually didn’t want to know.

You were about to press the button, when you heard something. Someone cleared their throat. Your eyes widened when you realized that whoever it was, stood right in front of the door.

Your paranoid self didn’t trust people easily, especially after the last person you trusted abducted you – no matter the final outcome.

You decided to give a brief look through the peephole before you opened it. You most likely wouldn’t know the person anyway, but your inner child wanted to be sure it wasn’t an axe murderer.

So, you stood on your tiptoes and glanced outside only for your eyes to settle on…

You stumbled backwards as if you’d been struck. The nausea you had felt all day suddenly seemed to have a reason and you immediately felt incredibly sick.

Thank God you stumbled into him, because you suddenly felt like you couldn’t hold yourself upright.

“Hey.” He gently held you in his arms and frowned down at you in concern. “What is it? Who was it?”

“That guy.” You gasped out. “The one who asked me for directions.”

His expression immediately darkened. “What?”

You nodded quickly. “It’s the same guy. I’m sure.”

His frown deepened and his lip twitched again, not in amusement, but lust for murder.

He gently pushed you behind him, before he took a step closer himself and looked outside as well. For a short moment he didn’t seem too alarmed. It was odd, yes, he had probably followed you. A freak, a stalker. Not of the good kind.

But then he suddenly stiffened. And you knew something was wrong.

“What-“

He grabbed you with a bruising grip and dragged you along until you reached your bedroom. You gasped when he ushered you inside and pushed you into the closet with renewed ferocity.

“What-“

“Stay in here.” He hissed. “Don’t you dare come out until I tell you to.”

He slammed the door shut and you slumped against the wall. Your legs felt like jelly and your heart was pounding wildly in your chest. There was a ringing sound in your ears, loud enough to almost make you go deaf.

You buried your hands in your hair and stared at the spot in the darkness where he had been only a second ago.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus. Voices. You heard voices.

Quiet at first. And suddenly louder.

Tears stung your eyes and you pressed a hand against your mouth to stop yourself from making any sounds.

It wasn’t all that-

A loud crash made you flinch so hard, you immediately got a headache.

And then the dizziness came back. The darkness around you felt like a rollercoaster and you slowly sunk down to your knees, while you tried to breathe calmly.

In and out. In. And out.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What could it have been about it that he panicked? That he felt he had to lock you back in here?

By the time the door finally opened – you couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours – everything was messy cloud of loud, bloodied frenzy.

The blood. The blood. So much blood.

He spoke and spoke, but he was too far away. His voice wasn’t real, his twitching eyes weren’t.

His words weren’t. Oh God. Oh no.

Oh God, mother.

And then everything went black.

_____________________________

Tag list 1:@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q

Author's note: GUYS WTF My brain is made of pudding right now, so please forgive me if I made any mistakes or talked shit at some point :(

I'm sorry that it took me so long!!! I had NO idea how to start this chapter, but now I finally made it. I started this at around ten in the morning and now it's ten pm omg. With breaks of course!

I'll try to mention every request/suggestion, if I forget something, please let me know!!!

Also, the requests that didn't/won't make it into the story, I'm planning a sequel and probably a few oneshots concering these two!

@sleepingkittiesworld : her riding him

Anon : her being sick and him caring about her

Anon : the choking during smut

Anon : dinner date outside / another Anon : him taking her to a place she likes (in this case Italian food)

@tommydarlings : innocently taking a bath together

A few people had similar or different suggestions about him getting jealous, so I'll just sum that up under jealousy: @dilfismz , @kidswhoneedhugs , @c3ce , @moondustfairies

Thanks to @babyscilence for "Did he paint the walls apricot for her?" that stuck with me so bad because that JUST MAKES SENSE

Going out in general : @hayakamis-blog , @mswannadiesworld

Going out and getting lost in a crowd : @ririgy

I hope these were all, if I forgot someone, please let me know!

Also great thanks to each and everyone of you! Sometimes I find myself wanting to thank someone in particular for being cute or being a great motivation/inspiration, but somehow, that's all of you!!! I love you, guys!

709 notes · View notes

bennetsbonnet · 2 months ago

Text

I came across this screenshot of a YouTube comment about Pride and Prejudice on Pinterest ↓

Ordinarily, I don't go out of my way to pour scorn on other people's interpretations, and certainly not without good reason. But this one really, really irked me.

I don't know what's more depressing; that someone interpreted Mr Darcy and Elizabeth's dynamic in this way, or that 12,000 people apparently agreed...

...because there are two major problems with this interpretation:

Firstly, Darcy is an asshole.

Secondly, he's very much not a stupid man.

This isn't just my opinion. This is canon.

Elizabeth doesn't think Mr Darcy is a terrible person because she happened to feel like it one day. Darcy gave her every reason to think he had absolutely no redeeming features. I mean, their very first interaction, before (contrary to what adaptations portray) they had even said a single word to each other, was when he insulted her.

Not only that, Darcy knew what he was doing, as this excerpt from chapter 3 proves:

'Turning round [Darcy] looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

Darcy wanted Elizabeth to hear him. There is no mistaking that. Yes, Elizabeth should have listened to the repeated warnings she received from others that Wickham was not all he seemed and that, perhaps, Darcy wasn't so bad... but you can completely understand why she was prejudiced against him. I wouldn't forgive someone saying something like that about me in a hurry.

There are other examples of Darcy's rudeness to Elizabeth. His tone of voice is described as 'grave' and 'cold' when they dance at the Netherfield ball in chapter 18; when he visits Hunsford Parsonage in chapter 32, he ends their exchange in a rude manner '[Darcy] experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice: “Are you pleased with Kent?”' and there are too many examples in the proposal in chapter 34, but for me the worst is, 'towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.'

If a man implied that separating my beloved sister from the man who loved her, was kinder to them both than the agony of him proposing to me... well, I don't think he would've walked away from that exchange. Elizabeth Bennet you are a better person than me.

Regarding the other point: Darcy's intelligence is never questioned. In fact, the narrator devotes time to ensuring we understand that in chapter 4:

'In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.'

Again, this man knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't sorry about any of it, and he certainly was not 'internally crying.' Mr Darcy was a conceited, spoiled rich man who needed to be made aware of his flaws and reflect on them in order to become a better person; or at least, improve enough that he ceased to give the impression that he was not, at his core, a compassionate man with many great qualities.

At the same time, Elizabeth was not a poor, innocent angel who was slighted by a man and who subsequently never did anything wrong. She didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Darcy's unpleasantness, no; but she, too, was absolutely blind to her own flaws... until she read Darcy's letter.

I just think that if you don't grasp this fundamental aspect of their respective personalities and subsequent interactions, then how can the payoff possibly be satisfying?

Pride and Prejudice is, amongst many other things, a story about two flawed people whose love for the other shapes them into the best possible versions of themselves. It's really beautiful and it's a shame to think such a key part of it is being misinterpreted.

#pride and prejudice #mr darcy #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #jane austen #classic lit #text #cora rants #my analysis #i will never say someone is wrong in their opinion even if i disagree because that's not my style and if you're brave enough to share #your thoughts online then that deserves some respect but this.. .man .... I CAANTTTTTTT #stop watering them down!!!! their dynamic means so much to meeeeeee i hate to see it misunderstood

610 notes · View notes

jeonginsleftcheek · 3 days ago

Text

Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: angst, smut

wc: 1.9k

synopsis: you call your best friend in the middle of the night, seeking comfort in his presence and it takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: swearing, depression, semi-public, unprotected sex, creampie, mildly proofread

a/n: i love deftones with a burning passion

masterlist

You couldn't take it anymore.

Sitting alone in your apartment as you stared out the window and into the night, watching life pass you by. While you just stood in place. The same old routine over and over again, your body was moving on autopilot at this point. It seemed as if everyone around you was getting everything they wanted. A dream job, a perfect partner, whatever their little heart desired; while you were stuck with nothing.

Your hands were always left empty just like your soul.

And the emptiness kept growing every day until your tears had dried. There was no point in crying anyways, it never brought any solution to your problems, it only gave you headaches and bloodshot eyes. Your hand reached out for your phone hesitantly, shakily.

You knew he was awake because you knew your best friend like the back of your hand. So, you called him up. And he knew just what you needed without you having to explain it. He could read it in the tone of your voice and even though it made his heart clench in pain when he saw you like this, totally and utterly defeated; he still craved to be next to you. At least as a distraction.

That's how you ended up in the passenger seat of his car somewhere around 1:30am, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, your face bare and tired. And still he gave you a dazzling smile as if he was looking at the sun, not the dark cloud filled with rain that you felt like right now.

"You wanna put your playlist on?" Chan asked and you nodded, the familiar comforting tones of Deftones' Sextape flooding through the speakers of his car made you slump into the seat instantly.

Chan didn't ask, he never did, he always waited for you to start talking about it by yourself, he knew you needed some time to collect your thoughts before pouring your soul out to him. So, he just started driving into the dark night.

You stared out the window, everything seemed to pass by so quickly the more he sped up, the lights of the city becoming a river of blurriness as you pressed your forehead against the cold glass, your warm breath creating a little cloud on it.

You hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly. You were transported to another place, a place where you weren't lonely and disappointed. A place where you weren't a let down. A place where you felt like you actually belonged, so far away from all of it. All the smiles of people who suddenly stopped talking to you just because they found someone better, someone more interesting to share their time with. They all started fading away into the darkness of the night sky.

Chan drove and drove, your playlist was almost finished by then, meaning you had spent an hour just driving around mindlessly together. He parked in a spot you always ended up at, high up above the city where you could see every building, every road and every tree.

Silence replaced the last song of the playlist before both of you got out wordlessly. You took a deep breath of the fresh night air and walked over to the little wall that was built there for safety reasons. Chan followed you after stretching his arms and legs and you let out a deep sigh.

Both of you stared at the stars quietly, your eyes connecting the little shining dots into various shapes before they found Chan's.

He gave you a small smile and you couldn't help but return it even if it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"My intrusive thoughts are telling me to throw my phone over the wall or some shit like that." you said suddenly and Chan let out a short laugh.

"Please don't do that." he shook his head. "I really don't wanna have to go climbing down there to get it."

"I'm not that crazy."

"Debatable." he teased you and you punched his arm, making him laugh.

The two of you went quiet again before you felt the nagging sadness washing over you again.

"I wish I could fucking disappear sometimes. Or just run away from here, somewhere far away." you said as you stared at the city in front of you.

"You'd be running from yourself then. That's kind of impossible."

"Don't go all psychological on me." you rolled your eyes playfully and Chan sighed with a smile on his face. "You know what. I don't wanna talk about it at all. Sometimes I don't even know why I even feel like this. Sometimes I'm just... not me."

"It's okay, Y/n. You don't have to always have a reason for feeling down, sometimes it just is what it is." Chan said, standing closer to you.

"I know." you said quietly, suddenly feeling bad that you made him come here in the middle of the night and you couldn't even give him a proper reason for it.

But, Chan didn't mind. In fact, he loved that he was the first person you'd reach out to when you get like this, it meant he was your comfort. And you had no idea that despite millions of stars shining in the sky, your best friend still found himself drawn to the sparkle of your eyes.

His fingers twitched by his side; how many more nights of this could he take? How many more times will you hurt yourself until you finally learn just how much you're worth?

He had no idea what the hell washed over him but something snapped deep inside his soul when you looked up at him as if you were searching for an answer inside his eyes. He reached out and cupped your face, the last thing he saw before closing the distance between you was your eyes widening and then fluttering shut.

You also had no idea what came over you but as soon as Chan's lips touched yours it was like in those cliche romantic movies, the feeling like everything clicked and fell into place. It wasn't fireworks exploding as they always describe it but it was definitely a fire burning deep inside you. The spark was always there and you just needed one push to finally ignite it.

Your hands clutched onto his shirt as you pulled him closer and his hand splayed on the back of your neck as he tilted your head and pushed his tongue into your awaiting mouth. Everything was spinning around you, and you were enveloped in Chan's warmth and his familiar smell.

Your brain melted and you couldn't think about consequences as he gripped your hair and swirled his tongue around yours. You couldn't form one coherent thought as he backed you up against the car, pressing his body against yours, making you feel wanted, warm, protected. You grabbed at his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, then slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to ground himself. His lips never left yours not until you needed to breathe desperately.

You gasped for air and Chan opened the back door, a darkness in his eyes that you've never seen before but it made you shiver, tingles running up your spine.

"Get in the back." he said, softly but firmly and you got in, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you. As soon as he sat down and closed the door you were pulled into his lap and you pressed yourself against him. Neither of you said anything, your bodies melted together as your hands roamed on each other, lips dancing together again.

"Chan... please." you said, you had no idea what you were asking for, you only knew that you needed him to completely cover you and to erase everything with his touches and kisses.

Chan was everywhere, his lips and teeth on your neck, hands on your thighs, your hips, your ass, your back. He was mapping you out, making you his, making you feel everything you always craved for.

"Fuck! I can't take it." you don't remember the last time someone touched you like he did, kissed you like he did and you started grinding on him, even through layers of clothing you could feel how hot and hard he was and you were getting desperate.

Desperate to erase all the thoughts plaguing your tired mind.

Clothes were pulled off, albeit clumsily in the small space of the back of his car and Chan didn't even have time to admire you and worship you like he always wanted, you were already grabbing his length and lining yourself up.

"Wait, wait!" he stopped you and you looked at him, your heart beating hard against your chest.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You knew there was no going back or backing out of this right now.

"Yes." you said and sank down on him, whimpering at the stretch. Chan let out a low grunt as his hands gripped your hips, his middle lifting up automatically into you.

"God, you're so tight." he groaned and looked at you and you whimpered, your entire body shivering.

There was a thought in the back of your mind, a realization that you were fucking your best friend and that nothing will be the same after this but you ignored it and started moving on top of him. Chan guided you, holding your waist and helping you fuck yourself on him as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and fell forward into him, your breasts pressing into his chest.

"That's it baby... Fuck, just like that." Chan groaned and couldn't help it as his hips lifted up to meet yours. You clenched around him involuntarily when he spoke like that, his voice soft and familiar in your ear.

Nothing existed in that moment except him, his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck, his low moans in your ear and his length buried deep inside you. The car windows fogged up from the warmth your bodies created and all your worries melted into a puddle somewhere in the back of your mind. It doesn't matter, that was the only phrase bouncing around in your brain as Chan gripped your hips with a bruising hold, fucking up harder into you and bringing you back to the present moment.

You almost didn't realize you were making such loud sounds until you became aware of yourself, your body as it tensed up, close to the edge you so desperately wanted to fall off of.

"Fuck, Y/n!" Chan moaned your name, like a prayer spilling from his lips and you were pushed off the cliff as you exploded around him, your entire body shaking and your ears ringing.

As you clenched around him, Chan lost it, drowning in your warmth, your scent, your hands, your body slick with sweat and he pushed you down on him, burying himself so deep inside as he came, moaning your name over and over again.

You slumped against him, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely erased any thought left in your brain. Chan didn't say anything, afraid to break the fragile moment and have you try to run away from him. He held onto you, his embrace warm and familiar as you clung onto him, your face buried in his neck and your hearts beating together rhythmically.

You didn't want to think about what this meant or what tomorrow could bring.

But Chan's warm hand found yours and you thought that maybe, just maybe, life can be bearable if he was there with you and this time you wouldn't be left empty.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers

the playlist i love sm:

818 notes · View notes