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lilsunflower95 · 7 months

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Safe: Chapter One ~ Lucky Guess

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (f)

Genre: Smut, angst, slow burn, fwb lawyer!taehyung

Rating: M - NSFW

Word Count: 4,212

Warnings: Partying (alcohol use, implied drug use by others), cursing, fwb, lusting, eye contact while undressing, protected sex, oral (m receiving), fingering

Disclaimers: this is just fiction and not my true view of anyone

Summary: Taehyung sees you at a party and decides to take a risk.

A/N: This is a re-post from my old account with some minor adjustments.

AO3 | Wattpad

It was Friday night and you found yourself sitting on the sofa at yet another house party. Your black nails tapped on a red solo cup half full of the beer that was responsible for your growing buzz. The music was loud enough to make the lyrics incomprehensible but several people had begun to grind on one another as you dropped your head back against the cushion, the throbbing between your legs growing to be almost unbearable. You looked to your left and saw the friends you had come with in the kitchen tossing back shots with a few of the more attractive men at the party. One of the men must have made a joke because your friend, Ji-Soon burst out laughing before putting her hands on his well-formed biceps and letting him kiss her.

A weight dropped down beside you followed by the scent of lavender and chamomile. You looked over at the sandy blond-haired man that was now pressed against you, his dark eyes boring into your soul while he took a drink from his cup. He cocked a brow up at you.

“Hey Tae.” You held your cup up in a salute as he let out a sigh. You turned your attention down into the small amount of golden liquid in your cup and considered getting more, but couldn’t bear the idea of leaving his side. He was easily, in your opinion, the most attractive man in the entire home that night. Why he was giving you the time of day was beyond you. You suddenly wished the beer was tolerable so you could douse your anxiety. You felt your heart race and the tortuous ache between your legs growing stronger. You pressed your thighs together for temporary relief as you allowed yourself to bask in his presence.

Taehyung leaned over to you, bringing his mouth close enough for you to be able to feel the heat of his breath against your ear. “Party sucks tonight.”

“Beer sucks too.” You looked around the party, wondering what it was that you were missing when everyone else seemed to be having fun.

“I wouldn’t know. I needed caffeine so I tried the pop, but it’s flat.”

You nodded, glancing over to see Ji-Soon leading the man she had been making out with up the stairs while holding his hand. You hummed to yourself and finished your beer then set the cup on the glass coffee table that was riddled with other cups, a few slices of forgotten pizza, chicken wings, and empty shot glasses in front of you. A small bag of weed was next to a bong that sat on top of a couple of philosophy books as if anyone here would get high and then want to read instead of eating from the bag of Cheetos on the floor next to you. You shook your head and looked back over at Taehyung, meeting his eyes before quickly looking down at your shoes.

He just had to make a simple cream shirt and a pair of khakis look good, didn’t he? He didn’t even seem to try and yet, there he was, threatening to steal every model’s job. You smirked and played with the frayed edge of one of the rips in your jeans as impure thoughts flooded your mind, drawing heat to your cheeks.

Taehyung’s breath was against your ear again. “What are you think about to blush like that?” You shook your head and bit your bottom lip to keep the edges of your lips from turning up. He grinned as he drew you closer to him. “If I can guess what you’re thinking, can I have a reward?”

“Well, since I forgot my gold star stickers at home, what kind of reward are you looking for?”

He let out a breathy chuckle and stared at your lips as he wet his own. “If what I’m going to guess is right, that will be my reward.”

Shit.

Did he know? Were you so obvious to him?

Shit fuck shit!

“Well?”

“Well, what’s your guess then?”

His smirk grew as he hooked a finger under your chin and made you look up at him, his eyes dropping down to your lips once more before he brought his face close enough to touch your nose with his. “I think you’re dying to be kissed right now.”

Fuck! Is this how he won all his cases? Was he actually a mind reader?

“I think you want me to kiss you.”

Double fuck.

You clenched your hands at your sides and crossed your legs towards him, watching his hand immediately rest on your exposed knee. You swallowed hard at how warm it was and imagined it warming other spots of your body. Your lower jaw trembled as you breathed out a low moan.

“Well? I was right, wasn’t I?”

You shifted as your legs shook. It felt like your body was trembling from the frenetic energy of your sudden desire. You’d never have thought he of all people would have been interested in getting together with you. “Lucky guess.”

“Lucky indeed. May I kiss you?” He wasn’t looking into your eyes anymore. He was staring hungrily at your lips, already tilting his head and moving towards them. Your hand went to the back of his head, slipping through his thick silky hair as you closed your eyes and drew him close to you. His lips were soft and the kiss was chaste but firm. He pulled away just enough for your lips to part before kissing you again, just as sweetly as before. You felt his hand rest on your cheek while his other hand went from your knee, up your thigh to rest on your side. He tilted his head to the other side and kissed you again, this time with a low moan that vibrated on your bottom lip that fueled the fire in the pit of your stomach.

This was, arguably, the nicest kiss you could remember having. Your free hand moved to his thigh and squeezed it lightly eager to pull more moans and groans from those full lips. Breathing normally was getting harder to do as you tried to draw your legs tighter together even though it was doing nothing to stifle the ache.

He broke the kiss and rested his brow against yours as he sighed. “You came with your friends. Who are you going home with?”

You opened your eyes to stare into his. Your mind flashed to the two other girls you had come with and looked around the room for them. None of them were around and if you knew Ji-Soon as well as you did, you wouldn’t see her the rest of the night.

You looked back to Taehyung. His dilated pupils slipped down to your lips as his tongue ran along his swollen bottom lip and searched your eyes quietly as if they were able to give him an answer.

You swallowed hard as your mind raced. He was out of your league, but he was right here feeling you up.

You had a need, he had a need.

Fuck it.

Let it happen.

“You.” You breathed and watched him grin as he stood and held his hand out to you. You stood, checked your back pocket for your phone, and followed him out of the house, glancing back to see if any of your friends saw you leave. You took the door handle and grinned as you closed it behind you.

You’d never gone home with someone you weren’t in a relationship with before. You followed Taehyung to his dark grey Hyundai Palisade while you looked up at the heavy clouds that were rolling in front of the full moon, the gust of wind that billowed through your hair bringing the promise of rain with it. He opened the door and helped you into your seat before he closed the door and went to the driver’s seat.

Rain had begun to fall heavily when you reached Taehyung’s apartment.

You walked inside and took your shoes off then set them beside his, noting how much your beat-up boots clashed with his immaculate sandals, sneakers, and dress shoes.

His apartment was warm and cozy with photos of his family during different holidays hung on his walls, a stack of board games on the bottom shelf of his entertainment center next to his video game consoles. There was a throw blanket on his plush cream sofa that was next to a faux fireplace filled with flameless candles that you imagined would look incredible during fall and winter.

“Nice place you have.” You walked further into the lounge to take in all the decorations and photographs he had on display from his travels while he poured you a drink and put on some light jazz music. He handed you the glass of amber liquid, took a sip from his own glass, and sat down on his sofa with his arm resting along the back of the cushion. He watched you walk around his home, looking at his trial notes next to his laptop and several of his law books on his kitchen table. “How is this case going?”

“It’s a dumpster fire.” He sighed into his glass and shifted his eyes away from you. “It feels like amateur hour every time court is in session. This new guy isn’t a trial attorney and it shows. It’s such a mess, I wish I could do it all on my own.”

“Can’t you?”

“No. I’m going to have to work even harder to bring this one around.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

You pulled a corner of your lips back as you looked over at him. “I’m sorry.”

He took another sip of his drink and crossed his legs as he thought before shaking his head. “No, don’t be. There’s a lesson for me to learn in all of this.”

You turned and caught his eyes and felt your heart began to race as you finished your drink and returned to the lounge. He followed you and glanced down at the spot beside him, asking you silently to sit beside him. You swallowed hard as you sank down, pulling a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Well?”

“Well what?” You stared into his eyes as he finished his drink and took your glass from you. He smirked as he stood and sauntered into the kitchen to wash the glasses.

“Are you always this nervous before sex?”

The question threw you off.

“Sorry.” You diverted your eyes and shrugged as he returned to the lounge. “It’s just been awhile.”

The admission made him raise his brows before he sat beside you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close again. His eyes were soft as he made you look up at him. His soft, deep voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket in winter as he spoke. “A beautiful woman such as you should be loved well and regularly.”

You gasped and let your eyes drop to his lips then moved close to him, drawing a deep breath when his lips met yours gently. You held on to his bicep while your other hand moved into his hair again, holding him close to you.

Taehyung’s kiss was tender. He breathed in slowly and deeply between kisses. You turned towards him more, allowing him to push a hand into your hair as his tongue ran against your bottom lip. He groaned when you permitted him access and pressed his tongue against yours. After a few moments, he moved to kiss your jaw, then your throat where he moved your collar to expose the crook of your neck. He sucked on it hungrily, every so often letting his tongue sooth over the skin. He moved to the other side of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. He moved your head to the side and went back to the other side of your throat. “You taste so good.”

It was making your head spin as he kissed one side then the next excruciatingly slow. “Tae….”

“Like that?” He smirked when you hummed in response and moved between your legs with the grace of a cat and pressed soft kisses to your jaw, cheeks, and the lobes of your ears, going from the right side of you to the left. His hands ran up the length of your thighs, up your hips and stopped at the hem of the faded black band shirt you’d had since middle school. He tugged at it until you looked at him. “May I?”

You nodded and removed your shirt, not really caring you hadn’t worn your best undergarments that day. At this rate, you knew they’d be off soon enough. You gave a breathy laugh as he took you in with a slackening jaw then began to kiss along your collarbone, his speed increasing as you moaned and held his head with both your hands.

“You’re so beautiful, darling.” He kissed along the top of your breasts and down your sternum as his thumbs slipped under your bra straps. He glanced up with a quirked brow and grinned when you nodded, then drew the straps down until they hung limply by your elbows. He smoothed his hands down your sides and pushed behind you to unclasp your bra while he kissed the base of your throat. He drew the material away and drew in a deep breath before looking up at you. You nodded again, hoping he would stop asking for permission and just fuck you into the next life already.

He took one breast in his hand and ran the pad of his thumb over the semi-hardened nub until it stood entirely erect for him then took it into his mouth. You gasped and arched your back into his touch as you pressed your head into the cushion behind you.

“Oh my god, Tae, you feel incredible.” You could have sworn you heard him say ‘wait until you see what else I can do’, but he had taken your other nipple between his thumb and middle finger and pinched it until you were a whimpering, mewling mess beneath him. Once he had brought both nipples to attention, he moved down further, kissing along the curve of your ribcage until he was right above the button of your jeans. He stood, pulled you up then wrapped his arms under your ass and hoisted you up until you could wrap your legs around his hips. You gasped and held on to his shoulders before kissing him while he walked into his bedroom and sat you down on the bed.

You wanted to rip off all your clothes, push him back on the bed, and ride him so good he forgot his name.

Taehyung seemed to have other thoughts.

He pulled away from you, smiling down at you as he smoothed his large hand over your head. You watched him walk around the room, lighting softly scented candles that sat on small gold trays. He walked over to the window and opened the curtains to allow the room to occasionally be illuminated by a flash of lightning. He returned to you, his eyes boring into yours as he slowly undressed. You swallowed hard, the intimacy slightly intimidating and unfamiliar as you shyly finished undressing, dropping your jeans to the ground when you went to sit in front of him.

He cupped your chin and kissed you while you took his length in your hand, holding it firmly as he moaned into your mouth. You rubbed your thumb over the slit then glide your hand up and down him, grinning to yourself when he sucked a breath in and stood upright, his hands sliding into your hair as his eyes grew hazy with lust. You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth and bobbing your head a few times before pumping him steadily with your hand.

“Just like that.” He panted after a moment. “It feels so good. You feel so good.”

You looked up at him as you worked him and gave a small moan against him that made his eyes grow heavy.

“Go faster.” His deep voice requested before pulling your head up so he could kiss you again. His tongue slipped between your lips and moved with your tongue while you continued to pump him quickly, refusing to give up when your arm began to ache. He pulled back, sucking air between his teeth when your tongue hit the bundle of nerves under the head of his cock.

“Taehyung.” You moved your hands lower to cup his balls and gave them a light squeeze, grinning to yourself at the way his eyes grew wide and fell on you. “Tae, let me fuck you.”

He nodded and turned to the bedside table, his shaking hands pulling out a condom while you moved the middle of the bed. You couldn’t wait anymore. The ache had to be satisfied. Once he put a knee on the bed, you grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back so he was laying across the center. He groaned and let you eagerly mount him, panting once again as you set the tops of your feet on his thighs and raised yourself up to guide him to your core.

You both groaned in unison when you dropped down on him, the girth of him stretching you out so well. You braced yourself on his chest and began to bounce on him. He held your hips and watched you.

“Darling, please don’t stop. You feel amazing.” He rolled his eyes back as he began to whisper words of encouragement and appreciation you could barely hear. His hands would wander up your body as he gave small whimpering groans and took the weight of your breasts in his hands, stimulating your nipples. “Oh, darling, I love this. I’m getting so close. You’re so tight and warm. I don’t want this to end.”

He panted through his teeth as you stopped bouncing and moved to grind against him to give your legs a reprieve.

“I’m close. I’m close.” He panted before sitting up and bracing you against him as he turned you both over. He moved your knees to be under his arms as he set a hard and fast pace, his hips snapping frantically against you. He panted hard against the crook of your neck, whimpering and filling your ear with beautiful words of appreciation.

“Come for me, Tae. Do it. Please!”

“Ladies first.” He breathed against your neck as he moved a hand to your core until it found your bud and moved his fingers against you until you were bucking under him. He peppered your neck, ear, and collarbone with kisses. He continued his pace until you cried his name and clutched him tightly to you. “I can feel you. Oh, that’s amazing. I’m coming. Oh, Y/N!”

He grunted a moment later and buried his head against your neck as he panted and rode out his orgasm, snapping his hips hard against you until the strength in his arms gave out and he let the weight of his body rest against you. He pushed his hands under you to hold your shoulders as he pulled out of you and put his head against your chest while he caught his breath.

“Tae, that was incredible. You were amazing.” You kissed his brow over and over and held him close to you as he continued to pant. “So good to me.”

Fully satisfied, you let your head rest against his pillow and heaved a sigh, letting your eyes ease closed.

Your body grew heavy and still as you enjoyed the feel of breath on your skin and his weight against you. You felt like you were sinking into a cool, calm depth… like you were sinking to the ocean floor. Before you knew it, you were asleep.

The next thing you knew, you were waking up to bright, warm sun streaming in through the opened curtains. You looked around with wide eyes, momentarily shocked to find yourself in a room vastly different from your own. You caught the scent of Taehyung’s lotion and registered the weight of his arm resting on your waist and his leg between yours. You felt his steady breathing against the back of your neck and grew calm against him.

He drew a deep breath and gave a low moan. “Are you awake?” A deep, warm, mumbled baritone came quietly behind your ear. You gave a hum and shuddered against him. “I’m hungry.”

You chuckled as he drew you close to him. “Well, you worked hard last night.”

He stayed quiet for a moment as he nestled his nose into your hair before continuing. “We worked hard. We did good.”

You nodded with a grin. “We did really good.”

“I’m glad you stayed.” He muttered against your shoulder and stayed quiet again. “You can use the shower first. I’ll order breakfast in. I want to talk to you about something.”

This wasn’t how one night stands usually played out in the movies. You frowned and sat up to find your clothes laid out at the foot of the bed. You grinned and moved out of the bed, taking up your clothes and heading into the en suite bathroom, grinning to yourself as you felt his eyes on your nude body.

You showered quickly using his soaps, shampoo, and condition and re-dressed before finding him sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a pair of black boxers that peaked out of his baggy grey sweatpants, and a pair of thin circular-framed glasses but went without a shirt. As you approached, you found he was pouring over his trial notes with a highlighter and a set of photographs with numbers next to them. You sat down in a chair off to the side of him and stared down at the papers, watching him work in silence.

His shoulders had already tensed.

“Food will be here soon. You can make yourself comfortable if you want to.” He muttered, shifting his attention from the notes to his laptop. He scrolled through more notes and hummed to himself.

His seriousness made you feel like you were in trouble with your father again. You sat awkwardly, holding your hands between your thighs as you waited for him to speak before looking around at his apartment. It was typical for you to turn to cleaning when you were anxious, but Taehyung, in the few years you’ve known him, had always been neat. The books he had were all his legal books with a couple of self-help books. The video games he had were fun, but they’d be distracting for him and you were too competitive to play alone.

So, you did the next best thing, you took your cell phone he’d been nice enough to charge for you and began guessing the newest Wordle. You stared blankly at your phone when you beat it on the third attempt. You shifted over to your app store and scrolled through for a new game, but jumped when a knock came at the door.

“That will be breakfast.” Taehyung dropped his highlighter as he sat back in his chair. He brought his hand up under his glasses and rubbed the inner corners of his eyes as you stood and went to fetch the food. You took the bag to the table and unpackaged it, glancing in the containers for what he had purchased and grinned to yourself. He took up one of the sets of chopsticks and grabbed the container full of beef.

“Oh… I meant to ask you something.” He plucked up a strip of beef and looked over at you, smirking at the hint of a mark he’d left on your neck the night before. You glanced up at him as you ate your food. “Last night was amazing. I feel so much better this morning. I didn’t realize how stressed I was. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

“No, not at all. I feel much better too. Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded before his expression became more serious. “You’re not seeing anyone are you?”

You shook your head. You hadn’t even been on a date in months.

“Neither am I.” He watched you carefully, trying to get a read on you. “I’m not in a position to date properly, but you can see that. Who works on a Saturday when they don’t have to? But, anyway, you’re allowed to call me a cad and leave, but what would you think of starting some kind of an agreement between us? A kind of friends with benefits type of thing? We can take care of each other’s needs without being exclusive. If you don’t find that to be offensive, of course.”

“It’s 2023. That’s not offensive.” You stared down into your food as you chewed on a piece of pork. You sat back and brought your foot up on to the chair as you thought. “One question.” He quirked a brow up. “Why me? I mean, you could get anyone you want, so why me?”

“You’re safe.”

Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. 🌻

#bts fic #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts #btsfanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fiction #bts angst #bts imagines #taehyung #ao3fic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #wattpad fanfiction #x reader

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ventiswampwater · 1 year

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I've been absent from Tumblr for a couple of days and somehow my FYP is full of Sinclair thots??.?? Is this some national holiday?🥶🥶🥶🥶 I have so many that gnawl at my brain at night.

Imagine calling Bo Beauregard for the first time🤐🤐🤐 You're either trying to be serious and have a real conversation with him for the first time since settling in Ambrose (spoiler: this is impossible. He's misogynistic and a firm believer that there's nothing to talk about with girls🩷🩷🩷🩷 he gives off that TikTok vibe "Do girls even have hobbies?" Like bro, drinking bear and crying ain't a hobby either), or you're so exhausted with his neanderthal shenanigans that you just sigh "Beauregard...." while absolutely pissed off and annoyed.

I just KNOW mama Sinclair would call him Beauregard in that no-nonsense tone when he would rip a hole in his dress pants before church , he must have PTSD from hearing his own freaking name. He's so used to being just Bo, that the only times he even acknowledges his full name are when he's either being scolded by his parents or when he's arrested and sees it on the paperwork.

So yeah, long story short I doubt he'd be amused by anyone calling him Beauregard. RIP MC.

*bonus crack thought* I remember talking here with someone about how Fucking Funny™ would it be to call Bo Robert. I'm not a native English speaker and I honestly never heard of the name Beauregard before😭😭😭 I just assumed Bo is like Bob, which is Robert😂😂😂😂 I'd get smacked on the head with a wrench for trying to be cute and calling him Robert. End scene

omg jhdsjhfjd not the fyp being inundated w/my dumbassery 💀

I lowkey felt like I was spamming the dash last night. BUT idk what came over me, I've had a couple days off work and I'm in a chatty mood hjhdsjahjhsdjh like. I just wanna TALK about this goofy ass movie?? **note to all the poor souls that might be following me rn: pls feel free to block the tag "sinclair brainrot hours" if u would like to save urself from my shenanigans**

this ask is killin me dshjhdfsjhj DRINKING BEER AND CRYING AIN'T A HOBBY BOY

I'm unfortunately part of the Anti-Beauregard Sinclair Hater Nation. I am, after all, the graphic designer responsible for THIS abomination:

context for this can be found here, with poki's galactic big brain take

I also love this take on what his real actual name is 🐔🧊

I just CANNOT buy this guy as a beauregard hdjhdfjh I simply cannot

HOWEVER. I do this thing w/ppl I'm fond of where I'll lengthen their names in ridiculous ways. like just add in entire syllables and letters that just. wholly don't exist. and I could see one of two situations playing out w/bing bong

scenario one: u drop a "beauregard" out of the blue one day. maybe you're trying to be cute. maybe you're trying to piss him off. he looks over @ u. crinkles his brow and gives u the bitchest lil expression. u best be glad u make good pork chops, WOMAN. bc u can't even remember his NAME. who tf u think ur talkin to??? one of ur fancy shmancy city boys?? get outta here!! just grumblin' around the living room abt how if u want some prissy ass boy w/a genteel ass name like that, his brother's right downstairs grumble grumble mutter mutter

scenario two:

he's been slurpin up that good ambrose moonshine (some crazy ass shit that comes in a jug w/x's on it. u know the one. lester labeled it as "ambrosia" and walks around saying it's the "fruit of the gods" and slappin his knee. bo has no fuckin' idea what he's saying.) and despite his high tolerance, boy's a bit sloshed. so are u. u drunkenly crawl into his lap and call him beauregard. he thinks this is v heehaw funny. whatchu think I am girl?? some kinda royalty?? that pretty lil head of urs is all kindsa messed up!! figure I AM like a king here hehehehehe

both equally as annoying😔

#if his name is short for anything it SHOULD be ROBERT dhfjhdfsj BOB SINCLAIR the DUNGEON DOM #dumbass idiot man (endearingly) (sweetly) (chasin him w/an axe)#asks #lanamiller #sinclair brainrot hours

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hangon-silvergirl · 2 years

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@majicmarker tagged me to have a look at my WIPs and find the words sigh, sweet, and taste. I went a little overboard with the size of snippets, but, eh. Enjoy?

sigh, from a one-shot I'm working on for HellCheer Week that'll be called flowers in the window:

Eddie has Chrissy’s arm in his hand, and he’s doodling the outlines of flowers on her forearm and wrist with ballpoint pens, alternating between black, blue and red. “You’re quiet tonight,” he says, shading a sunflower. She rolls her shoulders in a shrug and gives him a small, sad smile, but she’s looking at the water-stained ceiling. “Everything alright?” “Yes. No? I don’t know…” Chrissy clenches and unclenches her fist, and she’s chewing hard on her bottom lip. Eddie pokes Chrissy’s stomach with the backend of the pen in his hand, and she sighs. “My mother was harassing me about Jason again.” Eddie starts drawing daisies. “Jesus,” he says. “It’s been a month, when’s she gonna give up the fucking ghost?” “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I keep telling her that it’s over, that I wasn’t happy. Daddy keeps telling her too, he keeps trying to run interference, because otherwise she’s just… Incessant. Like, God, at this point I’ll bet that even Jason’s probably telling her to get over it, when she calls him up to cry.” Eddie snorts. He starts drawing roses with the red pen.

sweet, from chapter 6 of Marigold:

“Cunningham,” he drawls, giving her a once-over, pleased smile en route to becoming a wolfish grin. “You told me that your mother buys your clothes. Gonna be a hard sell to convince me that she dresses you like a kindergarten teacher during the day then--” he gestures to all of her “--like this at night.” There’s a lot of emphasis on the this, and Chrissy likes it. It makes her feel tingly and desired, and her cheeks burn hot. Jason always tells Chrissy that she’s cute, or sweet, or perfect. He's never even called her hot or sexy during sex, though she's certainly heard him use the words with his friends when they talk about Phoebe Cates and Kelly LeBrock. But the look in Eddie’s eyes and the implication of his tone, and the juxtaposed way he's doing this very wholesome sort of leering, suggests that those words might be on the tip of his tongue. Emboldened by this, Chrissy does a little spin for him, so that he can get a good look at her exposed back. Eddie lets out a low whistle. (It’s not a wolf whistle, but she’ll take it.)

taste, from chapter 5 of the buzz:

The HairTM: I don’t even understand how you were able to DRINK Starbucks without bursting into flames. You: that is some nonsensical bullshit, harrington You: they don’t make their fucking lattes with holy water Rockin’ Robin: aaaaaaalll joking aside, steve, you actually know that eddie’s not really, like, /literally/ a vessel for the devil right You: nah, bro, i fucking wish The HairTM: Could’ve fooled me You: harrington, that’s not hard You: your last two brain cells smothered each other in 1999 The HairTM: I wasn’t even alive in 1999. You: i am aware You: such is the deficit at which you live your sad life You: lost your sense before your daddy even shot his load You: SAD Rockin’ Robin: hahaha buuuuuuuuuuuuuuurn The HairTM: You’re a dick. The HairTM: I need this barista’s phone number, Munson; she needs to know what she’s getting into with you! You: dude i’m a professional shit disturber with middling local celebrity You: i think she knows The HairTM : Yeah, well, in that case she’s got piss poor taste. You: ya know, if i WAS a vessel for the devil, i’da had you dipshits selling me your souls for tootsie pops yonks ago The HairTM : Whatever. Rockin’ Robin: overkill, i would’ve given you mine for a single shitty bong rip Big Wheeler: You can’t afford mine. You: no, nancy, no i cannot You: tweedle dee and tweedle dumb on the other hand...

I'm gonna tag @grewup2sheltered, if you're interesting in playing! Same words, because they're good ones. :D

#hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic: the buzz #hellcheer fanfic: marigold #hellcheer fanfic: flowers in the window #dash games #my stories #wips

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la1rs · 1 year

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ONE DAY I’LL KNOW

Empty bottles under my bed

Listening to the lies in my head

That tell me I need more

It’s 3pm, I wake up passed out on someone’s floor

Existing feels like a drag, my eyes are bloodshot and they sag

I reach for the miniature ziploc bag

Breathing in more debauchery

I traded my morals for flattery

Hungry for attention

I look to strangers for affection

They happily return it for my penance

As I interlock with their essence

For eternity and beyond

We form an inseparable bond

That exists only within me

My body is all that they see

And the only thing I’ll let them into

My heart is impossible to get to

To the point that I myself have lost it

My character is incomplete and split

Between a version of me that cares,

One that impersonates, and one that scares

Even me, myself, and I

Every time I look myself in the eye

I see empty hollows

And hear a voice that follows

Whispering in my ear, “everyone you love has left you, the ones that remain only do so because they pity you, but they stay far away because they don’t want to deal with you.”

I recognize the voice that speaks as my conscience, which I’ve been ignoring

Likely because I find my life utterly boring

And I’m feeling crazy because I just want to talk to you

But you haven’t replied and I don’t know what to do

So I wait for my phone to ring all day

Praying to God that maybe you’ll stay

Or if you don’t, at least you’ll give me a good reason

One that isn’t wrapped in lies and drizzled with treason

But honestly, I wouldn’t blame you

Everybody leaves, this is the only thing I know to be true

All my friends have disowned me

Moved on, met new people, made better memories

I listen as they tell their stories

And I’m always the odd one out

Consumed with regret and doubt

That maybe if I could stay sober things would be different

Maybe if I could control myself I’d be indifferent

Maybe if I wasn’t such a liar my family would trust me

But after last year they tip-toe around me

After my days being hospitalized

And weeks spent institutionalized

My sister confided to me that she thinks I’m a little insane

All anyone can do is wait for my next hurricane

Where I’ll drown in my own rage

Where my vanity will take center stage

And I’ll end up in rehab again

Addicted to prescriptions again

The longest I’ve managed is 75 days clean

But I am a machine that thrives on gasoline,

long trips, and bong rips

I love it when my mind slips

From this plane into the eternal

Where I see everything external

Outside of my bones

I witness the dancing of the stones

And the singing of the colors

The world, a collision of a million watercolors

Pulsing and breathing in a way that is unseen to the controlled mind

Undiscovered to eyes that are blind

That’s why I refuse to be restrained

My soul will not be contained

Inside this human cage

I have come of age

Or so I thought while I had acid coursing through my blood

Destroying barriers like a flood

But now I’m back to a limited sensibility

Recounting the ways I’ve been a liability

To myself, my friends and family

A pestering voice reminds me, I’ll do it again happily

For I change far more swiftly than I can even comprehend

That’s why I’ve reached a dead end

I can’t decide on the person I want to be

Who I am on the inside is so much different than the person that you see

I began building on sand, forsook my foundation

I’m still trying to understand moderation

And oftentimes I choose wrong

I’ve been on this road too long

Maybe it’s time to turn around

Go home, where I’ll be safe, sound

But sparkling bodies keep pulling me in a direction I should not go

One step at a time, something tells me one day I’ll know

What to do, how to behave

How to kick away every substance I crave

How to be someone my parents are proud to have as their daughter

Until then I’ll keep filling my glass with clear liquid that resembles but doesn’t taste like water.

#dailypoem #depressing shit #sorry mom

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serialjune · 4 months

Text

The Betty Boop Continuum, ch. 1

George

Sandra twisted my mind in no way any woman ever had before. She'd torment me, hardly speaking, barely moving, her face concealing the bad news. There's only one woman like that in every man's life and possibly only one woman, period, Sandra. I suppose you can't be yourself all the time and, at one point or another, the adversary is going to capitalize on that inconsistency, making a fool of you for the ages. I always thought history had such a soft-hearted and coy way of putting social rejection: left out in the rain, beaten away with a broom, cartoon acts of glib violence and a parable featured at the end. There's nothing soft hearted about Quartown. A couple of romances here and there, the vanishing voice of a Cuban enchantress, a secret shared only by the ends of the Earth, where the Atlantic meets the Pacific. And I always have to ask, embracing the sea in this romantic mode, would I go back to that place? Where seashores yearned for inexperience, that lust for life, mythically our own, but never really. Neither ancestors, either.

I wanted to get away, by night, where I could join the descendents who might take me from this cruel place. I needed some benign fool to warm my saucer with the tender rays of mutual acceptance. If that meant deforming into a sack of skin, I wouldn't mind. Conquistadors before me would, at times, keel to their own cruelty and settle for a savage, only to learn that the savage, too, cannot digest stupidity any more than his own kin might. The priestly elder, coat of arms, no more kindly when he taps the staff of exile. I took a skinny bitch in shades, from the tanning booth, to be the hallmark of decadence both my grandpa and myself could take euphoria from: beauty for an age, eclipsed by a moment's desire. Evil, all evil, not mine, but someone else's: how it is all like a game of hot potato, taken to the bitter end, where the can goes rattling down the line.

Lately my anxiety had grown like a mazey vine of tangles, right out of my seat, a fire down under. All these girls, even before Sandra, had this remarkably cheap way of applying mascara and it somehow made them look like Goddesses. Not Greek. Polynesian, maybe. Babylonian. A cascading yellow face illuminated by the bronze emission of a city bus: unconventional, but pretty. The universal smell of wine and beer, especially where it does not belong... she'd come from the wreckage looking pure, untouched by her own environmental conditioning. Such scenes, such racoon looking smears of makeup, all tribute to the one and only lost soul, the orchid, the phony. Why did everyone love beer so much? Disarray, disorder, aesthetics of contradiction and disgusting portraiture. I know that's the ticket for me, but for everyone else, too? Just never thought the old working stiffs had it in them, maybe we weren't sharing the same drink... somehow always reminding me of her. I raced to drunkenness, raping her with the very presence of my disfigured mind. She always saw right through me like an x-ray. To lose it all in one gesture of over-confidence. I never was the type to lose my head, in love or peace time, but for her, I'd not go gently into that good night... And now bathrobes and chintzy leather, braids and robotic forms of masculinity shuffle around the corridor, as I wallow dead in my failure to organize a plan.

Sandra

So then we watched Adventure Time for four seasons straight, refusing to eat and drunk on love to the point of hangover. Hey, it's embarrassing, but it's what really happened. Oh, love, that relapse of the animalian will.

Teagan (who's name really sounded more like "Teenager") manage to save two bong rips over the course of six hours, all night. Every tiny bump startled him to the point of jumping. It looked remarkably silly, to see a man with a beard that Paul Bunyan could have only dreamed of, afraid like a little boy. The beadiness of those black eyes caused me to frantically worry about things his alter-ego might do, if suddenly enabled by a switch. As a woman, I knew to keep my panic hushed and plan for my escape later.

On a scale of 1-100 (with 100 being "party planet" and 1 being "sometimes I still see my neighbour", I'd say the present year of 202x was at about 50%). I was having good thoughts for an alarming amount of time, then my dad walked in and ruined the chill vibes immediately. He came at me, saying all this about,

"I play the fool just to build you up into playing the seer. Young people cannot see how lucky they are, if not for this one fact: parents act as step ladders for their minds,"

And my brain tried its hardest to reject that thought. It was like KFC, Skittles and Pepsi, during the Superbowl, were electrocuting my mind with their rainbow crest of intrusion. In that moment, I could have told you that I wanted it all in me. Yet how little that was to ask, Pepsi, KFC and Skittles. Corruption is a part of getting older, after all. Maybe believing that for so long led me here, amongst the beer stains and bong water debris. This living room was a temple to the devil, an unbearable chamber of death to any person not "in" on the filthiness. I'd joke around, thinking about a maid coming into this and neatly feather dusting as if she didn't see a thing. People could not believe my dad taught us to drink at 14. He had deeply Catholic suspicions.

And then there was George. He'd walk in the door at about 11, or so, and his onlookers would hysterically ask of his present state, worrying to no end that he might be in trouble. I believe this challenged his patience to some degree. Sometimes he'd arrive at 2am and no one would bat an eye. He'd take off his blue Northface, take a bath, and the calm he felt was enviable. No one knew why he rented a room here, but that's like so many autistic adults. My theory is that "the machine" mistakes them for pot smoking, metaphysical detective burnouts. The truth couldn't be any more ambiguous.

I used this moment to make my escape. I could not stop thinking about the country life and how much I missed and adored that old world. All countries are the same country anyways, and I miss mine as much as Wordsworth's (a "friend" of my dad.) The return to the country, that would solve everything. All this would end. No more thought, no more worry. Those trees could do the heavy thinking for me, absorbing it all. I missed the countryside so much, so much. Friendly aliens and untouched night crystals, so unlike human terrain. It made me cry to imagine. Slyvia Plath was an idiot for sticking her head in the oven and not the lilacs.

Teegan

I remember thinking how extremely hot Sandra looked with that wire frame. She could have been a mommy from the start, all right. I bought chocolates that looked like seashells and left them out for her. I was going to show her, tonight, how to catch a firefly, then sneak in for the perfect kiss. Instead, George and I got stoned and he seemed instantly freaked out. I put mushrooms in our joints, but mostly his. I didn't think that it was wrong, or anything. He clearly was a bit of a badass. His lack of concern made it so. Blowing his mind one more time wouldn't hurt. Five minutes in, he said it tasted like dirt and that the dirt in the ground was making him accept the dirtiness of all things around him. It's these kinds of things that made me think this guy was the best, the kind of guy you have to take to a party. He yelled at me like Patton when he was angry and I respected that. We watched Blade, with Wesley Snipes, and one of our sparks flew so far that no one could see where it ended up. Dave Holster (Sandra's dad) would have believed me if I told him that the spark travelled to a different dimension. Dave watched drone footage of UFOs and recorded the videos to his iMac, where he'd show the equipment to a church home group. I never went or anything, I just borrowed his microphone from time to time. Our new band, "Eeyore's Sorry", was about to make a tribute album to our friend who's mom was raped by her dad to make her into an embryo. Dave told me that God makes solid on his promises, sooner or later, and that his daughter playing PS5, without bitching, was an example of a modern miracle, as well.

So George left, I think stoned off the mushroom surprise. Feeling good, he'd gone to get soda from the 50 cent machines outside Safeway. The dude was told to go get pickles and I think it was a fool's errand, put on by the girls. The same girls couldn't wait for Giorgio Armani to release their new line of eyelash extensions (at midnight) and I wonder if any of them, except for the two Chloes really, truly cared. I left a note, expressing this, under their door and snuck off like a vampire. When George came back, they told him he needed to get Cumberland's pickles. I don't know what gives them such a hard-on for "Cumberland's Pickles". They were going to subject him to this errand, with no explanation! Those two girls I mentioned a moment ago insisted. Stuff like this makes me want to pour gasoline and light a fire... I wouldn't even try and do it for the insurance.

George looked like Wittgenstein, wearing his cuffed up blazer. His frazzled moustache made him out to be the most straggely, poetic stoner possible. The guy huffed and puffed traffic fumes and dreamed of living in the mall's scaffolds. His room had knife marks all over the walls and the door, I think he couldn't find a dart board online that he felt like spending money on. While he was out to get pickles, the guy left his phone on dead and, unable to tell the time, made it to the store late. I think he DoorDashed the pickles from a gas station, right to the store, and then came home late with Grandma's Fresh (not Cumberland). He told me that he had impulsively bought a whole tray of pre-cooked chicken and left 3/4ths of it at somebody's apartment complex, murmuring something about,

"A waste of $15..."

Natya

I was living with my boyfriend for what felt like several months by now. He was the barfly and I was his bartender. We'd put on this charade of two people, cordial as hell, taking up the world stage. There was no temptation. It was wonderful in a completely unsustainable way. Minestrone soup sat on the counter top with a bone hemmed into the skin. The epic orchestration from, "The Fox and the Hound," seeped into the kitchen stench and the sogginess of this bun reminded me of the work sponsored luncheons of the past. I hated work with the force of flaming arrows and only ever wanted it to exist in relation to when my parents got home from their jobs.

The truth is, with or without my boyfriend, my life had been going on like this, well, since it started. The harsh winds and unforgiving tundra of reality was bogging me down and my mood had gone downhill since I was a baby. It says, once, in the Book of Mark, that Jesus cursed a fig tree after it refused to make figs for him, and that says it all. My job was to play old reels of Loreal shampoo commercials for new shareholders. I would typically light a cigarette and babysit and wait as they watched the same old films. If a setting or a nob needed fixing, the eyebrows on the old geezers' faces would tarnish and convey sudden outrage. I hated my life and I began to spend every cent of my savings on makeup and accessories I didn't deserve. I was hastening to become just like my mother and my habits were just as peculiar-seeming. I found a master tape for the "waiting in line" music, shared by all Sanderson & Son corporation sub-companies. This became my driving music almost every day. My soul felt exhumed and stretched beyond the corners, diving so far and so fast into the months that passed like hours. My kids were once very happy just to watch TV. They'd watch so much TV and I'd grow so old. If I died of a fever, they'd still be watching TV. I just wanted to skip it all. Skipping and skipping and skipping.

I saw the ideal life as a sterilized and tidied space. My boyfriend saw it more as a tangled outgrowth of spontaneous elixirs. My father saw it as fathoming the insignificance of it all so that one could be truly free. Last New Year's, I stayed at a YA hostel and watched all the couples come together (just to break apart again). Soon, everything would be the "same as ever", and all the "goodness" that Christmas wasn't would leave out the door, just as the couples had. My only friends, now, are the tracings of the lost souls I encountered over the years. My only solace: the vastness of my mouth and how I could live inside it, like a shellfish. Tomorrow was supposed to be one degree warmer out. Was my life a curse or was this really the last stop?

My boyfriend watched with eyes like needle nose plyers. He would think, similarly, about the glacial melting of grand father figures, things slowly breaking up. Knowing everyone would leave him in the end, he'd oscillate between pure kindness and the positive desire to shoot everyone, like a proud Leninist. If everyone was dead, the memories he had of everyone would live. There was always Teegan's place, but I felt above group homes, trap houses, whatever you wanted to call them. I was invited one night to hang out for the Armani sales event, because the one sister, who was probably into crack, decided ovular sunglasses would be her salvation. I guess, maybe, I wasn't so different, in allowing myself to sharply dive into fate, like this.

George, March 13 [in real time]

You know that floorboard in old houses that feels like mulch? That texture was the scene around here: fibrously connected, damp and simple. Anyone could come in and be anyone. I once listened to this guy, Jason, talk about driving major sized HEMIs off three storey ramps set on the highway. At the same time, Jason's brother would be strung out, not even listening, as Jason lied about him in the story. This band called Chrome played and a sales agent named Tracey kept trying to knock on the door. Just to fuck with her, I told her I was the land lady and she'd have to undo my bathrobe to confirm the sex. I'd never seen anyone so persistent to sell a house, she completely ignored my joke and continued trying to ram her services through the door. I guess the landlord had been trying to sell the place, this group home where all sorts of randoms and fandoms coalesced. If there was ever a sudden eviction notice, nobody cared or paid much attention. It made sense that our Chinese landlord, Ching, wouldn't consult everyone beforehand. I guess this meant we'd need to be packing our stuff. Teegan had his clothes and furniture in garbage bags, at the curb already. That dude was like a Ho Chi Minh of moving between places. Nevermind you, the garbage bags were protruded with sharp edges and panelling, metal from the TV stand to the pipes he installed in the rooftop (he'd be taking them, as they were, "technically his"). The kid came from one of those small lake towns, outrageous hillbilly. I could hear him, right now, recording snaps of himself, saying,

"Don't touch my ass when you come over baby?!"

And it was unreal enough for my great grandmother to have a laugh. My great grandmother lived in Okinawa for many years and was a transient in the Garden Scene for twenty years. After she left, her slogan became, "Love is All You Need," and a dilapidated shelving unit, with the words inscribed, proved it. Truth is, she was an influence on my neo-Catholic identity. I rejected sex, love and all the rest and found truth in becoming a zealot behind the scenes. The more I smoked, the more I became the cigarette and it turns out no one outsmarts the cigarette.

Sandra had moved out years ago, Jason started a new life running a pumpkin patch (but I may have missed the sarcasm when he originally said that.) The more and more my greatest and truest and realist friends fled from the scene, the more this house became a sty. I read House of Leaves and couldn't get through 100 pages before realizing that this wasn't about me. I looked out the window of Natya's "second room" (she claimed a second, after Dylan moved) and thought I saw a turkey sandwich outside, out there. A few moments passed and I decided to retrieve it.

I couldn't stop overthinking about the contents of my pockets. I shuffled, readjusted and gained control, before finally leaving the door, secure and one person. In the wild, twisted twilight, I knew that the war was over. I went over to the sandwich and a giant dog zoomed at me. I couldn't believe what was happening (maybe because of my ADD), but I thought he just wanted the sandwich. When I came to my senses, after many moments I would rather forget, hitting and kicking, I had a painful scar on my head and could feel an angel looking after me, like I was a small babe in the world. All this was easy to rub off. What wasn't was the inevitability of losing control like that in a serious situation. I could go off like a gun, join the infantry, and yet all this fiery dispassion never made sense in the context of my very tepid grasp on life.

Inside, everyone was watching old Japanese commercials and wearing overblown lounge wear, one of the newer roomies even in a golf polo. These guys would one day be my best friends, but that's another story for another time.

Natya, same day

My mother had bought Christmas presents for three of her friends the year before and I had somehow wound up with all three of them. Actually, I took them for myself rather thoughtlessly. One was a "rocket notebook" and I had this romantic vision that I'd become an accounting assistant overnight with it. I felt embarrassed, now, seeing all the entries about, "butt still tight after workout" (who'd I think I was, Anne Charlotte Robertson?). I had a tab left open asking me if I wanted to continue applying for the role of "Cake Decorator".

(The night I wrote down my workout at the reception area at the Hyatt, a man approached me and asked if I knew who Chantel Ackerman was. As I hesitated to recite just one of her films, y'know, the famous one, he screamed an inch from my face and said I had to be on it. I thought that was a ridiculous gesture, but I took it seriously by pretending he was a Maltese who'd been through it all).

Anyhow, dispensable as it were, nothing could change last night and how I got married and basically saw my entire future in one molly excursion. While I fumbled around the haphazardly named "Broadway St.," it was like I could have actually been in New York. I had no sense of whether I would miss my job and I didn't care either. I was growing up way too fast and the little pinion of my heart had to make it slow down. I did not fear missing out, I did not even fear turning into a late-Cookie Mueller. My impulsive decision to get married was part of a project to let go and play with the elements of my life like a fingerprinting. Somehow I felt too embarrassed to really preach it, but my shiny shoes, buckling together, knew the secret, all too well.

This little village of houses on Emerald Grove sang out, and I could hear the patchwork of people, now living, in that choir. I remember fiddling around, for the first two hours of the trip, with a ballerina in a music box and, oh, how it spoke to me... The bijou fragility, the possibility that I could be on top of the silver globe like that. The neighbours' screaming baby was the reminder that all this would end and there was nowhere to go anyway. I was rolling by myself and George was playing something on the Wii, where the Miis would clap and spectators would slowly drop out. I felt so stupid watching him with the biggest, twisted smile on my face. Yet, I felt cute, knowing I was cute. He could have been my bigger brother, my first crush, the president and all he had to do was swing that Wiimote that he, truly, wanted nothing to do with. All was an object of my attraction, written in an arcane universe, just for me.

When I called home, to see if my dad would notice me, they were watching Ed Sullivan re-runs and I could hear through the tube,

"Tonight... We have a very special announcement. Now, I want everyone to hear this and I want no one backing out. It's extremely important that everybody in America year this message...,"

And I could hear my mom whispering,

"Yessss," at the end of Ed's sentences. I didn't even understand what they were watching, quite, but I knew her hands were raised up and all of them, in there, would be shooting at the red scare, soon enough.

I asked my dad for one inspirational quote that would summarize his life's teachings and, with his old farmer's face, he spoke,

"Eat your peas," shaking. And I thought,

"Oh dad, how could you give into whatever that is..."

Love had long passed me by and was now whirring around the subway system at supersonic intervals, turning 'round Giza and passing through Bombay, and again. As these very thoughts gargled around in my head a while, I felt like an old lady, knitting away. The way it was: the way it had been. Out of time, out of sight. I was going to be very late for work. Think they'd fire me? I asked the boy sitting next to me and he looked sternly in his ill-fitting headphones. People I loved kept messaging me on Facebook messenger and I rudely swiped away the notifications. Love was all around, the jittery and empty city meant nothing. Everything was yoga and I always had myself to do a twirl, if ever in doubt that anyone would be around. Alison by Slowdive kept scrobbling on my phone despite the fact I was listening to Nephilim.

#short story #creative writing #alt lit

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cursedweedman · 7 months

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what the fuck is that? (my girl Molly)

@shesboundtobruise // afterglow.

It was all tempered glass and tentative eyes, a confusing contraption, not quite a bong, but something close. Whatever it was, it looked expensive. She tipped the water bowl, it spun, her tongue jutted out as the flame was sucked inward, a sizzle, a pop, what she was about to do, simply put, was fucking insane.

She had woke up, that morning, feeling alright, which was suspicious. She'd lost count of how many pills she'd taken. It wasn't like she was a hundred percent, her jaw still ached a little, stunk, but no headache, stomach seemed fine, no creeping sense of dread. In fact, as she watched over her instagram story, she felt pretty good. But she had nothing to do, and maybe she could feel better than pretty good.

Bodies in various states of consiousness strewn across the living room, like there had been a fight, and the bodies had been left to rot. Zeke looked the most peaceful, bunched up in the corner, mostly smoked joint still in his mouth, big blocker shades over his face. Looked like he was waiting for someone to pass him a lighter.

"I'll tell you what it ain't," tongue jutted out, eyes squinted, trying her best to focus on the hazy water. "It ain't weed."

Chemical smacks the back of her throat after she takes a sharp ill-advised huff on the tangle of glass from the odd contraption, she wheezes, hard, panic, immense panic fills her soul, did she rip a fucking lung? Her heart, Christ, it was like it woke up, stirred, remembered what it was up to last night. Eyes bulged, and watered, it was rougher than any smoke. Usually, she would've just snorted it, the remenants of last night, but Molly was feeling a little adventurous, a little extra. She stumbled back, three unsure steps, arms flailed, she collected herself, fist met the fridge -- and she didn't even feel it. Because it was getting to work, the remenants of last night. Her heart slowed, instantly, back to sleep, one beat per minute. She steadied herself on the kitchen counter.

"Mad how we just -- feed this shit to horses," a thick drip formed in her nose. This didn't make her feel better. This made her feel terminal. Her body was sinking, and the room was growing. She wasn't smiling anymore, as it all got so wavy, morning sun bouncing through her hair, casting obscene jagged shadows across her floor, grabbing at her ankles, they were right there, she could see them. "This was a bad move."

#just to clarify this is a hungover molly waking up and making some choices #like i am going to bong ketamine #i worked backwards from that uh #it wasn't weed scoob #meme #shesboundtobruise #drug tw #i said i wasn't gonna post until i'd done the queue but fuck it

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carli-meows · 9 months

Text

Voided VehkTeeri - Deranged Myme Crewe

I be the bitch scented like air fresh'ner and lysol

decked out like driftwood floating around like an aerosol

dripped out in a bong water bog water mix bitch

I'm a lossless lochness mobster kinda bitch, bitch

I'm Vehkteeri here to drown your mind in mystery

like the deep dark depths, my name goes down in history

from the poopdeck of black bart to wherever they at

to the fuckboy smile of that Calico Jack cat

from the 40s to 50s they had me swimming with the fishies

i had mermaid tits n pecs flexin just to get down with me

fuck you im fresher than aquadude, i paid my dues

ciderblockers 45s, peep them cement shoes dudes

rockin den'm with the ripped up torn up sleeves

bring it to the neons of Ringling to the Greay Scale's theives

funkin it up and down, 3 parts Myme Harrlle Cloune

I'm unheard of royalty, I wear the crown, bitch, bow down

Vehkteeri runs this bitch, who you see? what's it?

Vehkteeri brings it down to a marching pace fuck it

Vehkteeri runs this bitch, not so easy, does it?

Vehkteeri got a bitch goin "Who's she? What's it?"

Vehkteeri from the forgotten clan of a guild number you forgot

a bastard passed down through every single one and got got

and everyday i wake up representin each of them lot

i keep blastin them hots and never throw away my, shots

I keep my name said even without my crewe

you dont know me, except whatever i tell you, dude

'zzos out here thinking they'll get the best of me

you'll wake up bruised, cherry creampied in a back alley g

Scary Lady Silent Kayti, and Werebitch Süki

me and my alley's got good coverage, see

3 is the prophet, and 2 is the unity

im the one left in this bitch tellin you not to fuck with me

fuck with me or any of the funny bitches i represent

and I'll aim to trap your soul in a place you can't repent

now you wanna know where, you're already tryin me, bitch

you reap what you sew, and you can't knit for SHIT

Vehkteeri runs this bitch, whosee whatsit?

Vehkteeri brings it down to a marching pace fuck it

Vehkteeri runs this bitch, not so easy doesit?

Vehkteeri got a bitch goin "Who's she? What's it?"

I'm a fuckin, uh, whatcha'ma'call it... oh right

a bitch to cause right justice, it's just my god given right

Vehkteeri the Witch Bog Bitch, cast your tongue out'cha mouth

righty tighty you into a lightbulb and knock your lights out

you have to have have a blast when you're cursed to see forever

like i give a fuck, i can see into the neverending fo'nevers

and the first thing i can see is my soul damned to place

filled with wack bitches i cant style on, a mad disgrace

Vehkteeri, not alone, Bog bitches rize up

Marsh'ns, and Swamp'n'ers too, fuck it up

tickety tickey tick tock on the clock witha water damaged glock

shake and quake when you hear me, The Voided VehkTeeri

#DMC #deranged myme crewe #oc rap #oc rhyme

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ghoullnextdoor · 2 months

Text

Re-up day on my birthday 🎂 🥳

#mine #dank #nugs #full jar #stoner #weed #high #girls who smoke #cannabis #ganja #marijauna #bong #bong rips are good for the soul

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prisonmindsgypsystar · 10 months

Text

Todays been a long day, I'm looking at the time 10,33 that's the time

This morning Im looking at the date, thinking of dad because jun 21st, 21st is his birthday date in January,

I don't know I just was feeling kinda funny

I was thinking how off I felt,

And so mum calls speaking to her was good mum had said, she felt the same way, but wasn't sure what of, not that she would have been with him in any way again, But she felt his love bombarded her with noise feeling dim.

The day goes by it seems a little slow, filled of things and places to go,

But negative more than good pushes and shoves,

The train doesn't come, so here I sit with thousands of winning teenage , sitting here man this ain't it, the world knows they way I think why they do me so dirty, shut up me stop over thinking and love story, the story is my life, so I look up at the sky but that isn't working so I put my hood on and hide, wait for the train, and now everyone's in a hurry because the fucking train people shuved us in only 2 trollies, so head down I face till the train pulls up, and off I go to my next stop,

I get to the next town, and walk to wait, for another hour, well atleast I'm not late, I stand by and listen to a boy before me, drumming out his heart I could feel it through my body a little boy only 10 drumming banging on heads singing out loud man that kids gonna break legs

Soon it was my time 4 o'clock I go in to my drummer lesson here we go,

But something pretty special I've realised today, that I've learnt intirly

I learnt while finally doing something I truly like,

But the issue is something I don't like, something that I'm glad to see,

just figuring out how to break down my walls that I've created to protect and survive the negativity

I'm in freeze fight mode and afraid to try,

Try and fail, but I know thats how you learn right

It's just everytime I did something it was always wrong

In the eyes of others, it's all they see in the song

Walls I've built to show I'm alright

Not truly doing what I love and desire not holding on tight

I'm learning to break them down, it's just I don't want to share my love with them anytime,

Anytime I win anytime I soar flying through the sky doing it all

I try to do my best and that's all I doo

I love many things but I just wanna do my best in all I doo

I like to fail because it helps me learn, but the people that taught me was not the right burn,

It was burn like fire, ripping at my soul melting away my inside not caring if I was hurt

So I liked the loneliness or people that love me because fuck I don't like the negativity,

I'm scared so i try, because I want to break free,

From this nightmare inside of me

So drumming I'm trying to see where my limits are, to push past those walls, smashing down the negative calls

I get into the zone trying on my own,

Until it's time to go home

Nana comes, it starts again

This world of hell raises and begins,

Shut up me full of worry,

Just wanting food cause I'm hungry

So dinner we go butterchicken on, date night with Nan I love her man she's on,

Back home I go

To a handsome man, that has no idea what I see,

Everytime I walk in the door my heart melts seeing his eyes breathing in his smell, home comes rushing in we go

Seeing my beautiful man at home,

I come in kiss kiss I go I love this man there's no place like home

I sit there to see how he is, before I begin to chop for my bong that's about to hit me into another reality shift,

Hitting me into saying shit that always seems to be wrong,

My love start to act funny I ask him whats wrong but instead jhe shoves me off, saying can you go upstairs and there I sit wondering what the fuck I even said, what did I do to make you go numb, now I felt something was definitely going on, so then I pack my shit to go, looking up one last time saying I love you so,

I go upstairs wondering what the fuck, did I do to make things go dark, so I message to ask what's wrong but he says go have funn with your sexy drummer bum

This egg of a man really misunderstood what I said so I said what's up, but he seems to not care what I was saying was going straight into the air,

So I wait for him

I love him and now I'm back looking at him

0 notes

journalsbyrc · 2 years

Text

Milestone

July 21, 2022

1058pm; Really fucked up right now. Did some blow and took two gravity bong hits. Lowkey feel like I want to throw up as I write this, but it could also be because I haven’t eaten all day plus the intensive workout this morning.

I had to stop for a moment as I was about to type this because I had a gag that almost made me throw up. I went to recollect myself and took a couple of slow deep breaths. I think I might of overdone it a little with those two hits. Anyway, this morning I went to the gym. Ran a new record for myself at 45 minutes straight to burn my 500 cal daily goal. The technique of counting songs to narrow down the time as oppose to watching the clock really helped. About 10 songs get me around to that 30-32 min point. At that point I kind of tap in to my higher self and keep going. Today I felt like I could of ran for an hour but I was running low on time and I didn’t desire to commit my whole workout to just cardio as I was going to also do stretching, upper body, core, back, etc. that afternoon. I felt good though, I felt unstoppable. I felt progress. Filming and sharing the process on film felt good today. Although it’s outside the realm of what I’m used to with the camera going, nonetheless I felt aligned. It felt like the right thing to do for my path.

I went to work afterwards, did my thing and closed up. Afterwards I came home, took a rip and two hits and now I find myself here writing this all out while I’m fucked up. Quite honestly I’m still very conscious and aware, not wavering in what I believe in and not really overthinking like I expected I would. At this point right now after these 5 months, I feel focused, I feel sharper, and I feel I’ve changed. Despite going to all these parties, festivals, engaging in heavy drugs and drinking, I’ve learned to acknowledge and understand that it’s okay to explore this side of me responsibly. I’ve also learned that my consistency is the fuel that’s outworking my motivation. Going to the gym and work everyday, doing my best to eat healthy, praying everyday and connecting with my higher self. Creating more relationships and releasing myself from the outcomes. My vibration and frequency feels high, I’m starting to understand more about why we’re all here. Allow yourself to be the conduit of the universe of which you are, and explore your extension of the story during your time here.

Lessons within this last two weeks:

1) Discipline, activity, application are skills that will help you connect, bridge, and close the gap between you and the higher self.

2) Rest at the end, not in the middle.

3) Accept the changes in your life, and rise above them.

4) Contrary to popular belief, pressure is good for the soul.

5) The shift inside, will shift the outside.

6) Take inspired action to manifest your desires.

7) Flow, never force.

8) Don’t die before trying.

9) It’s okay to let the things you can’t change, change you.

10) There’s still time to become the person you want to be.

#journal #333 #444 #111 #555 #222

0 notes

brokenlegs · 2 years

Text

Not sure why but weed just absolutely wacks my motor functions. I'll be mildly to moderately high mentally so to speak but walk and move like I'm drunk. My highs pretty much go in a straight line from a dopey and affectionate lethargy to feeling like a bizzarely vivid dream. Past that I just get sleepier. Everything is faster while simultaneously feeling slower. Slow but at a higher framerate I suppose and my senses "even out". My vision gets worse dead on but the peripherals increase. Noises are slightly muted but also sound like they're nearly even in directional spread to the point where I have to put effort into figuring out of it comes from my left or right. Rooms get brighter but softer looking if that makes sense. In general I can rationally tell that one part of a room is brighter than another or a noise is louder in one direction than another but it doesn't *feel* like it. It makes me exceptionally happy and open with a suprising willingness to sit and simply receive the stimuli of existing. Fucking love anal while on it, I took a few muscle relaxants, some caffeine and a 2 huge fucking rips of a bong and would have sold my soul to get fucked in the ass. Not sure why but it made me insanely desperate for it. Felt fucking amazing to experience with it. Good stuff. Don't like weed unless I have literally nothing of importance to do, that shit wrecks my abillity to do anything of value. I would love to get an edible or simply buy pure THC to get doses of it without smoke. Fucking hate smoke. God sucking cock while high is so incredibly pleasent

0 notes

1engele · 3 years

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 8. solo

Previous | Next

[warnings: underage drinking, smoking, weed, near death experience?, crying]

"never have i dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul." — You leave the roof late in the night. Sal had gotten up and retreated into his apartment a little while earlier—but you'd decided to stay and make sure he didn't come back there.

Three days pass. They all consist of fleeting glances and irresolute tension. Things remain the same with the group dynamic, except for between you and Sal. Neither of you seem to know how to continue from that conversation on the roof. No one else notices, though. They'd never suspected anything from the beginning, it seems.

The beginning of your involvement with Sal involved a little bit of buildup and then a snap which resulted in a sexual encounter (or two).

Now it was a bit different. Now things were a little less lighthearted.

It's a Saturday—you'd planned to spend it inside as usual. That's until your phone starts ringing.

You flip your phone open, read over the contact, and answer the call.

"Hi, Ash."

"Y/N," she starts. You hear the excitement to continue in her voice. "There's a party tonight."

"Oh?" You get up from your seat on your bed.

"Some stoner Larry has connections with invited him and said to bring friends. He wants to bring us—save for Todd. He doesn't do parties."

"Wait," your eyebrows furrow. "Me?"

"Yeah!" She says from the other end of the line. "It'll be fun. Cmon."

You bite your lip nervously, anxiety knotting in your stomach. "I don't know. I've never really.."

Ashley is momentarily silent on the other line. She must be contemplating what to say to convince you. "Sal's coming too. Parties aren't necessarily his thing, either—so maybe you guys could try it out together?"

You open your mouth and then promptly close it. Something inside of you suddenly really wanted to go to this party. "Um... alright. Okay."

"Cool! What're you gonna wear?"

You look toward the drawer that contained your clothes and bit your lip. "Not sure yet. I'll update you on that."

"Okay, don't forget to text me! See you at eight."

The call declined from the other line. The phone that held the phone to your ear slipped into your lap. You pressed your lips together and tried to ignore the familiar feeling of sickening nausea and anxiety.

You don't rush yourself on getting ready for the party, because the time you're due to be done won't be for a while.

You take your time with the hours you have. You shower, take your time on eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss—and finally decide on what you'll wear.

You decide on a square neck white cropped tank with short sleeves and your nicest pair of light blue, slightly washed out jeans. You slid on your favorite, sort of chunky white sneakers over white socks.

It isn't long after you finish when Ashley calls and informs you she's arrived at the apartments and Larry and Sal have already joined her out in the car. You give yourself a once-over in the mirror and then leave the apartment.

Your mother was nowhere to be found. She's either at work or drinking with her coworkers.

Once you've opened the door and climbed into the Ford Fiesta, you immediately realize your predicament—Sal is the only person in the backseat with you.

The drive there is decently long and painfully tense. Neither you nor Sal know how to speak to each other, so no words are exchanged beneath the heavy metal music emitting from the radio.

When you finally arrive at the party, it's recognizably crowded, drunken teenagers are flowing from the front door, in and out, and there's a good amount on the lawn. The newest radio hit is playing on a considerably loud speaker, and the vibrations are notable even from a distance.

"Woah," Larry says, staring at the house as Ashley pulls onto the side of the road. "Didn't realize he was so popular."

You all exit the Ford Fiesta and cross the road. You cringe as you watch someone vomit onto the grass, and another person ripping from a bong in the wide open.

Smoke flies into your face and your eyes as you enter the home. You cough, waving a hand as you blindly follow after your friends.

Eventually, the four of you find yourself on two couches directly facing each other. You on one, Larry and Ashley on the other. Sal is stood to the side.

Larry materializes a bottle of Fireball that you guessed he stole from someone on the way in, opens the cap with his teeth, and takes several gulps.

"Where did you get that?" Ashley laughs over the music, pulling the sleeves of her lavender sweater over her hands.

"Stole it," he looks to Sal and directs the bottle toward him. "Want some?"

"Sure," Sal replies, to your surprise—taking it from Larry's grasp and walking away and in your direction.

"You're drinking that?" You ask him, testing the waters.

"No, actually," you watch Sal round to the other side of the couch to linger behind you. "I'm limiting him. He'll thank me later."

Once he's out of your field of vision, you tip your head back and gaze up at him—your perspective on him being upside down. Your gaze zeroes in on the bottle of Fireball he's clutching in his hand.

"Hey," you say, meeting his eyes. "Give me some."

It was time to give him that excuse—the excuse to break the ice.

He leans in a bit, gesturing toward you with the bottle. "You want it?"

A grin pulls at your glossed lips. Instead of reaching for the bottle, you open your mouth and tilt your chin up.

Sal looks on for a moment but laughs once he realizes what you want. Everyone else at the couches seem decently distracted with each other and the overall environment—so he doesn't seem to worry about it too much.

He reaches his hand around and towards your neck, gripping your jaw in his fingers and holding you firmly. You feel his cold rings press into your skin when he tips your head further back just a bit—and then steadily pours a shot-amount of Fireball into your mouth with his other hand.

Sal stops at the right time, looks on as you pull back and sit up, and cautiously watches the back of your head as you assumedly swallow the whisky. But when you turn a bit in your seat to peer at him over your shoulder, you're holding your mouth closed and pressing a closed fist to your lips while soundlessly giggling.

"What?" He laughs, a hand moving to the top of the couch. He leans in a bit. "Can you not swallow it?"

Your shoulders shake slightly as you continue to laugh. You shake your head up and down.

"Do you need to spit it out?" Sal asks, his tone warming into concern.

You shake your head from side to side. You meet his eyes and swallow, gasping as the liquid slides down your throat and burns all the way down. You cough, the flavor of cinnamon and what tasted like Big Red gum overloaded your senses.

"God," you breathe out, giggling all the while. The alcohol is gross but you're feeling good. "It's not great."

"Yeah, that's why I'm holding Larry off, so he won't be puking his guts out later."

You look up to the boy, who's sat on the arm of the couch opposite to you. He's busy talking to some equally stoned guy, so you can't manage to catch his eye—but you catch Ashley's.

She had this look of astonishment on her face.

Had she been watching what happened? When Sal poured Fireball in your mouth?

Your face grew hot thinking about it.

Sal wanders away from you again, and you find yourself drinking more than you should. Eventually, your rationality disappears.

It's been a few hours and Sal hasn't seen you for a while. So when he hears about a girl wearing a white crop top walking across the roof of the house, he feels like he's going to vomit.

It takes him a record time of 6 seconds to get out of the door and onto the lawn. Upon looking up at the roof, his suspicions are confirmed. He shoulders past multiple people to place himself near the front of the crowd and gazes up in horror.

"Sal!" You yell, gesturing toward him with something between a wave and a point. "I'd recognize that hair anywhere!"

Multiple heads within the crowd turn away from you and towards him. He puts aside his social anxiety and the wave of unease that washes over his body and tries to focus on you. "Please come down," he rushes out, raising his voice just enough for it to be audible over the crowd.

You laugh like he's told a hilarious joke and he quickly realizes his mistake. That's the worst thing he could've told your intoxicated self. You move toward the edge of the roof, shaky and uncoordinated. "You want me to jump?"

"No!" He exclaims, his hands flying up, fingers splayed. "No. Don't do that!"

"Holy shit!" He hears Larry shout from somewhere closer to the front door of the house. Sal guesses he's just now catching wind of the current situation. Moments after, both of his brunette friends are at his side.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ashley yells, verdant eyes glued to the sight before them.

You lost your balance once again, but this time a bit worse—your foot catching on a shingle on the roof and effectively knocking the red solo cup out of your hand. It dropped onto the downward slope of the roof and the liquor inside of it spilled down the side.

Whenever Sal witnessed the toe of your white sneaker catch onto that shingle, he felt as though his very soul had been ripped from his body. Immediately after he watched you regain your footing and stable yourself, though—his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace.

"I'm going up there," he stated beneath the chatter.

Both Ashley and Larry's heads whipped toward him.

"You'll kill yourself!" Larry exclaims incredulously. Ashley opens her mouth to assumedly second Larry's statement, but Sal cuts her off by walking away.

"Not before she does," he mutters, pushing his way through the density of bodies and forcing his way through the front door. His senses are disoriented like he's been submerged beneath water as the volume of the music scratched at his eardrums and pulsed the innards of his skull. Adrenaline courses through his blood like a drug whilst he shoulders past both mindlessly drunk and carelessly high teenagers.

Sal doesn't spare them a second glance, but their unconcern does remain in his mind. The fact that they're continuing their lives while he feels as though something that's growing into something of importance in his is about to be taken from him... it's mind-numbing.

He's never been an optimistic person, he's always tried to view things in the way they're most likely to happen—and all that's beneath that two-story house is a long drop and concrete. If you fall, you'll break your head open and you'll die.

He finally makes it to the stairs. He makes a break for it then, tripping over his own feet multiple times. Anything could happen in this amount of time, and he knew no one else was going to help him.

Sal's thoughts grow more and more disordered as he navigates the dark halls of the house. The music seems to have only grown louder, the deafening mixture of guitar and drums taunting him.

He remembers the window on the outside of the house. Sal estimates which room it would be, locates it, and approaches the door. He turns the knob, but it doesn't fully rotate.

The door is locked from the inside. Of course. Who would have a party and leave the bedroom unlocked so people could fuck all over your comforter?

He bites out a curse only he hears and prepares himself to force the door open.

Sal grabs the doorknob tightly, prepares himself, and rams the side of his body into the wood. He doesn't even feel the pain, just does it again, and again.

He goes until that half of his body is numb.

The door finally budges, and he wastes no time entering the room. He doesn't hesitate when he reaches the double-hung window he'd been seeking. He grips it at the bottom and pulls it up and open, clenching his teeth together painfully.

Sal stares out at the vastness of the night, the golden streetlights, and how they shine down on the crowd of people below him. They all seem to be looking at the same place, up, but not at him—and he can only swallow thickly.

Carefully, Sal moves to sit on the windowsill, gripping what was above him tightly, his legs outside. He then ducks to leave the room and shivers as cool air hits the front of his neck.

He starts walking the roof, steadily—like his life depends on it. Because.. it does.

Or yours. Yours depends on it.

"Y/N!" Sal calls as he finally reaches a point where you're in his line of sight. Momentarily, he's worried he'd scared you. But you turn your head, meet his eyes, and smile. Despite that, your face spells fear all over it. Something must have sobered you up a bit while he'd been inside.

"I'm going to come to you. Do not walk towards me!"

You blink lazily, because you were drunk, and nodded. You shivered, hugging yourself. It didn't seem to do much, though. Your arms were bare.

"Fuck," he breathes, gazing down at the fall that could await him if he misstepped and immediately reverted his gaze. Blood rushes between his ears as he steadily makes his way towards you.

"Please don't fall!" You suddenly exclaim, your hair tussling in the breeze. A strand blows over your face, so you quickly raise a hand to move it back in place.

He looks up from his feet and stares you in the eyes. "I won't," he affirms, you and himself, continuing across the roof. "Just stay put, okay?"

It doesn't take long to get over to you. He's mostly sober, so it isn't hard on that part. What's difficult is calming his steady heart.

He's not scared of falling. Not necessarily scared of injury or death. But he is scared of not making it to you.

Once he's at an arms reach of your shaking form, he reaches out a hand, palm facing the darkness of the sky.

You seem to read his mind, slowly grabbing his hand. Sal maneuvers your joint hands to where your palms press together and your fingers are interlaced. He doesn't know if it's the blood rushing through his ears or the distance from the ground, but it's as if everything below becomes very quiet.

You meet his gaze, your pretty eyes glossy with tears. The eyeliner you were wearing had just begun to collect beneath your lower lash line.

He squeezes your hand and leads you to be in front of him.

It's not long after that that he's gotten you off of the roof. Sal watches you slip through the open window before turning toward the density of people beneath him on the ground. He breathes in as he catches both Larry and Ashley's eyes—he can't read their expressions, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was shock written all over it—and then ducks back into the window.

As soon as the window is shut and it meets the windowsill once more, Sal whips his head toward you. "Y/N-"

Before he'd saw your face, and the language of your body as you were sat on the edge of the bed, he was going to scold you, and then go downstairs and find you some water and sober you up—all of that falls down the drain when he sees the stream of tears falling down your face. Every time you blink, more drop—quickly staining your cheeks with black makeup.

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly speechless. "Y/N-"

You attempt at taking a breath in, it seems—but it's a failure because it hitches and turns into a shoulder-shaking sob.

"I'm sorry," you cry, roughly dragging the tips of your fingers beneath your eyes. This only smears the running mascara further. "I'm just drunk."

Sal momentarily feels like breaking down in tears himself, that's how much this entire ordeal stressed him out. He approaches your trembling body and crouches down in front of you.

"Hey," he says, softly. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're intoxicated. Your feelings still matter, okay?"

You sniffle, still attempting to wipe your tears away, and reluctantly nod. "I'm sorry," you try again.

He places his hands on your knees and squeezes them firmly. "It's okay."

You jerk into a sob, leaning forward and pressing the side of your face on his shoulder. You slowly tuck your arms beneath his and cross them over the expanse of his back, palms flat on each shoulder blade. The convulsive gasps were hard to stop, making it hard to breathe.

Sal breathed out softly against the prosthetic, raising his arms and encasing them around your torso.

He didn't wonder about the reason for your tears. Assuming things wouldn't help you anymore.

"I don't know why I did that," you whisper, quieting yourself to swallow your saliva. "Maybe I do. I think I was trying to prove something to myself."

He finds himself holding you tighter, your chest pressed to his, feeling your heartbeat through the fabric that separated you both—oddly enough, even at this moment, it reminds him of that night in the car. You had been even closer to him then, though.

"It was stupid," you murmured. "Why would I do that, after what we had talked about last night?"

"What if we jumped together?" he remembers saying.

"Some things can't be explained," he replies earnestly. "You don't need to know why you did what you did. It was stupid, though. I'd probably walk across the roof of a two-story house for you again, but.."

You pull back and meet his eyes, your face wet. The majority of your makeup had been cried off and your lipgloss had been smudged.

You must've sensed his examination, breaking the visual contact and sniffling. "I know I look ridiculous right now."

Sal smiles. He knows she can't see it, but maybe she'll hear it. "I don't think so," he murmurs, looking off to the side. "I think that's a bathroom. You can clean up in there if you want."

You follow his gaze and then return your eyes to his and laugh a bit. You still sound drunk, he notes. Obviously. He'd poured a good amount of Fireball into your mouth and watched you drink plenty of other things.

"Feels kinda weird using a stranger's bathroom," you laugh, your breath hitching from the earlier crying.

Sal rolls his eyes humorously, gripping your knees tighter as he pulls himself off of the floor. "The guy who lives here is Larry's friend—and a stoner. I doubt he'd mind. And if he does get mad, I'll take responsibility for it. I forced that door through, anyway.."

Your gaze swivels toward the door, which is not shut but mostly closed. When he glances to where you're looking, he notices it seems a bit.. crooked.

He inwardly cringes. "I'll pay for it. Come on."

Sal follows you into the bathroom. You seem reluctant to enter first, so he does, opening the door and reaching to the side to turn the lights on. They do what they're supposed to—eventually. They're momentarily unresponsive before becoming alive—the illumination brightening the room with a dull yellow hue.

You step onto the tile and began to search for whatever it was you needed. You kneeled at one of the cabinets below the sink, opened it, and ducked your head lower.

"Oh!" You exclaim quietly, reaching in and pulling out two things. A bottle of half-empty makeup remover and a bag of some cotton rounds.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend?" He hears you say to yourself, standing up, nudging the cabinet closed with your foot, and placing the things you found beside the sink.

Sal reaches over and closes the door. He'd rather not have to witness the sight of some drunkards wandering in and fooling around on the bed.

"Lock it," you say. "I'd rather no one- no one see me like this."

His hand was already on the doorknob, so he just reaches down a bit and locks the door.

He watches you struggle a bit with the bag of cotton rounds, trying but failing to open it, so he reaches forward and delicately plucks it out of your grasp.

Sal slides the makeup remover over and pats the place on the counter it was previously. "Sit."

You peer into his eyes inquisitively but waste no time hoisting yourself up and onto the cold surface.

After that, he plucks the bottle of makeup remover off of the counter and douses the cotton round in the liquid. He reaches forward from the distance that your knees created between the both of you, but you spread your thighs and press the heel of your shoe into his lower back, pulling him in so he's between your legs.

Sal doesn't see it suggestively, because you're drunk—but he's glad you asked him to lock the door because, with his luck, Larry or Ashley would find their way into the bathroom and get all of the wrong ideas.

The firmness just beneath his navel presses into the edge of the counter as he cups one side of your face and began wiping away at the eyeliner and mascara and everything it messed up.

"Thank you," you say sweetly, blinking at him with appreciation in your eyes. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He remembers a silhouette. Her back was turned to him, golden hair cascading just past her shoulder blades. He remembers blue eyes that looked a lot like his own staring into a mirror, a hand which adorned a wedding ring wiping away makeup from the day.

"Read it on the label of the bottle," he replies, meeting your eyes and looking away.

As he's finishing up, he hears a rapping of knuckles against the locked door. He tosses the used cotton rounds into a trash bin in the corner and then locks eyes with you curiously.

"Occupied," he calls out, still looking at you. The knocking only gets louder, which makes you laugh.

"He said it's occupied!" You yell over the unintelligible music downstairs, your words breaking into a giggle. You press your knees against his waist, and he doesn't even realize it when his hands meet your thighs.

The knocking ceases, fading into a voice. "Is that you guys in there?"

Fucking Larry. Speak of the goddamn devil—that's what he would've said if he'd come knocking sooner.

The both of you seem to be thinking the same thing, locking eyes in terror. You quickly get off of the counter, and Sal unlocks the door and swings it open.

Sure enough, he's standing there—in all of his glory and highness. Larry blinks, the whites of his glossy eyes tinted red. He looks between the both of you before speaking. "Why were.."

"I had to pee," You choose to deadpan.

Sal feels himself grow even paler than he already is. "I came in.. after.. that."

Larry intakes a mouthful of whatever is in the red solo cup he's holding in his tan, lanky fingers, and swallows thickly. "Okay," he croaks, instinctively cringing as the alcohol passed through his chest. He gestured the cup toward you. "Uh..crazy stunt you pulled up there, huh?"

Sal saw your face shift in his peripheral vision. "Huge lapse of judgment," you reply.

"Nobody could tell who you were, so don't worry about that," the brunette smiles a bit. He returns his attention to Sal. "They've started playing country," sure enough, Sal hears the sound of a banjo from the speakers downstairs, effectively punctuating Larry's statement.

"Yeah.." Larry mumbles, sipping his drink and looking up and through his eyebrows. "Ash said to come find you guys so we can leave."

It doesn't take much, after that.

As you're leaving, Larry pulls the door open and furrows his brow at the condition of the hinges. "Wow. How old is this thing?" He mumbles.

Sal hears you snort.

The three of you descend the stairs, skirting past countless teenagers standing on the steps drinking or smoking. Sal makes the mistake of letting you fall behind and feels you stumble and smack him in the back. It's easy to steady himself, quickly gripping the railing—but he's concerned about you, so he turns around.

A guy with a cigarette balancing in his teeth is eying you with frustration pulling at his features. His gaze pulls from your face and down your body absentmindedly.

"Watch it," he murmurs.

"Sorry," you breathe, jerking your head away and meeting Sal's eyes worriedly. Keep walking, you express in the hues of your eyes.

Sal reaches forward and interlaces your fingers with his as he'd done on the roof. He makes a show of it, too—so the guy with the cigarette sees the rings on both of his hands. Sal gives him a distinct look when they lock eyes, rolls his jaw, and lets you lead him down the stairs, instead of the other way around.

By the time you're all nearly shot from weaving through the multitude of sweaty bodies and navigating through plumes of smoke thicker than fog, the three of you find Ashley petting what he'd assume is the host's dog.

No one questions it.

"You good to drive?" Larry asks, placing his cup on a nearby surface.

"Oh, yeah," she rises from her crouch beside the dog. The animal walks away, his golden tail wagging excitedly at the next person who would give him pets. "A gross sip of something put me off of drinking tonight a while earlier. And, uh.. the whole roof thing dried me out."

You sigh. "I'm sorry about that. It sobered me up, too."

She shakes her head, a wispy strand of light brown hair falling over her face. "It was stupid, yes, and I hope you don't do it again, but all that matters now is that you're safe."

Ashley blinks kind green eyes at you and smiles, reaching forward, taking your hand, and leading you away. Sal hears you laugh and follow after her as both of you head for the front door.

He turns to look at Larry once he loses sight of both of you in the crowd. He examines Sal with bleary dark eyes and looks as though he's about to say something, but he doesn't get to.

Even over the blaring country music, Sal hears a yell and then some fearful shouting. He whips around toward the sounds, which were toward the front of the house.

Red and blue flashing lights shine through the windows.

"Shit!"

"Ah, fuck," Larry groaned, nimbly wrapping his fingers around Sal's wrist and dragging him into the density of the panicked crowd. "Did you see where they went?"

Sal shakes his head. "No," he knows you're intoxicated. Panic settles in. He chews his lip, his eyes desperately scamming for a girl wearing a white top squared at the neck—you. "Y/N's had a lot to drink, Larry. If the police-"

"Don't worry about the Five-O, let's worry about the girls," Larry replies absentmindedly, keeping his firm hold on Sal.

"They must've gone to the Ford," Sal shouts over the music, which, for some reason, is still playing. "We were leaving anyway. I'm sure they're in the car."

Larry releases Sal and motions toward the back of the house. "There's a back door. I'll text Ashley and tell her to drive down the block and we can meet them on foot."

It was an agreeable plan. Waltzing out of the house and walking straight up to the car wouldn't be wise.

Larry does what he'd said he'd do. Turns out, Sal was right, they had made it to the car moments before the police had rolled up. Ashley informed him it was two squad cars and four officers. Seemed like overkill for a house party—but he wouldn't know. He didn't do this often.

When Larry was on the phone, Sal was very tempted to ask about Y/N, but refrained.

On the way to the back door, they crossed through the kitchen. Larry snatched an unopened bottle of alcohol of a brand Sal didn't recognize and carried it along with him for the road.

As soon as they made it out of the house, they both made a break for it, running between houses and into multiple different backyards on their way.

They slowed down once they were at a measurable distance from the party, gasping for air. Sal panted against the prosthetic, placing his hands on his knees and slowing his gasps into slow breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart.

They stood on the side of the road, the music in the distance (albeit a lot quieter) still pounding into the night.

Sal lowered himself down onto the curb. Larry joined him, raising the bottle he'd chose to bring with him to his mouth, and opened the steel cap with his teeth. He spits it onto the road and gestures it toward Sal.

"Bottoms up," he said, bringing it to his lips and taking several gulps.

Sal rolled his eyes playfully, eyebrows rising as Ashley's Ford Fiesta cruised down the road and slowed to a stop in front of them. He stood up from the curb and pulled Larry off of it as well.

They entered the car, sliding into the backseat. Larry continued to down the beer he'd found as Ashley turned around in her seat.

"The night's still young," she says. "Any ideas of what we could do?"

It's really not. Sal's a bit disoriented so he doesn't know what time it is but he wouldn't be surprised if it was 3 AM.

You then turn around in the passenger seat and grin mischievously. "Let's go to the lake."

Oh, great.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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