hi i'm jessy and i'm part squid
(warning: this is totally unbeta'd just tossing that to the wind to let it marinate u feel me)
The winter morning was weak and gentle on your skin. The satin sheets surrounding your form cradled you like a child, shielding you from the cold reality that cannot be ignored: today is Monday.
Monday means school.
School means people.
People include your boyfriend.
You buried your face in your pillow and released dying whale noises.
The feel of cool fingers sliding through your hair distracted you from your feelings of forlorn. "What," you said, voice muffled, despite the fact that you were genuinely grateful for the spirit's presence.
"Good morning to you, too," Jack said, pressing his chest to your back as he absently played with your hair. "Have I ever told you how romantic you are?"
You yawned, gave a lengthy stretch. "All the time," you lied, and sat up only to be graciously reminded of the sore throb between your legs. "I am the queen of romance."
Jack propped himself up on an elbow, allowing your blankets to slide down the sculpted expanse of his chest. "I dunno," he said, cocking his head to the side and releasing a smirk that was way too attractive for his own good. "I didn't see any rose petals last night."
You rolled your eyes, partly due to him being a dumb weenie butt, but mostly to avoid staring at his silver hair strewn from sex, the perfect curvature of his features, the way his blue eyes would capture the light pouring in through your window and send it dazzling back at you. Fucking asshole. "Maybe it's because you were too busy fucking me into a wall," you grumbled, moving to dangle your legs over the edge of your bed and pull on a pair of socks.
The bed dipped, and Jack pressed himself right back up against the nude skin of your back like personal space was never a thing. His lips find your ear and he breathed into it in just the right way to make goosebumps explode across your skin.
"Jack-" you protested, voice a small puff of air, but he had already started. He was talking dirty things that could land a ten page spread under the definition of filthy. He reminded you of last night, the things he did to you, like how he could never forget the way your face screwed up when you sat on his face and fucking sobbed while he ate you out.
He went on and on, trailing a teasing finger over your clit when you began to whine.
"You like that?" he asked, and you could practically hear the shit-eating grin in his tone.
You jerked against his touch to no avail. His fingers moved with your movements, keeping the pressure at a feather's touch and effectively driving you mad. "Fuck me," you said, blunt as the word could get and without the slightest thread of thought. You always believed that the subconscious mind was a powerful thing that should be followed at all costs, especially when it involved Jack's dick.
He chuckled nice and easy into your ear and reached around to spread your thighs obscenely wide. Cool air slid between the wetness of your folds and you whimpered in response, wriggled for contact.
"Jack-!" You whined, frustration mounting. "Jack, please!"
"Shh," he whispered, and nipped at the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, "sh." He continued to coo into your ear, calming you down, coaxing you until you were able to let your head loll against his shoulder because it was alright, he's got you.
Cool fingers slid over your stomach and up to your chest, leaving burning sensations prickling in their wake. You sighed into his collar bones as his palms found your breasts and ran the skin over with his thumb, his forefingers. "I..hate you," you whispered, and choked back a whine when ran a nail over your nipple and graced over it in apology, "s-so fucking much.."
He pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I love you too," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. His right hand detached itself from your breast and slid down to your crotch, where he palmed the dripping flesh absently. There was absolutely no helping the shudder of relief that tore through your form when his fingertips dipped into your folds and probed into your entrance with slow, gradual movements. "Does it hurt?" He asked, because he knew you were sore and he had little intention of hurting you, not unless you asked for it.
To be honest, it sort of did, but it was the kind of burn that didn't sizzle at the edges and willingly mixed with pleasure in miraculous ways that you didn't understand. So you shook your head no and took hold of his wrist, trying to force his finger deeper into your cavern and sighed when it did. Jack gave you a few seconds before he decided to move, fucking you with a single digit with small, incremented movements until you were wailing, open mouthed, until he crashed his lips onto your own.
He added a second finger, then a third, scissoring and stretching your abused opening while muffling your moans with his tongue.
Suddenly Monday wasn't seeming all that bad, and you founding yourself hating life just a little bit less. But like all good things, Jack's ministrations came to an end when your mother decided that now was the perfect time to holler for you to come downstairs like the life of your children and your children's children depended on it (it didn't).
You released a groan of frustration and Jack just laughed that laugh that made everything seem brighter, even though it wasn't.
With that, you got out of bed and yelled, "coming!" as you made your way to the small bathroom beside your closet. As expected, the December floor was fucking brutal on your toes (Jack eliminated all hopes of you putting on your socks like a productive human being) and the squelching feeling between your thighs wasn't helping much at all.
You drearily fumbled for the bathroom's door handle and rolled your eyes again, because you knew Jack was snickering behind you and you didn't have to turn around to know it was true.
"Have I ever told you how romantic you are?"
A close friend of yours once referred to your school's bus loop as the trail of tears, and you laughed for a while because of the it's-so-painfully-true-I-have-a-desire-to-laugh-an d-I'm-not-entirely-sure-as-to-why logic that no one seems to understand.
However, the laughter has long since subsided, as there is absolutely nothing funny about approaching school at 6:59 A.M on a Monday morning.
The bus stops. The doors open. Students file out, yourself included, with an air of a dying old man that has reached his end and was now prepared to hi-five death and just get it over with.
Lord and behold, there is no grim-reaper beyond the doors, just cold air and rigid buildings. Standing around isn't going to change a damn thing, so you just get a move on to where you and your friends generally meet before class begins.
Acquaintances offer you welcoming smiles and it takes a lot more energy than it should to do as much as wave back. As much as you tried to not think about it, the fact that it was only a matter of time before you ran into Derek was blaring in your mind's eye like it was no one's business. By the time you got to Mr. Wheeler's class you had developed a twisted gut and one of those headaches that throbbed so hard it blurred your vision around the edges.
The universe had no intention of showing you mercy, apparently, because a thick had landed on your shoulder before you could even consider the prospect of touching the door handle. "We need to talk," a voice said, and your world fucking crashed because you knew that tone all too well.
You swallowed thick and heavy, then turned to face the brunet before you.
Your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) towered over you with developed arms crossed over his chest. You fought the urge to cower under his silver gaze and focused instead on running your fingers through your hair and offering him the most innocent, questioning expression you could manage under the sudden wave of nausea that overtook your form.
"Would you like to tell me," he began, slathering every word with acid before spitting it onto the floor before you, "just where the fuck you've been this weekend?"
Your heartbeat pounded like it wanted out of your chest, and you could understand why. You would leave yourself if weren't pinned between a wall and a piercing gaze.
It was becoming outrageously warm under your sweater, which was a phenomena that you deemed worthy of looking into later. How you could manage to sweat in twelve degree weather was a mystery beyond your understanding, but pondering how hot you were wasn't going to fix anything. A wise man once told you that all situations can be talked out of with enough creativity, so you stuffed your hands in your jeans and opened your mouth to spew the longest and most elaborate river of bullshit that was humanly possible, and that's when you saw him.
You could barely see the head of white hair behind Derek's shoulder so you leaned a little to the left to catch a better view. Surely enough, there he was, looking odd to your eyes in your school uniform but there nonetheless.
Derek was talking again, probably inquiring as to what you were staring at, but you couldn't be sure. You didn't care. The spirit's presence and the way his blue eyes were scanning for you over the crowds of people going to and fro warmed you in ways that you didn't even know how to describe. Even here, with Derek in such close proximity, you felt safe, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you and Jack were together again and that made you feel okay.
You raised a hand and waved a little awkwardly behind the bulk of Derek's chest but somehow those cerulean eyes managed to find you and sparked in a way that did funny things to your heart. His features cracked into a smile and for a fraction of a second, you smiled back. But then he began making his way over, and with each progressing step his expression grew darker, more sinister, and that was when you realized his gaze transitioned to the back of Derek's head.
well. shit. sorry for the awkward ending? but i kind of wanted to leave it up to you guys about how Jack approached the situation.
Anyways.
A series of fun facts! (** pretty important **)
1) Have a request? leave it in a review!
2) A friend of mine actually refers to bus loops as the trail of tears
3) I am feeling very christmas-y. Someone dress up as santa and come down my chimney and give me things.
4) if you find errors here please please please tell me because i do overlook some things
the importance of reviewing can be pretty underestimated. just reading one new review this morning inspired me to pick this story back up again, and the last time i updated was...? i don't even know. point is, your response is way more appreciated than you think! please take a moment to do so and have a nice day. :~)